Loving Kinnick (Rewritten)

A Murderous Clown

My morning started off with the sun casting down on the brightest pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen. The seven o'clock star warmed my body but not the way Kinnick's smile did. He illuminated a different kind of warmth that promised reassurance and safety. When he walked into our studies with a paper bag in his hand, I was fully aware of what it held inside.

Now we are laughing over blueberry muffins and energy-infused smoothies when we should have been studying for next hour's test. Kinnick assured me he wasn't worried about it. He said he knew without a doubt that I would pass mine, and as long as he chose the spot next to me, he would too.

With every moment I spent with the boxer, I learned more about him. I knew he would pass his test without copying off of mine. He just loved to tease me and joke around whenever he found a chance to. He was more intelligent than people, including himself, gave him credit for. Chrissy said he got in on a full-ride scholarship. Despite his attendance record, his high school couldn't deny his academic capabilities.

When he opened his textbooks, I saw the highlighted passages and sticky notes sticking up from the pages of his novels. Kinnick appeared as the type to not care. Well, at least that is how he tried to present himself. To people who paid attention to him, they knew that wasn't true at all.

I spent days watching him read the same book, wondering what the words were saying that had him so intrigued. He read with so much passion that you'd want nothing more than to be the pages his fingers caressed and the words he looked over with such heavy eyes.

If he were to open my cover, would he read without letting the synopsis decide if I was worthy of his time? Or would he look over the summary and judge me based on the short paragraph before him without giving me a chance to explain why I am the way I am?

Perhaps I could be his escape from the world. He would spread my pages and find comfort in the middle. Maybe he wouldn't. If not, I'll sit on the shelf and wait for the next curious finger to caress my binding until I trust them enough to open up. My story isn't a bestseller, but that doesn't mean it isn't worth reading.

"What book are you reading?" I tried to peer over the desk.

He held up the large novel, revealing the cover of an all too familiar book. "It."

I knew by the front cover mended by clear tape that it was my copy. "When did you take it?"

"You've had to read this book over and over," he pointed at the worn spine. "I am guessing you mark off every time you finish it, yeah?"

I do. Certain books are filled with tally marks - I made the mistake of drawing them large the first time, but I've learned to draw them small. The It book had fifteen lines sketched into the backside of the front cover. I wasn't sure why I was so drawn to the story other than the fact it was the last book my mom bought me before she died.

"It's the last thing my mom bought me," I admit. "So as morbid it is for me to feel close to her when I read a novel about a murderous clown, I do, and I can't help it. It's also the only book from her that's signed, love mom."

"Why is that?"

I tuck a curl behind my ear. "Her and I went to see the movie when it hit theaters. I was so determined to read the novel afterward, and we couldn't find it. I mean, it was one in the morning, and she was driving me around town to find it. She made it her mission to get it for me, and she did."

"Did your mom like to read?"

"Like to? My dad said she never loved anything more than reading until she had me. He said there were times she'd come home with boxes full of books, but they couldn't find a home for them. They'd fight for hours because he'd come after work, and she would be assembling a new bookshelf."

"Do you still have her books?"

"Absolutely."

"We will have to read through them sometime," he suggested.

I tucked a curl behind my ear. "Why are you so interested in being around me?"

"I could ask the same thing."

"Well, you seem to hate everybody, why not me?"

"Why wouldn't I hate everyone?" He cocked his head to the side.

He nodded towards the group of students starting at us instead of their homework. Their eyes were piercing and judgmental. If they had something to say, they didn't. I wasn't sure if they were afraid of confrontation or Kinnick. Either way, they stared until we did. Then their gazes dropped to their papers as if they had been doing that the whole time.

I couldn't help but notice their whispering. Aside from them saying his name repeatedly, I wanted to believe they wouldn't be as rude as they are portraying. Yet, they are.

"Don't you have something better to do?"

I snapped with anger in my heart. I immediately felt the shaking of my hands. I'm not one to call somebody out because it's not my business, or I'm afraid, but at the moment, it felt right. I'm sure Kinnick can stick up for himself, but for whatever reason he has, he didn't.

"Did you say something?" A boy from the table leaned forward.

"Bo," Kinnick grabbed my shoulder, warning me.

"Yeah," I shrugged him off. "Do you not have anything better to do than judge someone?"

"Mind your own business."

"Make me," I retorted, feeling ballsy, but my tail is in between my legs.

I didn't want him to make me. It is just that phrase sounded good at the moment. I thought he would turn back to his friends and ignore me, but he didn't. He stood from his seat to approach me until Kinnick pushed away from his. I watched the boy coward from Kinnick.

I turned to look at the tattooed boy behind me, letting him know I could handle this because a certain someone taught me killer self-defense skills. Kinnick shot me an amused look. He knew me better than I wish he did.

"I wanted to get into my first fight, so I could feel the whole experience of being a boxer."

He nodded, brushing his chin. "You were intimidating. I mean, I was shaking."

"Really?"

"No," his lips move in a thin smile. "We will work on it, though."

"I could have handled it," I lie, sucking in a deep breath.

"I know," he wrinkles his nose. "I won't let you, though."