Crossed Out by Kim Baccellia

Author:Kim Baccellia [Baccellia, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lachesis Publishing

Chapter 17

Cura and I walked to our first class in silence. In between snaps of her bubble gum, she glanced over, waiting for me to break down and reveal what’d happened with Dylan. But I refused to open up, afraid of unleashing tears. I looked away, fighting back the painful ache in my heart. Why was he being such a butt?

The parking lot was now crowded with students and cars. Loud music blared from other cars, hip-hop tunes drowning out the pop songs. I kind of liked the beat. For a moment, it made me forget the mess that my life had become.

Cura stopped me at a vacant parking space next to the P.E. building – far enough away from the crowds but still close enough to class.

“You really shouldn’t let Hilabitch get to you. No way Dylan likes her.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Okay,” Cura said. “Are you going to tell me or what?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go there.” I pulled away. “Let’s just get to class, okay?”

Cura stormed over to me, blocking my path. She put both of her hands on her hips, her black Kohl-lined eyes scrunched together into one mad line. In her Eagle Outlet mini-skirt, denim jacket, and boots, she was the picture of one fashionable, but upset friend.

So much for not mentioning the scene with Dylan. I should have known better. Silence and gossip didn’t go together. Well, not in Cura’s eyes.

“What’s the 411 on you two? Jeez, you’d think Dylan was mad or something.”

“You’d think?”

“Okay.” Cura took a deep breath. “What bit you on the butt?”

“Like I said before, nothing. End of subject. Talk about something else. What did you do Saturday?”

A dreamy smile flashed across Cura’s face. So much for worrying about me.

“You just missed the best part of the dance. Lots of cute guys showed up. Hey, what was so important that you couldn’t come?”

“I was doing a service project.”

“Oh, you mean something to help Ricky with his Peace Corps work in the Philippines? Cool.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” An image of my furious mother – confronting me in the garage about my obsession with decorating crosses – flashed through my mind. Inwardly, I cringed. Well, I wasn’t exactly lying. She did have a letter from Ricky in her hand, while she ragged on me about desecrating yet another cross.

We raced up the stairs, barely missing a guy on his skateboard.

As usual, the hallway was packed. Kids were glued to their lockers, discussing their weekends or text messaging.

“Omigod!” Cura yanked me aside. “Check out who’s by your locker.”

“What?”

“Forget about jerky Dylan. It looks like Mr. Gorgeous is awaiting your presence.”

“What are you...?”

My feet stopped moving. The guy of my latest daydreams, Mark, was leaning up against my locker. He looked amazingly hot. An open, black leather bomber jacket revealed a tight white t-shirt. His slim body screamed for attention. Around his neck hung a small silver cross attached to a leather cord.

Strong vibes radiated off that cross. It beckoned me closer.

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