Wet Willy (Timtab)

I look down at the sketch I'm creating, then at the little piece of coral I found earlier today. Something's not right. The picture is crooked, the shading isn't right, the shape isn't exact. I bite my lip, then grab my eraser and rub it all over the page, until the whole thing is gone. I start over, at the bottom of the page, going up. Curve here, dip there, shade that spot. I think to myself. It has to be just right. I won't settle for a lopsided sketch, or an incorrect shading. My pencil works furiously across the yellowed parchment. Look at the coral, draw, look at the coral, draw. My hair is blown in my face by the salty sea air, and push it back with annoyance. It's the wind that brings me back to reality. I take my eyes of the sketch for a moment, and I think if it were not for the sudden breeze, I would not have seen him. The boy.

He's racing kids, too many to count, either on the sand or in the water. He asks each of them which one they want, and then I see him give a little smirk, wether they chose running or swimming. Arrogant. It's the first word that comes to mind as I watch him. Arrogant. One after the other, he beats every single challenge by a long way. Arrogant yet skilled. I put down my pencil and sketch book, then cross my legs and watch him. My face is unreadable. Expressionless. I'm very good at this, because I've had years of practice. No one can ever tell how I'm feeling unless they look at my eyes. I might look interested or awed, but I'm neither. I haven't quite decided how I feel about this boy. If I were to rate him on my Arrogance Scale of 1-10, I think he'd come up as a 7.2. 

A new challenger arrives. He's older, probably too old to be reaped. Nineteen, twenty even, I don't know. I've almost completely forgotten my drawing as the boy asks his opponent, "Sand or water?" When his opponent doesn't understand, the boy sighs and rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner. "Running or swimming?" The older one picks running, and I see that little, arrogant smirk for about the eighth time. I'm starting to get used to it. Of course, that doesn't mean his behavior is acceptable. I see him point to a far off buoy, and though I can't hear what he's saying, I know they are going to race their an back. I already know who's going to win. The older one is inexperienced, obviously, and both his legs and arms are short. The younger one, on the other hand, is tall and lanky, maybe a few inches under me. They start off, and I get bored waiting.

I begin tracing circles in the sand. A flower, some seaweed, a fish, a shell. I'm about to go back when I hear splashing. It hasn't been that long, but it feels like forever. The younger boy is laughing, looking as if he's having the time of his life. I watch him as he waits on shore. I was mistaken about his height: he must be at least a foot shorter than me, and he looks young. Twelve, maybe. He's still laughing when the older one joins him on the sand. The younger one says something, and suddenly, the boy swings his fist at the younger one. I get to my feet, quickly, knowing what the outcome will be. I don't think the challenger has any experience with fights, and he can't even make a proper fist. He's wrapped his fingers around his thumb, which means if he hit anything, his thumb would probably break. I stop myself though, because the younger one is taking it easy on him. So, at least he's got some sense. But then the tables turn.

The younger one is quickly on top of the older one, and has his finger in his ear. I want to grimace, but I keep myself emotionless. Arrogant and immature. I think to myself. He pushes the older one's face into the sand, with a smile on his face. An arrogant smile. I change my arrogance rating to an 8.4. He lets up the older one, I can see his face is red, full of sand, and wet with tears. He leaves the beach, his head down. I clench my fists, glaring at the younger one. I want to tell him to stop. But how can I do that? It's just an opinion I have. All the other kids are laughing and cheering him on. I can't believe them, all of them. They're all so childish, teasing those weaker then them, acting superior wether the other person is above or below them. This is the type of personality that I hate the most.

OOC: Nothin personal about this post...xD just Cat's opinion.

