Gemstone
Here for the Journey
I always hated hockey and would do anything to get out of it – that is until I found that hockey sticks could be pretty useful for getting your own back.
“Not another excuse Gemma,” said an exasperated Miss Adams as I handed yet another “Please excuse” note to her. Without reading it she tossed it onto the desk, her eyes rolling to the ceiling and her arms rising in a hopeless gesture.
“No Gemma. Not this time”. She picked the note up and waved it under my nose. “It’s not even convincing”. She shook her head and glanced again at my carefully written note. “Get your PE things on immediately and I want you on the field before the warm up. DO YOU UNDERSTAND!”.
Oh yes, I understood alright. I had to put on my PE top and ridiculous divided skirt and, legs covered with goose-bumps from the cold October weather walk across the field to the hockey pitch where Clare Burton and her friends were waiting to win at all cost. The cost was usually visible on my legs at the end of the game.
The game began with a bully-off and bully was just what Clare Burton was. Not only was she good at hockey, she was also skilled at using the stick in many ways not specified in the rules.
As I dragged my heels across the field, trailing my hockey stick behind me a thought suddenly occurred to me. If Clare Burton could use her hockey stick as a weapon so could I. That wicked thought spurred me on and my step lightened as I neared the pitch.
The warm up had already begun when I got there and I joined in with gusto, not even caring when Winifred Jones giggled behind me and made some sort of comment when I bent down.
To my delight I found myself engaged in a bully off with Clare. The ball sat on the grass between us and we both raised our sticks. I concentrated hard. Sticks at the ready we waited for the signal to begin. “Bully” shouted Miss Adams. Clare went for the ball and I did just what Miss Adams said, I went straight for Clare’s ankle!
Clare dropped to the ground, her face twisted in pain. For a moment I felt sorry for her and then I thought of all the things she had done to me. I raised my hockey stick over my shoulder and looked at the group of girls, wondering which one was about to spring to Clare’s defence. No-one stirred. Even Winifred Jones was quiet!
© July 2008
“Not another excuse Gemma,” said an exasperated Miss Adams as I handed yet another “Please excuse” note to her. Without reading it she tossed it onto the desk, her eyes rolling to the ceiling and her arms rising in a hopeless gesture.
“No Gemma. Not this time”. She picked the note up and waved it under my nose. “It’s not even convincing”. She shook her head and glanced again at my carefully written note. “Get your PE things on immediately and I want you on the field before the warm up. DO YOU UNDERSTAND!”.
Oh yes, I understood alright. I had to put on my PE top and ridiculous divided skirt and, legs covered with goose-bumps from the cold October weather walk across the field to the hockey pitch where Clare Burton and her friends were waiting to win at all cost. The cost was usually visible on my legs at the end of the game.
The game began with a bully-off and bully was just what Clare Burton was. Not only was she good at hockey, she was also skilled at using the stick in many ways not specified in the rules.
As I dragged my heels across the field, trailing my hockey stick behind me a thought suddenly occurred to me. If Clare Burton could use her hockey stick as a weapon so could I. That wicked thought spurred me on and my step lightened as I neared the pitch.
The warm up had already begun when I got there and I joined in with gusto, not even caring when Winifred Jones giggled behind me and made some sort of comment when I bent down.
To my delight I found myself engaged in a bully off with Clare. The ball sat on the grass between us and we both raised our sticks. I concentrated hard. Sticks at the ready we waited for the signal to begin. “Bully” shouted Miss Adams. Clare went for the ball and I did just what Miss Adams said, I went straight for Clare’s ankle!
Clare dropped to the ground, her face twisted in pain. For a moment I felt sorry for her and then I thought of all the things she had done to me. I raised my hockey stick over my shoulder and looked at the group of girls, wondering which one was about to spring to Clare’s defence. No-one stirred. Even Winifred Jones was quiet!
© July 2008