The Saving Bailey Trilogy 1: The Bullet List

Chapter 10

                                                                        Chapter 10

Trenton and I exchange numbers before I go to seventh period. I could sit this one out in the janitor’s closet, moping about how Alana and I have ended our friendship, but Shay is here today and I have a feeling that she will be hooking her iPod up for another go. Dancing calms me in a way that no janitor’s closet can.

Clad is fronting a happy face to cheer me up when I sit next to him. I front one too for the same reason.

“You feeling a little better, love?” he asks.

“A little. I talked to the counselor. She says she will handle things, but I don’t know, she seemed a little fake,” I say.

“All counselors come off that way; sometimes us kids build up walls and don’t tell them everything we should, so yeah, they can come off as fake.”

I never considered that. Clad has always been a deep thinker, maybe even a little philosophical. I envy that in him.

“You have a guarded heart. It’s been broken too many times and you’ve put up electric fences and guard dogs,” Clad says.

“How come I never realized you knew so much about me?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You never paid any attention to me. I watched you like a hawk since the day I set eyes on you,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, a little put off by the idea of him stalking me.

“Your eyes.”

“What about ‘em?”

“We were in kindergarten. During nap-time, you had your mat next to mine and you were sleeping.  It must have been the first day, because I hadn’t noticed you before,” Clad tells me. “I was watching you sleep and I reached out to touch your hair, because it was so curly and shiny.” He touches the tips of my hair like we are back in kindergarten.  “I liked shiny things. Anyway, I did and you woke up, and I was blown away by your eyes.  They were so blue and deep. I wanted to be your best friend so I could see them smile at me.”

 “And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” I say sarcastically.

“I know it sounds cheesy, but I was mesmerized,” Clad admits. “Why did you become my friend?”

I blush. “Because you would follow me around on the playground and give me your cookies from lunch. I guess I was more simple-minded back then.”

“You still are,” he says, tousling my hair.

Music seeps out of the large speaker at the front of the room. Shay is dancing – or rather – dubsteping. She looks ridiculous, with her body convulsing to the music.

“That girl just can’t dance,” Clad says.

I agree with him. “Maybe we could teach her,” I say, tugging on his hand. “Come on.”

We flip through the songs on Shay’s iPod until we come across one that suits both our tastes. We start dancing. Mrs. Herrera, though she has just started the class, doesn’t seem to mind.

Like a chain reaction, the joy Clad and I feel when dancing spreads through the class. It is contagious.

 Clad clears a few chairs and a piano from his way, does backflips the length of the room, and break dances. Finally, I can do something better than him. I do twice as many back flips.  As I do, I feel my shirt slipping, threatening to show my cuts and bruises. I don’t mind. I consider them battle scars; they are a part of me and they show how strong I am as a person.