I'm watching with interest, now, as a much younger boy approaches. He looks about eight or nine, far too young to be reaped. I look over at the thirteen-year-old(or at least that's how old I think he is) and to my surprise, I think I can see him...smiling? No, it must be a trick of the light. I can see the group of boys watching are snickering and smirking while the younger one is turned away. I frown, and then...the boy tells them to shut up. Why did he do that? I can easily picture him snickering at any older kid, in fact, I've seen it. Then the thought enters my mind: He's got a soft spot for little kids. I grin, and almost laugh. A soft spot for younger kids, huh? For a boy who beats up people too old to be reaped, it just doesn't seem fitting.

The grin stays on my face, unfortunately, and I watch as the older one asks his competitor something. He answers, and gets a pat on the head. I grimace. It just doesn't seem right for such a snobby boy to have a soft spot for little kids. I watch carefully, and again, I think the older one asks, "Sand or water?" I guess he answers sand, because they stay put and don't head for the water. The older one agrees, and, as if I haven't had enough surprises today, he smiles. Not the usual smirk I've seen him give for the past seven or so challengers, but a smile. I don't know what to think. I'm beginning to wonder if I was wrong about this boy, but then I remember him shoving that kid's face into the sand, and my face is suddenly rid of any emotion. I know what this boy is like already. Arrogant. Arrogant, childish and snobby. I nod, as if I agreeing with myself. Then I realize how stupid I must look, and I hope nobody saw me. I turn my gaze back to the racers, and the boy is pointing at a garbage can in the distance. The two of them get ready, and then they're off.

Right away, I know something is wrong. The snobby boy isn't running as fast as he has been. He's going slower. Not even a run, more like a jog. The younger boy trips at the start. The older one is half way to the trash can. He reaches it, the younger one is back up, running, and suddenly I can see the older one falling. He must've tripped. But as soon as he hits the ground, I know it was fake. He fell safely, so he wouldn't get hurt. His knees hit the ground first. Why is he going slow? Is he tired? Have all the races finally worn him out? No, if that were true, then why why did he trip on purpose? My head is hurting from all the questions. My eyes flit back up to the race. The younger boy is passing him, laughing now, grinning ear to ear. The older one gets up and dashes for the finish line, faster than before, but still extremely slow compared to his previous races. When the challenger defeats him by little more than an inch, I realize what he was doing. He was taking it easy on the kid. Another smile crosses my face, but it quickly disappears. I can see the older one making a big show of disbelief that the kid beat him, and the younger one is giggling a bit. He gets another pat on the head, and then it's over. No more people challenge him. Slowly but surely, their wandering back home. 

Suddenly I get an idea. I had thought of it before, but now I've decided I want to do it. I want to challenge him. I'm thin and light, much taller than him and with longer legs. It takes me a moment to be sure about my decision, but then once my mind is made up, I pick up my book and pencil, get to my feet, and head over to him. My hair blows out of my face, so I can see better now, thankfully. My eyes scan the sea for a moment. Do I want sand or water?...sand, I decide. I close the gap between the two of us, then flash one of my winning smiles. He'll have no clue what I think of him. I'll only look like a nice girl who wants to race him. 

"Hey," I say, the smile still on my face. "I'll race you, if your not too tired out." I put down my book and pencil, waiting patiently for an answer. I step back a bit, so he doesn't have to crane his neck to see me. I hate standing next to someone so short, especially when they're a whole foot bellow me. I already know the odds are in my favor. Even if I'm not as fast as him, I'm sure he's tired from all the other races.

OOC: If Fisher agrees with her, um...who's gonna win? xD I thought it would be interesting if Cat won, and it's more likely that she would, but if you want he could still win.

I listen carefully as he tells me the rules for this race, and points out the track. He doesn't seem any different now from when he was racing the boys, which surprises me. I expected him to be over-confident against a girl. I shrug, oh well. We're on a long stretch of sand, and I can see a large piece of drift wood in the distance. That's where I'm supposed to turn around. I get myself ready to run, placing my feet on the ground. The sun is setting, giving the impression of two silhouettes on the beach. Now that might be something I'd like to sketch... I shake my head. Focus, Cat. I tell myself. 

