My Second kiss

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The next day at school was uneventful, as was the day after that, and the day after that. Nina waved at me from her new group of friends for the first week or so of school, but eventually the wave became a head nod, and even that eventually disappeared. The deterioration of our friendship was two-sided, though. I made as much of an effort to keep it going as she did.

I usually crossed paths with Clarissa about twice a week. She was locker partners with a girl who wore black fingernail polish and baggy pants.

Eventually Clarissa started to look just like her and the three other girls they hung out with. By mid-October we could pass each other in the hall without even realizing it.

Going through a whole day of school barely talking to anyone wasn't a big deal anymore. In fact, it happened more often than not.

For the first few months of school I avoided going to my locker as much as possible. I decided that the only thing that could make it more impossible for me to make friends was to be seen hanging out in the eighth-grade hall.

Unfortunately, I had a massive science project due in third period, and unless I wanted to lug it around with me through all my classes, I was going to have to make the voyage to my loser of a locker.

I kept my head down toward the ground the entire time I was in the eighth grade hall. I figured maybe this way no one would notice me and it would be as though I was never there. I had never been to my locker before, so I still had to look at the tiny piece of paper I was given with the locker number and combination.

I peered from the corner of my eye at the lockers until I came to the one that was assigned to me. With my head still down, I hurried to the locker and hastily turned the lock according to my jotted down combination.

I was still staring at the floor and about to open my locker when a familiar pair of shoes appeared no more than a foot away from me. The shoes were white running shoes-Nike brand with gray accents and a green Nike logo on the side. I knew those shoes anywhere. They belonged to Trace Weston.

What in the world was Trace Weston doing in the eighth grade hall? He was one of the most popular guys in school! I slowly peeked up at him from just beneath my eyebrows, and sure enough it was Trace. He was standing at an open locker just two down from mine, unloading his backpack.

It wasn't like this was the first time I had seen him all year. We had second-period German together. But I of course had never said anything to him, not with the way he had rejected me at last year's Valentine's dance. And I was sure he thought I was a total loser and wanted to have nothing to do with me.

I quietly stuffed my project into my locker, hoping-more out of habit than out of real desire-that he would say something to me. But he never did. He zipped up his backpack, threw it over his shoulder, closed the locker, and walked away.

I grew anxious for the holidays. They were something to look forward to, even when everything else in my life was uninteresting.

The four weeks before Christmas dragged on slowly. Yet as much as I wanted Christmas day to arrive, I dreaded its coming. As soon as Christmas was here, it was almost over, and so was the magic.

Christmas morning came too quickly, leaving Bridget sneaking down the stairs at the crack of dawn-even before my parents were awake-to look at her presents. I would never sneak down early. I wanted to prolong that final moment of seeing all the presents magically laid out as long as I possibly could. Bridget never saw anything anyway. My parents were smart enough to not put out the most special, unwrapped gifts until they had woken up, shooed Bridget back up to her room, set up the tree and stockings, and made the final touches.