Whiskers

Sitting in class, we were playing our new favourite game: lecturer bingo. Or specifically, Fred Bingo. This particular lecturer was one of the fun kind who only worked at a university to do research, and hated all student-related work that was pushed onto them. Considering we'd worked out that he'd plagiarised the entire course from one of our standard textbooks, it wasn't exactly inspiring us to stay interested for the full two hour double lecture.

The only redeeming feature of Fred was that his lectures mainly consisted of him repeating certain 'stock phrases': "one shoe fits all", "all the nitty gritty", and our particular favourite, "BOOM!". One of my friends, Ethan, had started up a bingo game amongst our group, each of us choosing a phrase and counting how many times Fred said it. Bonus points if he used two of them together in a combo, and even better if you asked him a question that he answered with a stock phrase.

Still, even with Fred Bingo keeping us occupied, it couldn't detract from the sheer dullness of his voice and the topic at hand. I already knew that I wanted a job in the energy sector, and the finer points of solids separation in hydrocyclones weren't going to do me much use there. Bob seemed to feel the same way, as he started poking my wrist with his pen. Audibly sighing, I ignored him as he started drawing on the back of my hand and checked the family Whatsapp. Mum had sent me a daily picture of Inka, our border collie, fast asleep under a tree in the garden. Grinning to myself, I messaged her back one-handed asking her to give Inka a cuddle from me. Although I really loved university and the freedom it gave compared to growing up completely isolated in the country, there was always a part of me missing my dog, even more so than the rest of my family. I'd justified it to mum as that I had plenty of other people to talk to, which just made the lack of a furry friend to stroke in the evenings even more conspicuous.

The sudden increase in volume alerted me to the fact that Fred had disappeared for our halfway five minute break - although with Fred's special dedication to our education, it was likely to be more like fifteen. Not that I was complaining! I turned back to see what horrors Bob had drawn on my hand, fully expecting to see some form of male genitalia. I loved my guy friends, but they were seriously predictable at times.

"What... what even is that?" I squinted at my hand, completely confused at the blue mess he'd created. Well, it wasn't a penis. Bob put the pen down and grinned broadly.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Um... no. It really isn't." I twisted my hand, trying to see it at the angle he'd been drawing it from. "Wait... oh no. You haven't... is that a hairy foot?!"

Bob snorted and crumpled over laughing whilst I stared at him in mock horror. I'd made the mistake of walking to uni with both Dave and Bob the previous week, which had mainly involved them repeatedly making hobbit jokes about me (due to the fact that my home county was generally referred to as 'the shire' by locals). It had culminated in Bob asking Dave if my feet really were as hairy as legends told, with them both now trying to convince me to remove my socks around them as often as they could. Have I ever mentioned that my friends are certifiably crazy?

Staring at the (awfully drawn) representation of a hobbit foot on my hand, I failed to mask my sudden fit of giggles. Determined to get my own back, I dived towards Bob's hand with my own pen, but only managed to scratch a few wobbly lines before he was holding me away from him.

"Not fair... That's not how this works!" I struggled against him as he laughed, but as much as my mild feminist hated to admit it, built rugby player was never going to be overcome by tiny Scottish girl, no matter how annoyed.

Sticking out my tongue (I know, mature), I relaxed. "Fine! Have it your way!" As he let me go I leaned down and grabbed my bag, searching through it. I knew it had to be in here somewhere... Bob eyed me suspiciously before Ray asked him a question from his other side. As he turned away, my fingers came into contact with a hard, thin object - yes!

Flicking the lid off, I sat up and drew a long, black and rather permanent stripe down Bob's arm with the marker pen I'd found. He yelped and grabbed his arm, giving me the opportunity to stripe him some more before he realised his mistake. Smirking smugly back at him, I revelled in my victory a bit too long.

Taking me completely by surprise, a hand appeared from behind me and plucked the marker out of my hand. Before I even had the chance to see who it was, my arms were pinned to my side as mystery betrayer held me trapped in my chair. A low laugh behind my head told me all I needed to know - Ethan.

"Uh... Ethan? Could you maybe, you know, let me go?"

"Well, I could... But where would be the fun in that?" As I started protesting that as I'd only got a few stripes in compared to Bob's Middle Earth inspired sketch, a sudden movement to my left caught my eye.

I looked up to see the marker in the last place I wanted it - Bob's hand. My stomach dropped a little in dread - when you wound Bob up he didn't really have many limits, and from his face I could see he was definitely at that point.

"Not the face. Please, anything but the face!" Seeing Bob's eyes light up, I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.

"So Jane... how do you feel about whiskers?"

My eyes widened and I immediately started shaking my head back and forth so he wouldn't have any steady facial surface to write on, with the additional bonus of whacking Ethan behind me with my ponytail. In terms of a defence mechanism it was pretty pathetic though, as Bob quickly reached out and held my face still with his hand. Shoving away the little thrill of excitement at the sensation of his skin on mine, I glared at him.

"You know I've got football training tonight? I can't turn up with whiskers."

"Your point being..." Bob trailed off as he started colouring my nose in black. I started trying to break free again, but he rapped me on my nose.

"Seriously Jane, think about this. Which would you prefer - beautifully drawn whiskers or black scribbles over your face?"

"He's got a decent point there... Plus, keep hitting me with that ponytail and the scissors are getting involved!" Ethan teased me from behind. At least, I hoped he was teasing. My stubborn part wanted to ignore them but my reasonable voice reminded me that at least whiskers would look marginally better than a permanent black scribble over my face - not to mention, Ethan's hairdressing skills were probably the stuff of nightmares. Accepting my bewhiskered fate, I looked behind Bob to meet Ray's eyes. Whilst he was trying not to laugh, he was also shaking his head at me slowly. Closing my eyes, I screamed at myself silently. Whatever this was, it definitely wasn't backing off.

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As predicted, I was the centre of entertainment at football training that evening. However, after a brief explanation of how my friends had amused themselves at my expense, the whiskers seemed to lose their novelty and we quickly settled down to training. Unluckily for me, my goalkeeper coach couldn't make training this week so we keepers had to join in with the normal training plan - which today, was circuit training.

Now, there was a reason I became a keeper. Well, the original reason was that my dad became coach of the primary school team, and because I kept kicking the people instead of the ball (demonstrating my excellent co-ordination skills even at such an early age), I got put into goals. Since then it had grown on me - sure, it mainly involved people kicking a hard, painful ball as powerfully as they could at you, but once you lost the fear of being hit it was actually good fun. You had an unparalleled view of the field, and it gave you the perfect opportunity to direct your team and spot any potentially unnoticed plays from your opponent. And, of course, you didn't have to run.

Ninety horrendous minutes later, I was collapsed on the astroturf slowly pulling my football boots off and dreading the cycle home. As I was trying to figure out if the jelly that had replaced my legs would survive even getting on my bike, our head coach called everyone round.

"So, as you girls know, we don't have a league match so I've set up a mid-week friendly. Jane, are you available to play as keeper?"

"Yes! Definitely!" I virtually bounced up beaming, whiskers and leg fatigue forgotten. I hadn't had a chance to play at all yet this season, and I was desperate to show our coach that I was good enough to be picked. This would be my chance!