A Storm of Stories by K B Jensen

Author:K B Jensen [Jensen, K B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780692660942
Publisher: Crimson Cloud Media LLC.
Published: 2016-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

Love in Heels

I used to beat my friend Billy. Well, I didn’t actually beat him up. I just pretended. Every day after school, I would jump him on his way to the school bus, climb on his back like I was climbing a mountain. I’d kick him in the butt with my tennis shoe. It was juvenile. It was ridiculous. But it was fun. I’d let out a holler and shriek. Usually, he’d dump me onto the ground. I’d laugh and roll, then wipe off the dirt and blades of grass.

Billy was a varsity football player, so he wasn’t easily fazed by violence. He was 6’4 with short black hair and a big stomach. Why I would choose such a large target still astounds me. Maybe because we were old friends since third grade. I could get away with it. I had a fighting nature, a violent side. I was told this was unusual for a girl, but it felt natural to me. When we were younger, I accidentally gave Billy a bloody nose when we were wrestling. I still remember the wounded look in his brown eyes and the way it hurt me down deep in my stomach, almost like I had taken the blow. He had this uncanny ability to forgive me for all my sins.

“It’s all good,” he’d say and smile.

I missed being the same size. Billy had turned into a boat of a guy, soft and squishy and a mile high. Why wasn’t I scared? What was the truth behind all the fake combat? The unprovoked attacks?

Well, obviously I liked Billy. I just didn’t know even while he was tossing me to the ground.

I had this realization one night when I was watching Billy on the football field under the sheen of yellow lights. His helmet was in one hand as he walked down the sideline. I was sitting, shivering on the cold, metal bleachers with my friend, Christina, and she turned to me and said in a rather illuminating fashion, “Man, Billy’s getting kind of fat.”

I hit her against the arm.

“Ouch!” she said, just like a typical girl.

“Don’t call Billy fat,” I said. “He’s just a little squishy.”

“You like him, don’t you?” she said.

I hit her arm again.

“Ouch!” she yelled louder.

I looked down at Billy standing by the bleachers. He had sweat dripping down the rolls on the back of his neck. I can’t remember the score or who they played, but I can tell you the Panthers won because Billy had a big grin spread across his face at the end of the game. He was wearing his letter jacket and sipping water out of a bottle. A black-haired cheerleader gave him a hug. I wish I had dark hair like that instead of red. The hug made me jealous, and I knew he wasn’t going to ask me out based on my behavior. I knew I needed to find another outlet, some other way to take out my aggression without physically battering a defenseless football player.

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