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  • I try to defend my team’s goal. Felicity is trying to shoot the ball into the hoop above my head. She is three inches taller than me. Skinny with long arms and legs and strangely large hands that easily grip the netball.
    She jumps up and I jump too arching my arm over the top of the ball to stop its trajectory. Felicity unabashed, weaves her body from side to side, trying to get past me.

    I try and block her again and again. She is desperate to win a goal. She is more desperate than me.

    For God’s sake what is so important about a ball falling through a hoop, I think. She is so competitive. Its not like we are from different schools. This is just a practice between two teams from year six.

    I fight the desire to just allow her to get her goal. I could just feign a fall.
    I have no strong desire to succeed. My competitiveness is like a slate wiped clean of chalk.

    I am in awe of her determination. She wants to be a nurse. She is so sure of her ambition. At this moment in time her whole being is directed at one purpose to shoot the ball through the hoop.

    "I’ll shock everyone and just walk away," I thought; “that would cause a stir!”

    Leap and twist.
    Leap and twist.

    Shit, its only a game. A game with so many rules they have to be drilled into our heads at the start of every game by our games teacher.

    I have a deep desire to break the rules. It would be a delicious delight to see my teams’ faces as I step sideways, bow and say the hoop is all yours. Miss Delaware would go red in the face and ban me from the class. In my dreams. No I would just get a telling off and told to sit and watch.
    My class mates will be even more estranged from me.
    Why are there rules? Aren’t rules there to break just like prisoners of war are meant to escape?

    I can see Miss Delaware’s admiration for Felicity’s tenacity growing stronger. I wonder what she would think of her if she saw her in the party last night, snogging with a boy she had just met and allowing his hands to creep up her skirt. Yes we not all as we seem.

    I leap throwing my weight forward she sidesteps, I miss and fall grazing my knee.
    “Goal!” cries Felicity.
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