on the long, hard bench
They congregate in the lobby, near the front desk. Sweaty, utterly knackered and famished.
The round clock shows 6:30 and darkness has long draped its shadows over the lands.
The wooden bench is hard, none of that padded, cushioned comfort and a bit awkward but the girls agree anything beats standing in the freezing cold.
Hafsa’s eyes are drooping, and Sophia, who’s sandwiched between the two of them, is unusually quiet.
Hermione herself isn’t doing much better. Her muscles feel languid and spent in a way that speaks of a productive practice. Though her body aches for a bath, food and sleep, there’s no mistaking the heady rush of accomplishment flooding her veins.
She is no Volleyball Wonder nor does she aspire to become one, however experiencing solid, palpable improvement is marvelous.
Placing fourth in the endurance test in PE class as opposed to twentieth? Brilliant.
Being among the last standing in DodgeBall (during PE)? Immaculate.
No longer letting the ball slip her hold and/or tripping over it? Sensationnel.
Her schoolmates’ faces when all the above happen? Glorious.
So, yes.
For all her grumbles about aching muscles, exhausted body and the terrific Plans™ cooked up by (1) Teresa Ruth, Hermione is very, very satisfied.
And a satisfied Hermione, is a Happy Hermione.
Her stomach’s grumble snaps her out of her musing, she remembers her mother packing fruits and goes about fetching them in her bag. Clementines and bananas, she offers the plastic bag to Sophia and Hafsa. The latter presents her homemade madeleine while Sophia buys the three of them juice pouches from the front desk lady.
Fruit, madeleine and fruit pouches make for good snacks. 10/10.
“What are you two doing over winter break?” Sophia asks after a mouthful of madeline and juice.
“ Traveling” - “ Traveling ”
“ Jinx! “ , “ Jinx! “
“Not again!”
“ That’s the fifth time today!”
“ Haah.”
“Anyhow, we’re visiting family in Casablanca.” Hafsa says, her voice dripping with amusement still.
“ Where is that?” Hermione wonders.
“Morocco.”
" Aah."
“ Will you stay there the whole break?” comes from Sophia. Hafsa nods an affirmative before she directs to Hermione.
“What about you Hermione? Where are they whisking you away to?” she teases.
“Whisking me away?!” she grins, then with her best impression of Mrs.Thatcher, “ Well, if you must know," she dabs her lips with a tissue posing for a handkerchief, " France is lovely this time of the year-” the three of them crack up at her toff impersonation, before she drops it and continues “ we’re going to Grenoble.”
“ And you? ” Hafsa directs to Sophia.
“ I’m staying in good ol’ England,” she snorts, “ I wanted to invite you to, I don’t know, do something together,” Hermione’s breath hitches and she’s oh so glad to have finished eating lest she choke.
“Something that isn’t volleyball,” Sophia adds quickly.
“ Oh that would be brilliant,” Hafsa beams like the sun Britain is missing, “we could plan something after the break.” Then both turn toward Hermione.
And Hermione–
Hermione tries with all her might, with all the iron control she can muster to viciously stomp down on the reflexive, incredulous ‘me too?!’ and more cynical, suspicious ‘me too?’. Because this–
“ On weekends maybe?” is the squeak that leaves her throat and mouth. Good. Heavens.What is she, a mouse ?!
She tries to play it cool as a cucumber, as if this wasn’t a momentous occasion, chatting in the lockers and after class is one thing–
“ Definitely, what do you propose we do?” Sophia agrees and Hafsa, bless her gentle soul, takes the steering wheel for this one, while Hermione moves past the revelation that yes, they do want to spend time with her.
“ We can do a lot of things, the cinema, the park, waffles at Bernan’s, the arcade, the mall and homework together?”
“ I’d love to do homework with you! ” escapes Hermione’s mouth before she can process what nonsense she just spewed. Her cheeks are on fire, she feels blood sprinting to her face and oh my god wha–
“ Sure let’s do that,” Sophia cheers with renewed energy, Hafsa echoes her assent and Hermione is gobsmacked momentarily. Either she’s become incapable of detecting mockery or they really, sincerely want to do homework with her.
Though that’s not the only issue is it?
Hermione is scared.
She’s scared of the other shoe dropping, or rather the bucket dropping.
Scared of another mop with her name on it.
It happened once, who’s to say it won’t again? Who’s to say this won’t go terribly wrong?
But she looks at Sophia. Kind, funny and earnest Sophia who drips with barely contained excitement and joy.
And swirls to Hafsa, calm and steady, who beams like the sun and shares her madeleine and teases but does not mock.
They are nice.
This is nice.
She wants this.
Before they separate, the three of them have a time, a place and two home numbers each.