Chapter #4Usain Bolt wannabe. by: Unknown If Tom hated anything more than his plain-Jane name, it was 'debility' when it came to sports.
Everyone he knew was practically best friends with a certain sport. Adam - his best man, was a hardcore rugger that literally trained 24-7; Sara - his prissy younger sis, with those hidden biceps of hers could beat him hands down in an arm wrestle (which was quite... embarrassing); and Ashley, the only girl he actually cared to impress, was an over-the-top obsessive gymnast with eyes only for Olympic youtube clips.
And him. At least he hoped so.
Sighing, he diverted his attention back at the so-called 'magical' sweet dissolving rapidly in his mouth.
Suddenly he knew - knew what he wanted.
I wish that I had legs that could take me up to speeds greater than that of Usain Bolt. I also wish-
The sweet which he was pretty sure was at least larger than his thumb a second ago vaporised into nothingness in his mouth upon the completion of his first wish.
Nothing happened. Tom felt sort of cheated, he had to admit. In movies, let-downs happened zero percent of the time. The main character would usually experience a tingling sensation, or chills sprinting up his spine... and all the other characteristical nonsense.
"TOMMY-BOY!"
Tom inwardly cringed. The name 'Tom' suddenly seemed rather appealing.
"TOMMY-BOY! GET YOUR WHIPPED ASS DOWN HERE RIGHTTT NOW~!"
Tom sighed, lazily crawling to his feet. This was unbelievable, but he was actually going to heed his younger sis's command. After all, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned', or was it? Tom couldn't be bothered to remember.
"TOMMMMY-BUOOOO-"
"I'm coming, you retard!" He hollered back, thoroughly pissed off.
The door jumped open there and then without any warning. His sister's eager face shot through the gap like a bullet, her eyes positively shining. My god, they were positively radiating light, like UV light sort-of bright.
Before Sara even opened her mouth, Tom knew doomsday was impending.
"EUREKA!" Sara pounded her rock-hard fist merrily against the door, before slamming the poor thing behind her. "I GOT IT!"
"Good for you," Tom deadpanned. "But just a heads up, some people don't really give a damn."
"As angry as a bull," Sara noted. She plopped herself down on his floor without his permission, eyeing him suspiciously. "Don't tell me - lemme guess... Ashley dumped your sorry ass for Mckeller?"
"Huh," He scowled at the disturbing thought. Not even close. But explaining that he was disappointed that a bunch of candies hadn't made him as faster than Usain Bolt wouldn't help his reputation either, would it?
Sara smiled encouraging, before slapping his thighs painfully. "ANYway, I got it. A masterplan that'd ultimately have you marry Ashley in... uh, ten years time."
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me." Sara made air quotes with her fingers. "You'll be thanking me when you have three chubby babies with Ash-"
"NO!" Tom winced. "Don't go there. Don't you dare-"
"-ley. Three chubby babies with Ashley," Sara emphasized, grinning that vile grin of hers. "Why? Don't wanna?"
"I..." Every single brain cell in Tom's head came to a resounding conclusion of 'yes'.
"Thought so." Sara leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspirational whisper. "You know the track and field try-outs they're holding next week?"
Tom's eyebrows knitted into a frown involuntarily. He could see where this plan was heading.
"Enter it. KILL Mckeller. Impress the girl. Propose. Have three bab-"
"OKAY!" Tom interrupted her. "I get the... idea."
He wasn't kidding when he said that he had 'gotten the idea'. This was like a mating game, like what animals did in order to earn their mate. The males fought the males, and the manlier one - the one that emerged as victor, got the female without question. It was easy, it was ingenius. (Sara didn't need to know that though.)
But there was only one problem...
Was he fast enough? If Mckeller were to beat him hands down in the try-outs, wouldn't the plan backfire on him?
P.S: YES, the wish worked by the way. It'll take effect in the next chapter for those who wish to write it.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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