As Sam walked barefoot through the barely lit locker room reeking of sweat and cheap perfume, all she could do was roll her eyes at the gossiping teenage girls and mutter to herself, "I hate this. I hate this a lot."
It wasn't the P.E. part she despised—unlike most of the drama queens in her class, who ran each lap ridiculously slowly and complained of side-aches after a minute or so of slow jogging—P.E. was damn easy. She could outrun almost anyone in either the guys or girls P.E. classes (after freshman year, conservative parents were concerned about the shameless flirting and folding of the gym shorts until the school agreed to spilt them into two groups), she had good upper body strength, and the track coach had been trying (in vain) to get her to join team.
Not that Sam would ever join the track team. She, in her words, didn't 'believe in organized sports,' and thought that the money funded in all the sports programs would go to better use in the arts and drama department. Much to