class time 2nd subject, gym, natural selection
Diary of Paris "Dolly"Sableth, Snow Sheep Extraordinaire.
Entry 101: Blood Sport—Otherwise Known as Dodgeball
Gym. The most cursed of all classes. A dystopian hellscape where sweaty losers try too hard and the rest of us just want to survive long enough to hit the showers. And today? Dodgeball. Which might as well be war, except the weapons are foam balls that smell like old feet and broken dreams.
We're split into two teams—completely random, my ass. Coach Ramstein, our beef-for-brains teacher, definitely stacked the teams so his favorite kiss-ups were all together. Surprise, surprise, Big Horn Ava is on the other side. Miss Perfect Hair, Miss Everyone's Friend, Miss Can't-Figure-Out-Why-The-Boys-Don't-Want-Her. Her team looked like an all-star lineup, while mine? Let's just say we had more sheep bleating about breaking nails than actual players.
Coach strutted out in his shorts that are two decades too small and yelled something about "balls to the walls" and "playing like winners." I tuned him out because, honestly, I don't need life advice from a guy whose most significant achievement is bench-pressing two kegs at the county fair.
The boys from another class were in the back, turning gym equipment into some weird private-school golf course, knocking balls into Pringles cans and pretending they were rich old men on vacation. Ava, of course, kept stealing glances their way, probably hoping one of them would look up and swoon over her sparkly lip gloss or whatever.
Spoiler: they didn't.
The game starts, and it's absolute chaos. Balls flying everywhere, girls screaming, and half the team on my side just stepping out so they don't mess up their hair. Typical. Meanwhile, Ava's over there like she's starring in some "Sports Illustrated Sheep Edition" calendar, dodging with these dramatic flips and hair tosses. Give me a break.
I'm not here for the game. I'm here for her.
See, Ava's kind is my kind—or at least half of me. Big Horn Sheep, Pachyceros genus. We're practically cousins, but not the fun kind that you laugh with at family reunions. More like the kind that makes passive-aggressive comments about your outfit while stealing the last slice of pie. There's bad blood between Big Horns and Snow Sheep, and it's not just biology. It's centuries of territory fights, grazing disputes, and, well, a vibe.
So, yeah, Ava needed to go down.
The first ten minutes, she's all over the place—hopping, dodging, throwing like she's auditioning for a superhero movie. Whatever. I kept my distance, hanging back, acting like I didn't care, but really? I was orchestrating her downfall.
Step one: Convince the other sheep she's a threat.
"Ugh, Ava's always trying to show off," I whispered to the Barbary Sheep next to me.
"Right?" Barbary hissed, her eyes narrowing. "She thinks she's so cute."
Step two: Play the victim.
"She totally aimed for my face earlier," I said, rubbing my cheek for dramatic effect.
"Such a try-hard," added the Blue Sheep.
Step three: Turn the mob.
"Let's all take her out," I said, loud enough for half the team to hear.
And just like that, Ava had a target on her back bigger than Coach Ramstein's ego.
Balls flew at Ava like she owed everyone money. She was dodging and spinning, but cracks were starting to show. Her hair was frizzing. Her perfect rhythm faltered. She tried yelling at her team for backup, but they were too busy trying to stay alive themselves.
And me? I waited. I bided my time until she was distracted—looking over at the boys, of course. She was pretending not to care that they ignored her, but it was written all over her face. That's when I saw my moment.
Barbary had a ball but was too scared to throw it. I shoved her to the side, snatching it from her hands.
"Move, sheep-for-brains," I muttered, earning a glare that I ignored.
I lined up my shot, aiming for the sweet spot: the back of Ava's dumb curly horns. My whole body thrummed with anticipation. This wasn't just dodgeball. This was revenge for every smug look, every overly peppy "Hey, Paris!" she'd ever thrown my way.
"This is what you get for kissing me, you weirdo," I hissed under my breath as I launched the ball with all the power my goth little heart could muster.
The impact was glorious. The ball didn't just hit; it popped. The loud BOOM echoed through the gym as the foam exploded against her horns like some kind of cheap special effect.
Ava crumpled to the floor in shock, looking dazed and confused like she'd been hit by a freight train instead of glorified dodgeball ammo.
For a second, everyone froze. Then the whispering started.
"Did you see that?"
"Who threw that?"
"Oh my god, Ava's down!"
Coach Ramstein finally waddled over, barking about "playing fair" and "ruining school property," but I barely heard him. All I could focus on was Ava, lying on the floor, blinking up at me like I was some kind of vengeful deity.
I walked over, slow and deliberate, my shadow falling across her. Her cheeks flushed when she realized who it was.
"You're sloppy in games," I said, smirking down at her. "I bet you're sloppy in bed too."
Her jaw dropped, and I could practically see the steam rising off her face.
I leaned in, lowering my voice to a mocking whisper. "That was the school's ball, by the way. An antique. Enjoy paying for its replacement, you vandal."
I flicked my tail for dramatic effect and spun on my heel, leaving her there to stew in her humiliation.
Gym ended right after that, but the buzz didn't. The other sheep were practically foaming at the mouth with gossip.
"Did you see the way she went down?"
"Paris totally crushed her!"
"I bet Ava's too scared to show her face tomorrow."
I didn't say a word. I didn't have to.
By the time I got to the locker room, Ava was nowhere to be seen. Probably crying in a bathroom stall or something. Serves her right. Next time, maybe she'll think twice before kissing someone who didn't ask for it.
As for me? I felt good. Vindicated. Sure, Coach gave me detention for "unsportsmanlike conduct" or whatever, but it was worth it.
Because here's the thing about people like Ava: They're all show. They think the world revolves around their sparkling personalities and pretty faces, but when push comes to shove? Their disguise falls apart.
And me? My disguise thrives in the chaos.
End of entry.