Caleb

Chapter Four - That Night

   CALEB'S POV

Ciera was okay. I had no clue what I was doing. ‘Why did I act like that? Why did I care enough about this girl I never really talked with to save her? What made me do that? I’m glad I did it, because nobody should die that way or that young, but I’m… I’m still confused…’ I was thinking about these questions while I drove home, her blood on the seat my only partner. Something about seeing her get hit snapped me into overdrive, so then I was exhausted. I pulled into my driveway and parked the car, turning it off. All I did for the next three minutes was sit there and think about my day. I’d seen a girl, a girl, not even a woman, get hit by a car. I watched that car speed away.  I biked with that girl tied to me back to the school. I put her in my car and drove. I got pulled over. The officer and I got the girl to the hospital. We—no, I saved her. I saved a life. Why do I feel conflicted about it?

Later that night, lying in bed, I was thinking about our conversation in the hospital. I had kept it short and simple. ‘Nothing is going to change.’ I decided. ‘I’ll go to school, she’ll heal, and nothing will change.’ There was a part of me that really wanted to believe that those thoughts were true, but I knew they weren’t. I knew things were going to have to change. People were going to ask how I did it, or why, and I wouldn’t have the answers. Maybe Ciera would even ask. She deserved an answer, but there was nothing I could console her with. I’d just had to trust that I’d known what to tell her if she did end up asking.  Yawning, I told myself it was time to sleep. I reached across my pillows and clicked out my lamp light, surrounding myself in complete, comfortable darkness.

When my alarm woke me the next morning, I had the worst headache. I unplugged the clock, planning to spend the day at home anyway. I didn’t have a football game for another week, so I figured I could take some time for myself. I had called my mother the night before and explained why I was going to be so late and what my day had been like. I figured she would just let me stay home today. I rolled over, pulling my blankets over my head and falling back asleep.

My dream was vivid. Ciera was dancing, laughing because everybody laughs when we do the dancing course in gym. It was a memory of the first time I’d ever seen her, when she moved to my school three years ago. I held out my hand for her, like we were supposed to, and she took it. Her hand was so soft, so small. It fit inside mine like my hand was a glove for hers. I twirled with her in circles, smiling softly to myself. When Mrs. Mackay, our middle school gym teacher, told us to listen to her I turned toward her. Of course, I didn’t drop Ciera’s hand. It felt right to just keep my hand wrapped around hers. When I turned back to her, she was looking down.

“Ciera?” I asked, tentatively. “That’s your name, right? Ciera?” She looked up at me, her cheeks and ears rosy.

“Yes.” She stated quietly. Her light blue eyes had me at a loss for words for a second.

“Are you okay? You seem upset.” She chuckled a little, seemingly amused.

“I’m fine.” I knew, even then, that when a girl says “I’m fine” she usually isn’t, but it seemed sincere. I was confused, but when our teacher yelled; “BEGIN,” I pulled her close and began to sway side to side. We went out, then went back in and she ducked under my arm and I twirled her once more.

“Are you sure?” She spiraled away from me and her hand slipped from mine, the other taking its place. She rolled into my arms and I took her other hand.

“I’m sure. Today has been good. But nobody—” At this moment, I dipped her back slowly, carefully. I didn’t want to drop her- she seemed way too fragile, as if I handled her the wrong way, if I held her wrong, I would break her. “—Has given me a nickname yet.” She said, her voice straining at first then going back to normal as she moved her head upright and looked at me, her hair shimmering as much as her eyes.

“How about I come up with one?” I didn’t know what I had said until after I said it. I was pretty bad at anything creative.

“Well, alright.” She said, agreeing with me. I thought for a second, then saw her waist length red hair flash before me as she spun around once again. It smelled like cherries.

“What about Cherry?” She thought for a second, her brows furrowed.

“Cherry?” I nodded, pulling her to my chest by her waist with one hand and her hand by another. Her tiny hand rested against my shoulder, the other wrapped up inside mine.

“If you can get it to stick. I like it.” She smiled sweetly at me, and I smiled back. I continued to watch her dance, and laughed when she giggled at me tripping.

When I woke up, I was smiling. I realized that was the first and last real conversation we had. Three years had past, three years of people using the nickname I gave her, and we hadn’t really talked. She’d cut her hair since then, and I had been upset.

“Did you guys see Cherry’s hair?” I asked one day while eating lunch. Slowly everybody stopped eating and looked at me.

“What do you mean?” My friend Mark asked. “She cut it.” I replied quietly, almost whispering. Some of my friends quirked their brows, the other’s jaws dropping slightly.

        “She did? Why do you care?” One of them asked. I didn’t know why I cared it just bothered me. Usually I liked short hair. I liked short hair on my ex, Lucile. After a few moments of awkward silence, the others went back to eating. I’d learned to keep my thoughts about Cherry to myself and because of that I guess I’ve just stopped thinking about her in general. Until now.