Trace

Chapter 3

~~~Jude~~~

Ellie was more of an angry, runt in middle school. She didn't really blossom, well, ever. She was cute in her own girlish way, don't get me wrong, but she never hit that growth spurt which most girls and boys long for. At least I think. I was in seventh grade with Ellie when we first noticed each other. She was partnered with me for a biology project, something about cells and cilia. I remember very clearly, she had walked into the classroom with one bloody knee and a frizzy braid which fell just past her waist. It was April, still not warm enough for shorts but Ellie wore them nonetheless.

Mrs. Mumkens turned from the projector to see Ellie marching in with purposeful strides. She planted herself beside me and addressed the front board as if nothing were out of place. As if her left knee wasn't colored like a cherry gumball, and her right fist wasn't bruised beyond compare. I gaped at her knee from underneath our desks, wondering how the hell this girl was sitting so still.

"Ellie?"

She looks to Mrs. Mumkens who is no mood for any disruptions.

"Why are you late to class, Ellie?"

She stares back at Mrs. Mumkens without a pause, "My locker was jammed."

Mrs. Mumkens swishes from around the projector, her cheaply dyed platinum hair well beyond redemption. She's dressed in plain, beige trousers with a blouse to match, some sort of snake skin boots on her feet, and she arrives before Ellie with squinted eyes.

"Then why are you bleeding?"

Ellie frowns, but Mrs. Mumkens stands firmly.

"Bleeding?"

"Yes. Profusely. From your knee," She narrows her gaze where Ellie follows to find that indeed, a red stream has steadily oozed past her knee to her ankle from an ugly gash.

"I don't know," Ellie shrugs.

I gape meanwhile, from her small pale face to her obscene injury. She's perfectly calm and there isn't a scratch on her anywhere else. Man, if her locker was jammed, I wonder if this is the way she got it to open.

"Ellie, you're telling me you don't know how you cut your knee?"

"I didn't know it was cut," Ellie replies blankly.

"Go to the nurse," Mrs. Mumkens sighs and then points to me, agitated.

"Help her down the stairs to the office."

I stand up and watch as Ellie has already scraped her seat back and stormed over to the classroom door. She rolls her eyes at me and waits as I quickly gather my books, scrambling after her. She's already ahead of me down the hallway and I follow quietly - she clearly manages on her own. We reach the main stairwell and I shift awkwardly as she pushes open to the musty, yellow staircases.Our middle school has been around since the sixties, not much has changed. Old brown linoleum peels at the corners, but Ellie remains silent as I trek after her. Her knee continues to ooze, and I gulp nervously as I take in her darkening knuckles once more.

"How did you really hurt yourself?"

"I'm not hurt," she snaps back, still watching her step.

I rearrange my books more comfortably in my grip, "You can tell me, I won't share it."

Ellie takes in the last few steps and then turns suddenly, shoving me back with her proximity.

"You tell anyone and I'll kick your ass, got it?"

I laugh at her dominant stance, but stop as I realize she's more than serious. Then, taking her fist and knee into account, something tells me to believe her threat. She relaxes, stepping back once she's satisfied.