Lola is Just Like Me

Chapter 01

 I looked out from behind Lola's eyes as Trevor's blood dripped from his nose. He was shocked for a moment, and his eyes were wide. The quick breeze of September washed through the walkway at the front of the school. As I felt Lola back away, my eyes flitted to the boy's hands. They twitched nervously a time or two. I felt his eyes searching me with Whys. He surprised me when he didn't cry after the first few seconds. His hands swiped at the blood on his mouth; his eyes flooded as the pain sank in. The wind blew his messy hair from his eyes, taking tears with it. I wanted to apologize, but I was afraid of him. His tears, the way he looked at me. He made my soul shiver and turn away from the show of emotion.

Lola was silent, but I could sense her fading hatred. My young heart took some pity on the boy before me and his lost pride. If I didn't have Lola, I might have accepted his offer, just to please him and keep him from crying. But that really didn't matter. I did have Lola, and she kept me from making those choices.

I felt her body block the breeze. I looked over at her with a flat expression, analyzed her face. She was steaming off, loosening her fists one muscle at a time in the slow progression of things. Somewhere behind me, the school bell rang; a sensitive child started crying. We were not alone out there. I could hear the boy's cries, now. It sickened me somewhere at my core, and I felt tainted. With a shiver, I wiped the boy's blood from my knuckles, forgot it on the millefleurs pattern of my childish dress.

Lola's body set into motion like an old tree in the autumn chill. Her gaze touched mine and ran, skidding to a halt on the approaching teacher. In a moment, I felt the wiry hand tug me from my place, and the colors of the world came together again. I trotted along behind Mrs. Anderson without protest. As we came upon the school house, I saw Lola leaning against the door, her thick lips pouting with concern.

"Tell them I did it," she said, suddenly guilty. I ignored her. She knew I couldn't say that. Mrs. Anderson pushed the blue door open with a fierce force. The smell of floor wax was fresh in the corridor. My teacher, Mrs. Simmons, was standing outside her classroom, talking to another woman. Lola stood in front of her and called down the hallway at me, "She's going to get us out of it, I bet!" A smile touched the corners of her lips, but her eyes were still full of sick worry.

I absently smiled at Mrs. Simmons. She didn't smile back. She pushed herself off the wall, her brow furrowed in confusion. She was pale and thin and looked nothing like Lola, but at the same time her behavior was reminiscent of my friend. I sensed the protection instinct rising in her chest as she fought cowardice and stepped forward. She was blocking Mrs. Anderson's path, a questioning look on her face. She crossed her arms and tried not to glare at Mrs. Anderson. The hand loosened its grip on my arm, and we slowed to a stop in front of the kinder woman.

"Well," Mrs. Anderson started with a forced sigh, "picked another fight today." She gave my arm a little shake as if to say, "Look at this thing." Lola's fierce gaze crumpled against the woman's ignorance of her, but I noticed it.

"Has she explained herself? I mean..." Mrs. Simmons faltered under her desire to remain calm. "I mean, she's not acting out right now. I don't think you should be handling her that way," she said with a shake of her head. Mrs. Anderson's grip loosened even more, tightening again before she let me go.

"She gave a boy a broken nose," Mrs. Anderson said through her teeth. My teacher's eyes flickered to me, saw the patch of blood on my dress, and returned to the other woman. Lola shifted, a wide smile brightening her face.

"She's going to help us!" she almost shouted at me. Mrs. Simmons took a step forward.

"I'll take her to the office, if you don't mind, Cynthia," Mrs. Simmons said with a change of demeanor. "You could go see to the other boy, ask him what happened." Mrs. Anderson weighed this choice against seeing my punishment and ultimately decided she shouldn't seem too enthusiastic. She nodded and left the hallway. In her absence, Mrs. Simmons looked at me with some sort of muddled emotion very near to pity. She shook her head. "Come on. With me," she said softly, turning and heading further down the corridor. I looked to Lola for direction, and she nodded, hurrying after my teacher. I followed her, dread hitting the bottom of my stomach like a sack of quarters. "Tylar," she sighed, "what happened this time?"

"He wouldn't leave us alone!" Lola barked.

"Trevor was following me," I replied. Mrs. Simmons looked down at me as we walked on. Lola nodded at me with approval.

"He kept asking us things we didn't want to hear," she prompted.

"He was asking me things I didn't wanna hear," I parroted. This had some kind of effect on my teacher. She looked confused, and Lola looked concerned.

"Tell her what when she asks. The truth," Lola rushed out.

"What kind of things?" Mrs. Simmons asked me. I thought for a moment, too long.

"Tell her!" Lola squealed.

"Oh... He said he wanted me to be his girlfriend. I told him no, and he wouldn't leave us alone."

"You said, 'us,'" Lola said, relaxing a bit.

"'Us' who? Were you with someone else?"

"I meant, 'me.'" I blushed as Lola giggled and played with my hair. My teacher nodded, but the concern didn't fade yet.

"That wasn't right of him to keep bothering you, but you can't just hit other kids, Tylar."

"I know, Mrs. Simmons." But Lola didn't know. Or rather she knew, but she chose not to act like it. This was the second fight I'd had in the past four years. Both were Lola's doing, but for reasons unspoken but understood, I could never place the blame where it belonged. Besides, if one of us had to be punished I would have picked myself any day. I thought about this as I followed my teacher to what felt like a second brush with death. Lola was different from me. She was cute and pudgy, a beautiful and shapely little girl that deserved a grandmother to pinch her cheeks; I was thin and lanky and disproportionate, a scarred remnant of things that made everyone feel uncomfortable. Lola could hide from the world and still make an impact on at least one person. She was my only friend, and she always knew how to keep me safe. She protected me in ways I could never protect myself. And she had a temper, emotions she didn't and probably couldn't hide. Yes, we had more differences than I could count. But I felt like Lola was, in her own ways, just like me.