Pinky

I delivered the winning ball over the net with expert slice, sliding across the acrylic until I stopped masterfully just short of the net. The ball skidded onto his court and was gone as fast as it came, leaving no opportunity for a return. A shot like that can not be reciprocated, only praised. Emilian stood, dumbfounded, whether from crushing defeat or the language barrier I could not discern. My words were usually fueled by raw schoolgirl emotion rather than any real intellectual reflection anyways. Then I shook his hand, and hopped off the court, bobbing my head like a wise turtle. 

Immediately upon exiting the gate, a sticky boy who reeked of pineapple snatched my hand in a reverent handshake. He rather reminded me of an eager dog. As soon as I could , I backed away slowly and started for the registration table to record the score.

 The score: 6-1 7-5. I had won State Tennis. I wiped the pineapple off as best as I could with one of my many, many cooling towels, then scratched my signature down, sealing my victory. Only one missing piece remained.

When the award ceremony finally commenced, they announced the girls first. There was a lot of emotion; so many tears. Once they concluded the girls awards, I stopped crying. As soon as they called my name, I sprung up, and claimed my polyester prize. There was some difficulty fitting it over my obnoxiously green hat. According to my vanity mirror sunglasses (same size and concept), the hat did not seem too loud, but the heckling from the mass majority of the crowd made me second guess trusting my shades. It was a mere replacement for my original salmon ballcap, which I had lost tragically since last season. Yes, salmon. NOT pink. I will run from that nickname as fast as my custom insoles can carry me. Nobody could replace shayla truly, but limalicious would do for now. After I adorned my medal, they entrusted me with the trophy. This was but the beginning of my legacy, I could feel it in my freckles.

Following the ceremony, we boarded the bus. I leapt up the steps and plopped down in my seat. The parents had painted our names and varsity spots on the windows. I gazed up at my name and the spot I earned from my seat. It was backwards from my view, but I didn't need to read it to know what it meant. Starting in Sheridan, it was a beacon of hope and a tormentor all in one. One singles meant nothing on its own, but it held the power to be something great. The greatness was tangible, the weight of success heavy around my neck.

The bus roared, and we started for home, hearts light. The girls chattered happily at the front. Every single one of them was talking to a camel whose height difference they swore was not that bad. I wondered when they would realize that they were all at the mercy of the same 5’7 zesty munchkin.

I was absolutely vibing with my Unleash your Inner Imagine Dragon playlist when the world around me spun. I heard a loud crash and everything rotated around me, like I was watching the spin cycle on the washing machine. With another deafening crash, I was flung to the opposite side of the bus, from window to window. When I opened my eyes, smoke surrounded me, attacking my corneas. I shut them, and used my other senses to decipher what was happening. The leather was hot beside me. The window frame stabbed into my side. Shards decorated the rough surface beneath me: pavement. People so far away shouted things I couldn't interpret, couldn't hear over the resounding ringing. An acrid scent chalked with chemicals bombarded my nose. I coughed, disgusted.

I managed to open my eyes and fought to keep them open. As soon as I did, a dark form passed in front of me. The seats on either side acted as walls, and it became the third, blocking out any light that filtered through the thick atmosphere. The only thing that escaped me was a very manly squeak. Images of my childhood sped through my mind, but I experienced each one carefully. They were all blurred together, except one that seemed to play over all the others: an image of my father, suddenly obscured by the hat he had thrown on my oversized head. It was countless sizes too big. I lifted the brim, daylight pouring into my eyes. He swayed in front of the sun, allowing me to see his freckly face and his proud smile. He snatched the hat back playfully and said something in his resonant tone I couldn't hear. I could feel it though. Feel every word. One day it will fit. He swung me up on his shoulders like nothing. I gazed down at the pink hat.

There were sirens. My father was gone and suddenly replaced with a man I had never seen before. He, too, was carrying me, but his eyes were filled with purpose and determination, not joy. I coughed. He clambered through an opening, an emergency exit, I guessed. As soon as we stepped out, everything came into focus. 

Two yellow schoolbusses lay smoldering. Parts of them were still blazing. I could feel the heat as it radiated off the fire and the engines, and the man as he cradled me like a delicate baby. I could really use one of my cooling towels right about now. The pungent smell of rubber flooded my nostrils. My sense of hearing was the last to return. It slowly but gradually amplified. Sirens screeched and first responders called out procedures, but above all that, there was a chorus. A crowd encroached on the man and I, cheering lightheartedly. The refrain flooded my ears, ‘Pinky! Pinky! Pinky! pinky…”