Chapter Text
“You have the coordination of a baby giraffe with hamster balls for legs”
“You sure are cocky for someone who missed every single shot last game”
“That’s probably because some feral scot threw a pencil at me during math class and I had to wear an eyepatch for a week”
“Just shut up and stop bouncing the ball in the one spot”
In hindsight, Collins was asking for it, was asking Philippe to reply with a crossover dribble and a burst of speed that would make Lebron James cry, but Collins reckons the slam dunk was a bit overkill. Bit tacky. He definitely wasn’t just feeling bratty because he’d been dethroned by the new kid.
They were the only ones on the court, for shitty England it was surprisingly hot today, and with their sports hall currently in use by the volleyball team, the basketballers had been left with the blue spray-painted concrete of the outside court, the rest of their team had decided this wasn’t it chief, and had pissed off to study or be literally anywhere else. Except for Peter and George- but they didn’t play basketball and were instead laying out on their backs next to the sports shed passing a blunt between themselves and staring directly into the sky.
Collins and Philippe’s thin cotton button-ups stuck to them all over, their ties left draped over their bags as they played, they would’ve thrown their shirts off by now if the uniform policy wouldn’t rip them a new arsehole for it, the missing ties would be enough to set off most passing teachers, let alone if they had their shirts off.
“I can see your disgusting pale skin through your shirt from here, you need some sun, Scotty” Philippe called as he dribbled circles around the blond, Collins might’ve tried to take the ball back to shut his trap, but he was understandably feeling a bit defeated after Philippe had practically wiped the floors with him all break.
“You’re from fucking France, as if you’re any better- I’ll tolerate bathing in my own sweat all day if it means there are no school showers to risk seeing your pasty arse” Collins huffed, making a run at the cackling boy only to almost fall on his face when Philippe’s utilizes a goddamn wraparound to dodge him.
“I’m from Nice, toi idiot, one of the sunniest places in France, I would see more sun in one afternoon then you’ve seen in your whole life- I’m surprised you even know what the sun is- and that you don’t say ‘oh shit, what’s that big shiny yellow thing in the sky’ every time a cloud parts for five seconds” the dark-haired boy laughs, trotting down the court and sinking another goal, the sound of his laughter enough to rouse Peter into looking up a moment before resting back to stare at the for once clear sky again.
By the time the bell rung Collins was about ready to collapse, Philippe was having a great time though, fucking twat, and decided to look shocked when Collins rejected his handshake with a scowl, Philippe scolding him about poor sportsmanship before calling out to the two other boys still laid out on the grass. They’d get up eventually, and luckily the teachers would care more about George’s black socks than they would about the reek of weed.
“You need to smarten up before Thursday, Collins- we’re going to be versing a team that might be able to hold its own, asked the coach this morning, apparently the new captain really whipped them into shape” Collins rolled his eyes as they swung their bags over their shoulders, ties making their way back under their collars and around their necks as slowly as possible as they trekked up the hill towards the heart of the school. Their next class was in the hottest block in the whole damned school- with two fans about as small as a plug-in desk fan and as reliable as a pathological liar, the day was not about to get any better.
“I’ll be fine- was just hot today is all, I’m still the second best in the team, should be Guthrie and Vernel you hassle, they still refuse to tie their laces half the time- fuckin Alex got them to think they’ll start a trend”
“Fucking Alex- has he worked off all the detentions he got for selling pot brownies at that big game against that North’s team?”
Collins laughed “nope, but he also didn’t snitch out Peter for making them, so I guess he’s not a total dickhead- maybe just a dodgy entrepreneur” they shared a doubtful look before breaking back into giggles, their court drama forgotten before their shirts even had time to dry.
In business and legal, Collins became even more frustrated than he had been trying to one on one Philippe, he swore his brain was melting out of his ears- he might’ve chanced asking George for a small edible before class if he wasn’t scared shitless of their school spontaneously drug testing them… in the middle of a class… without prompt. He was a bit paranoid, okay?
When their teacher made the rounds around the classroom, eyes flickering over laptop screens and notebooks to catch out any slackers- of which there were many, she paused in front of George’s desk- sans Peter, who was stuck in the middle of English extension in the next block. Any genius would’ve picked up immediately on the illicit smell permeating the back corner of the class where George sat- but instead, she raised a brow and used all 5 years of her teacher’s education course at uni to send George to the office for a uniform slip. For yes, his black socks.
“I’m pretty sure he could roll one up and smoke it and this teacher wouldn’t care so long as he had white socks, black shoes and his tie on” Collins mumbled, tapping his pen to the backs of his knuckles, Philippe visibly squirming beside him, he hated that noise and Collins took great joy in pretending not to notice his discomfort.
“I’m pretty sure he has” Philippe exhaled, rubbing his hands up over his face, pausing over his ears and glaring at the blond’s knuckles.
George came back roughly ten minutes later from his minute and a half walk to and from the office, and the teacher hardly acknowledged him as he trudged back up to his corner, collapsing into his chair before quite happily dropping his head on his desk and falling asleep.
It took Collins and Philippe’s combined efforts to wake him for short break, the teacher glaring at them from the front of the room as they shook the brunet awake, and even then, they had to bag his notebook and pencil case for him before dragging him out.
“You ever think of going clean George? Even Peter slows down during assessment weeks” Collins asked, as they reach their bench by the tuckshop, year 7’s screaming as they chased each other and complained about their boyfriends pairing up with another girl in science class, the year 10’s counting the days till they could legally drop out blasting music from a speaker hidden in a bag at another bench. The joys of public school.
George hadn’t responded, but he’d livened up a bit- probably thanks to the aforementioned blasting music and screaming 12-year olds. Collins rolled his eyes, rifling into his pockets to see if he’d left any coins in there from another day that had survived the wash and his ‘finders keepers’ mother who always dove into pockets before she washed them for that fact alone.
Spoiler alert; there were no coins, and he was left to the lunch he’d packed this morning that had sat in his lunchbox all day in the sweltering heat, the cold brick fighting valiantly to keep the sandwich and miscellaneous snacks and fruit cool but suffering all the same. It also didn’t help that Peter came over at that exact moment, brandishing two Calippo’s and claiming a quick kiss that likely tasted foully of poorly baked pot brownies and cheap weed as payment before handing one to George.
“That could be us but you playing” Philippe commented, elbowing Collins who was moodily eyeing off the iceblock and considering how much of a chance he’d stand in a fight with the two lovebirds.
“I’d make out with Alex’s hairless cat before I’d date you, and not even his nice hairless cat- I’d make out with his hairless cat that rolls in it’s litter tray and growls at you when you give it treats” Collins grumbles, trying to find solace in his water bottle- which he’d frozen the previous night and chewed on the bore of his bottle for a few seconds. It still wasn’t a goddamn Calippo but it was the closest he’d get.
“Collins, if we beat the team on Thursday, I promise I’ll buy you a Calippo” Philippe suggested, holding a hand out, and you bet your arse Collins shook it.
They were going to smash that team, new fucking captain or not.