The Saving Bailey Trilogy 1: The Bullet List

Chapter 3

 

                                                                            Chapter 3

        After pushing my way through the crammed hallway, I enter the gym. The sickly sweet smell of cheap perfume scarcely covers the odor of sweat that pervades the girls’ locker room. I change into my gym shorts and t-shirt as quickly as I can to avoid coming into contact with Miemah and Cecil. My dream has not faded completely; it has only taken a few steps back.

         I struggle to tie the laces of my sneakers; the dangling bandages on my hands keep getting in the way. The locker room doors are thrown open and Miemah with Cecil march in. My heart stops. I needed to be faster in order to dodge them; now I am sitting duck, trying to tie my shoes with sweaty, shaking hands.

         “Should we confront her now?” I hear Cecil ask Miemah.

         “No we’re already late,” Miemah says. Then in a louder voice, “We’ll deal with the little trash-talking whore later.”

         I dumbly look around to see if they could be talking about someone else.

         “Gross, she’s looking at me!” Cecil scoffs.

         Miemah is too busy with primping her hair to take notice of the statement. I thank my lucky stars for that one and slink past them.

         The boys have all made it out of their locker room already and are leaning against the wall, looking bored. Mrs. Stewart, the gym teacher, is tapping her pen against her clipboard, running out of patience with Miemah and Cecil, who are still in the locker room prepping.

         “Bailey, can you go get them?” she asks, pointing her pen at me.

         “What me? Why me? I can’t,” I stammer. Fear pumps through my veins.

         “Are you giving me an attitude?” Mrs. Stewart asks me.

         “N-no,” I say. “They don’t like me.”

         She makes a whistling noise with her lips and rocks on her heels before finally saying, “Okay, Nessa you go get them.”

         A girl with curly blonde hair and bright green eyes hops forward and skips off to the lockers; she is also a minion of Miemah’s. She returns with Miemah and Cecil, their arms locked in an alliance. Mrs. Stewart gives them a nasty look, but only for a moment. She must be frightened of them too.

         “We’re going to be running the mile today,” Mrs. Stewart informs us.

         Everybody moans in protest. I would normally be thrilled to run the mile, but today it is a sort of curse with my feet being sliced up as they are.

         “Get to it,” Mrs. Stewart says, and claps her hands for motivation.

         We lazily step out of the gym door and into the fresh air. A rubber quarter-mile track encircles a spongy football field of grass. We line up on the track, and Mrs. Stewart starts her stopwatch. “Go now,” she says.

         I break into a run and immediately take the lead. The wind blowing through my long jet-black hair is rejuvenating, but it can’t make up for the excruciating pain in my feet. I halt as it becomes insufferable. Mrs. Stewart makes her way over to me, curious as to why I have suddenly stopped.