Falling For Amelia Manning

With James standing it nearly six feet, the pair rarely needed help getting shoes or anything else from the top rack of anything. Once the new cleats were in her hand, Phoebe darted off to try them on. James, on the other hand, was too distracted by the pod of boys handing around the new basketball shoes to care about finding the new sneakers her dad gave her sixty bucks for. As her fingers grazed over a pair of lilac and blue running shoes, she peered over the corner of the aisle they were on.

"Do you think boys realize how good they have it?" James asked, completely unaware of Phoebe's struggle to get her foot in the wrong size shoe. "What do you mean by that?" Phoebe asked with a slight grunt as she shoved her foot in the shoe. "Like, they can get up, sniff a pair of boxers, maybe splash some water on their face, and then leave for the day. It's effortless." She complained with an air of longing Phoebe finally picked up on.

"Societal standards, you of all people should know the difference," Phoebe gently reminded her with a carefully pointed finger. "Yes, but I never saw it clearly from this side. We have to do so much more to get ready for the day and we're still scrutinized." Her voice rang just a bit higher than it should have, making one of the boys turn around and in turn, making James whip her head so quickly away from them that she nearly smacked into the shoe shelf.

"Crap," Phoebe complained and nearly tore the ill-fitting shoe off her foot. "What the shoe doesn't fit?" James asked with a few glances back toward the boys from before. "I didn't think my feet would have gone up this much since last year." She looked down at the shoes in her hand and stuffed the paper back in the right one.

"Plus, these are soccer cleats, I need baseball ones." Shoving the shoes back into the box, Phoebe looked up to the racks and scanned for the right pair. "Are you finally quitting the absurd notion that you'll get anywhere with Lacrosse?" James asked with a slight hint of hope in her voice.

"NO," She snapped. "Baseball cleats can be used in lacrosse, soccer ones can't."

Phoebe stormed off to another aisle leaving James behind to feel guilty about wanting the best for her friend. It wasn't until she saw Phoebe struggling to grab another box out of her reach, that she brought the subject back up.

"Look, it's a new school year, why don't you try out for something else? Track or soccer, something that doesn't give you bruises like those and makes you happy. Something your mom and I both know you can do." James tried to explain herself gently, but she could see the fire burning behind Phoebe's eyes.

"Lacrosse makes me happy, why can't you two see that!" She shouted loud enough for one of the store associates to take notice.

"Is there anything I can help you, ladies, with?" The man was what they liked to call 'customer service sweet' and didn't seem like he wanted to help them, maybe kick them out of the store for shouting, but that's about it. When James took a step back, Phoebe took a step forward, trying to defuse the situation but James spoke up first.

"We aren't having any issues, just looking for some cleats, we'll be ready to check out soon. Thanks for checking on us!" She told him with a great big smile and as they watched him nod his head and walk off, she looked down at Phoebe with a scowl.

"You couldn't just wait until we were out of the mall to yell at me?" She asked, furious. James turned back to the shoes she saw earlier and tried to find her size.

"I'm sorry, it's just between my mother and you, it's like no one believes I can do this. That neither of you can see that I love this sport, isn't that what matters?" She ended in a whisper and for a second James stopped looking at shoes long enough to turn back to her.

"It's not that we don't believe you can do it, we're worried. We've talked about it quite a bit when I come over. She sees all the bruises and the time you nearly broke your jaw, and she's scared you're going to get badly injured one day. Can't you see it from our point of view? This isn't like you hate the idea of me going out for cheerleading." As if her last words awakened something in Phoebe, she jumped up from the seat she had slowly drifted down to and got in James' face again.

"You're not going out for that, are you?!" She kept her voice to a minimum, but James knew she was still yelling at her. Rolling her eyes, she found a size thirteen in the sneakers she wanted and even pulled down a pair of baseball cleats for Phoebe.

"I'm not going through this with you again, I should be able to go out for anything I want to. But because we're friends, I'm holding off until you get over whatever is making you like this." She waved a hand in front of Phoebe's face before sitting down to try on her shoes.

