Though I'm feeling disappointed, I am not feeling surprised, at least not that much. I have been expecting something like this already, only, I still had to come and check before making a choice.
My eyes move with the balls flying on the court, most of the time, not following them, but instead, jumping to their intended landing point before they even cross much of the way. Sometimes, it is worse, as my focus on the training below makes me read some thoughts before they even jump to reach the shallow parts of the ocean of polluting thoughts. And I know before the balls are even received where they are about to be aimed at and sent back to.
I exhale. I have been expecting something like this, but getting it confirmed still bums me, dousing a part of the enthusiasm I have decided to live my life with. But I can understand. There is too much space, too much time to spare given the kind of game volleyball is. It may be enjoyable, but only for others, not for me, and not for anyone for whom cheating will kill the greater part of the enjoyment.
I sigh, and lean back to keep watching, but this time, with a greater desire for the book that will allow me to do the most of my time. But after a while, I suppress the twitch of my fingers and decide to enjoy the spectacle since I am here anyway. I look at the boys' side for a while, but still only appreciate the beauty of their effort. I feel no stirring inside despite the sweat glistening over the deepened muscles lines, the wildly flying hairs, the bright smiles I would have otherwise found charming some six to nine months ago, and the gazes sent my way to attract my attention.
On the other side, looking at the girls' activities, I find myself, on one hand, appreciating the effort to push the limits for what is supposed to be feminine. Seeing the sweat glistening on the focused faces, I easily sympathize, putting myself in their places to simulate how well or bad I would have, fighting to find screeching support on the court to run, jump, plunge, catch, hit back and so on.
On the other hand, I find myself appreciating the spectacle too, of course, not in a sexual way, mind you. I only have a different sexual orientation, that does not make me a pervert. And the clothes, caught by the sweat on the skins below, make the forms hidden more apparent.
My eyes remain on that side for the most part, before, after a while, I get an idea. I blink, and look at the teams going against each other. I have been only using mind-reading for simple convenience before. I have only ever trained it after coming back from the trip to throw dad and mom's ashes, along with grandpa and grandma's. But that has only been to understand it, and get it under control. And now, after the last incident, I have avoided thinking about the abrupt change that followed, but that does not take away the too great of an ease I am catching on the thoughts around me anymore.
I may be able to bury my head in the sand for a while, but what then? What, after that? So I focus not on the ball this time, but on the players, at their thoughts, at their minds. My eyes move preemptively before the ball like before, but consciously, this time.
Left. Short. High. Long. Sharp. Pass. Block. Feint. Attack. Trap. I suddenly find another kind of fun in the game. A smile starts to play on my lips, and it freezes. A pair of indifferent eyes jumps out from my memory of what happened just weeks ago, and a tremor runs through me.
I hurriedly look up, and search around for the surveillance cameras that have become a necessity in public spaces of schools in the last years, cold sweat flowing out of my pores to make me wet. I find four of them, and they are in all corners of the court, and a wave of relief floods me, before escaping out of my body, leaving me feeling weak.
Fortunately, my head was lowered when I was moving my eyes before the ball of the game I was watching. I may have been recorded, but without incriminating details that would bring another 'Mike Donovan' to my doorstep.
My heart pounds in my chest, and my fingers tremble when I take my canteen to take in the taste that has been accompanying me during the most stressful time of my short life.
The taste, not very sweet, and slightly raw, feels real enough that it grounds my mind, feeling not only delicious, but also calming.
"Huff…"
I almost repeated the same mistake as before. I almost fell back into the sense of security that has been proven false through a harsh enough reality. I touch the bandage on my thigh through my clothes, absentmindedly caressing it while breathing lightly.
It takes a good while for my heart to calm down. I keep looking at the game below, but with less focus. To distract myself, I recall the almost predictive way the game has been playing in my head earlier, and I wonder if there are athletes and players like me in the world.
Predicting games like me would make them talents, at least for the majority who don't know about their ability to cheat. After all, though mind-reading seems to be a well-guarded secret, there are those like Tyne, the old chemistry teacher, wild mind-readers, now a criminal thrown somewhere away from… the sun.
Even in my thoughts, I stutter, because I suddenly realize that maybe, Tyne, as much of a human trash he is, could have been thrown elsewhere, away from the gazes of most. He could have been recruited to become another 'Mike Donovan'. He could have gone elsewhere to keep being a degenerate pervert, one with a backing and more power now.
My heart resumes pounding again, and I clench my hand over my wound. The pain seems to come from far away, and for the first time, I hope for someone's death. I hope that Tyne has been silenced instead of being pulled into the infernal machine controlling the world from behind the thick curtain most are ignorant of, and would always remain ignorant of.
I raise my canteen again, then helplessly exhale. Looking below, I can't seem to enjoy the game anymore. And I don't feel like checking out other clubs anymore. Standing up, I throw my bag over my shoulder, and I leave, walking out and into the sun to feel some warmth amidst the coldness.
I look around at the sparse population that remains an hour and half after the school hours, and leave to take a bus home.