The boy starts to count down. As he does, I realize I never asked him his name. I guess that doesn't matter. Who said I was going to see him again? I'm almost hoping that I won't. "Three, two, one, go!" My feet spring from their waiting positions, and I fly across the sand. I don't bother checking to see if he's behind me or in front of me, I'm just focused on running. I grin to myself as I do. It's like I've been taken away from the race, like beating him doesn't matter anymore. I just want to run forever, with salty air in my face and the sand pounding beneath my feet. I pick up speed, almost at the piece of driftwood.

I look up, and for half a second, I can see that the boy is in front of me. What?! Is that even possible? I was sure I could beat him! I can feel my face getting hot, but I know I'm not blushing. I've practiced this before. Instead, my pale green eyes turn to the spot where I will turn around. I need to get on the inside corner when I run around that piece of wood. That's the only way I can get ahead. Little dust storms are springing up under my feet as I get closer and closer to the half way mark. He's still ahead of me, and he's past the wood. I sprint after him, turning around as close to the wood as I can. And then, we're even.

I'm running next to him, just a few meters between us: I grin, teasing him in my own special way, then race toward the finish line. I'm getting closer and closer, but I still have to get pass him. Just a burst of speed at the end. That's all I need.

The finish line is just ahead. I can see it. I work my feet harder, and my arms pump through the air. I'm pulling ahead, and I cross barely an inch before the boy. I'm still going at a fast speed, and I have to slow down before I can stop. Which I do, then lean on my knees, breathing hard. A grin is still on my face. The boy has laid down on the ground[Oh, that was bad grammar -_-], and is breathing hard. He's sweating, too. I probably am as well. "Your fast." He says. "Good race."

That just broadens my smile. So he's finally met his match. I stand up straight, forgetting the fact that I must look like a giant while he's laying on the ground. "You're not so bad yourself. We'll have to race again sometime when your not tired out from a bunch of running and swimming." I can't believe I just said that. I groan inwardly, but I can't help actually looking foreword to another race. I also can't help feeling a little guilty for turning the odds against him. I set him up, really. He was tired from about eight other races, and my legs are so much longer than his. I had a big advantage, I know. 

I realize then that I never got his name, nor did I give mine. Then again, what's the use of knowing his name? I probably won't meet him again. Well...I guess it won't hurt to ask. I reach out a hand, offering to help him up. "My name's Cat. Yours?" I ask. I don't bother giving my full name, Caterina. Nobody calls me by that name, except for my parents when they're very serious.

He grabs my hand and pulls himself up, then seems suddenly aware of something as he looks up at me. Probably our size differences. I don't bother to think about that anymore, because he's talking again. "Hey, Cat. I'm...well, I'm Fish." He chuckles a bit, and I can't help laughing, too. Strange, how our nicknames are both animals. I don't think Fish is his full name, but since he doesn't ask for mine, I don't ask for his. He seems to be thinking again, and Im about to say something break the silence, but he beats me to it. "Are you a Career, or are you just naturally fast?" I have to think about that one for a minute.

Am I a Career, or am I just naturally fast? I'll have to think up something soon, because the silence is stretching out longer than what's needed. "I guess you could say both:" I say at last. "I train at the Training Centre, not as much as some, but enough to call me a Career. And I guess I'm just naturally fast, too." I glance down at my legs, then quickly turn my gaze to the ocean, realizing how stupid I must've looked.

For some reason, my mind drifts back to that second where I was laughing along with...Fish. I never expected to be doing that. It surprises me, but I think we have a very similar sense of humor. And we both like to run. Or at least, I think he does. Maybe he was just running because people were challenging him. No, that thought quickly stops when I remember his smile when he was racing. He must really enjoy it. "What about you?" I ask the question so suddenly, I startle myself. "Are you a Career, or are you just naturally fast?" I stiffly another laugh, wondering if he'll notice that I asked the exact same question. Then I want to kick myself.

Idiot. Of course he'll notice.