"Making me like this? What do you mean?" Phoebe asked as if the answer wasn't obvious to her as it was to James. "Meaning, you're being a hypocrite. Your mom and I wish you would pursue other sports and you won't. I want to try out for cheerleading, and you keep trying to stop me – or worse – guilting me into not doing it." James gave her the side-eye while shoving her foot into the left sneaker. Phoebe picked up the new cleats and took a seat on the floor to try them on.

There was a long silence between them. The sound of the boy group had moved along through the store, even the chitter-chatter of kids and their parents was heard between their silence.

"I don't want to see you get hurt. Which, yes, I am aware of the irony, but cheerleaders can be so mean. Do you not remember fifth grade? When you started wearing dresses to school?" Phoebe asked and for a moment, James thought back to that year and saw what she meant.

"I remember, and it's sweet of you to want to protect me, but it hurts me every time I see you on that field. Every time you take a hit and fall, every busted lip and purpling bruise you get. Physical pain is just as bad as the emotional pain you don't want me going through. The only difference is I'm nice enough to listen to your grief. You won't even consider it for us."

Throwing the shoes into the box, James stood up with a jolt and walked herself to the register to check out. Leaving Phoebe behind to think about what she meant.

The two them didn't share another word until they were both back in the car, pretzels in hand, and two scowls on their faces.

"Who's apologizing first? I did it the last time," Phoebe spoke up.

"You did not, when was the last fight we had?" James asked.

"I think it was when we couldn't decide on a birthday cake for you. Between bunnies and llamas, it was our worst fight to date."

"Until today,"

"Until today," they agreed.

They sat in another uncomfortable silence. Only the sound of James picking the salt of her pretzel was heard. It wasn't until a loud group of teenagers walked past the car, going into the mall, that either of them spoke again.

"I have to make the varsity team, I can't say why I want to play LaCrosse so badly. Can you just believe me that it's something that I desperately want?" She asked and James nodded along, silent as she ate the pretzel.

"If that's the case, I get to go out for cheerleading."

With a grumble and a few more minutes of silence from Phoebe, she finally turned to look at James in the driver's seat.

"Fine, but if I get one inkling that they're being mean to you, or if they let you on the team as a joke or anything like that, I will raise hell and that should be my right as your best friend." She made her terms and James couldn't help the small smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

"If that's the case, if you get one major injury, I get to yell at you without anything coming out of your mouth. Your mother included." James made her terms as she tore off another piece of pretzel.

"That sounds fair, I don't plan on getting any major injuries, so we'll have to set it at broken bones or worse," Phoebe told her, and James just rolled her eyes.

"Deal," she spoke through a mouth filled with soft pretzel. "I can't wait to tell your mom."

The sound of the car starting scared a passerby when Phoebe looked over at the mall entrance she nearly ducked away.

"What's going on? Why are you so slumped over?" James asked as she pulled away from the parking lot. Not being able to look where she was, James was keeping her eyes on the pedestrians crossing in front of her.

"It's stupid Amelia Manning. Why does she have to shop at the same mall as us?" Phoebe complained, and James snorted.

"Because it's the only mall in town and school starts on Monday. She's allowed to shop for stuff just like us." James reminded her as she started pulling out of the parking spot.

"Yeah, but why on the same day, I can't stand her. How can you be so indifferent?" Phoebe asked with anger laced in her words.

"Maybe because it wasn't me she humiliated in front of the whole school in sixth grade? It's been so long, why not makeup with her? Or better yet, ignore her!" Phoebe rolled her eyes and crossed her arms with a huff.

Phoebe held her breath when James slowed the car down to let Amelia pass in front. With Phoebe's luck, Amelia didn't look in the car. Letting out a stuffed breath, Phoebe slowly sat up fully as she watched Amelia crossed the parking lot by herself.

"I am not talking to her, if I don't see her all year, it will be too soon. She's the one with a stick up her butt. She's the one that started all of this! And you're my best friend, you're supposed to hate her too!" Phoebe grumbled at James who just laughed.

"I don't hate anyone, hate gives you wrinkles, and I just got the right foundation, I'm not about to mess that up. Besides, I don't hate her. Sure, I hate what she did to you and I have your back at any given moment, you know that, but it is not in me to hate." James informed her, and Phoebe just sat back in the seat with her eyes on the road. It was definitely in her to hate. And she hated Amelia Manning.