THE BAD BOY AND THE CHEERLEADER

THE BAD BOY AND THE CHEERLEADER - CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 49: 

CALEB’S  POV: 

CHRISTMAS DAY (two months down, eight to go)

We have about point-two seconds before the guards break up our little rumble.  I feel as if everything goes slow-motion when a fist meets my nose.  At the same time that I’m throwing a hand back to catch my fall, my other hand whips up to cover my nose.  Too late, of course, since the random fist has already done its damage.  That effectively puts me out of the fight, that is until I see Ian take a knee to the gut and force myself back into a standing position. 

I stumble over to where Ian is know getting an elbow to the back, limping because of a mean kick to the leg I received at the beginning of the fight.  Once I reach them, I get behind one of the guys beating Ian and wrap my arm around his neck, putting him in a merciless headlock.  My younger days of watching WWE come in handy as I body slam the guy into the pavement. 

The guards finally show up and break up the mass beat-down going on behind an outbuilding on the far side of the basketball court.  One that I don’t even know for sure who started, but went a long way to relieve some of my pent up frustration.  Basically, it was anything goes for me, with the exception of Ian and our friend, Ricky. 

When the guards round the corner of the small building, yelling for us to stop, I immediately drop to the ground, moaning and pretending to be in more pain than I actually am.  My arms are cradling my head, self-comforting an imaginary injury.  I have a feeling that Ian instigated this battle, so in no way am I taking the blame.  I’m a victim.  Maybe even a hero.  Ricky and I did save Ian from getting beat up by four other guys. 

We’re all hauled into the main building and thrown into individual cells designated for ‘temporary containment of problem inmates’.  I could actually use a little alone time.  Before slamming the steel door shut on me, the guard gives me a stern look and tells me that we’ll be taken in twos to the infirmary for the nurse-practitioner to tend to.  

Going when Ian goes would be great, cause I owe him a slap upside the head.  What’s he thinking getting us into trouble like this?  I’m just trying to bide my time until I get the hell out of this place.  At the same time that fighting was an outlet for the messed up jumble of my feelings, if I want any chance of getting out of this place any sooner than eight months from now, I need to wear a freaking halo, not a busted up nose. 

Using the sink and toilet paper in the cell, I clean up my face as best as I can, getting off the blood.  I’m definitely claiming self-defense to the warden later.  Once I’m about as fixed up as I’m gonna get without the help of real first-aid supplies, I plop my exhausted self onto the three inch thick mattress covering the metal bed frame and close my eyes. 

This day actually started out kind of pleasant.  My parents showed up this morning for Christmas visitation, which was an extended version of regular visitation.  Mom and Dad were here when they opened the door to families at 8am and didn’t leave until they took us prisoners off to lunch at noon.  They were limited as to what we’re allowed to have in here, but the presents I unwrapped included books, magazines and a quilt from my grandma in Florida.  It had palm trees, coconuts and flamingos on it.  Ian called it my fruity blankie when I brought it to our cell after lunch.  Of course, he was quick enough to snatch the one out of my hands that my grandma and her quilting bee had made for him. 

A Mickey Mouse themed quilt.  No.  Comment.

To be honest, the fact that my family thought of Ian makes me feel better about his whole daddy-don’t-love-me situation.  He acted whatever at breakfast early this morning when all of us were excited to see our families, but I noticed that he paid attention when a guard announced who had family members waiting in the visiting rooms.  When his name wasn’t called, he got real quiet and, as I was being led with most of the others to visitation, I turned back to see him dumping the contents of his tray in the trash and slamming it down on a stack of other used ones.  Even from across the cafeteria, I cringed at the sound of it. 

Still laying there, my cell door clicks open and trained as I am, I get up and walk out to be followed by a guard to the infirmary.  Ricky is taken at the same time as me and I give him a little ‘hey’ nod as I take in his injuries, or lack thereof.  Scrappy little punk doesn’t have a mark or streak of blood on him. Huh, cleanest fighter I’ve ever seen, not even a hole in his shirt.  If I hadn’t seen him in action, I would have thought he’d stayed on the sidelines.

He just grins at my perusal, all smug-like, “Your nose isn’t looking too good, white boy.”  At six-foot-three, and only fifteen years old, Ricky is a big mofo.  No wonder the other guy looks worse than him.

I probe at the tenderness of my nose and shrug, “At least it isn’t broken.  Could be worse, did you see Ian?  He had two guys on him.”

Ricky grimaces, “I hope they took him to get fixed up first.”

We don’t talk the rest of the way there and I think about what a bastard Ian’s dad is.  I have a feeling Ian started the fight with those four guys because of his anger over his dad not showing up to visit him this morning.  Even if it’s expected, it can’t get any easier to accept that your parent doesn’t give a crap about you. 

The nurse-practitioner on duty makes quick work of getting us in and out of there.  Like I said to Ricky, my nose isn’t broken and after asking Ricky a couple questions,  Nathan Brothers N.P. sends him back to his ‘time-out’ cell with a guard. 

I go back to my cell five minutes after Ricky and am told by a guard that I’ll be there till tomorrow when the warden comes back in the morning, since he’s home today for Christmas.  Whatever, at least I’ll get some privacy from Ian and everyone else.  There are certain things a teenage boy likes to do in private.  Maybe I should get in fights more often. 

Of course, I think of Gianna.  Always her.  I can’t even mentally cheat on the girl.

Our dinner is brought to us in what is probably an hour later and I scarf it down, hungry as usual when it comes to mealtimes.  I swear, when I get out of this place, the freedom to eat when I want is going to feel freaking awesome.  My mom brought me one of those big plastic candy canes filled with chocolate candy today and I thought about how I would have laughed at her and rolled my eyes last Christmas.  This Christmas, it was my favorite gift. 

I felt more than a little cheesy when I did it, but I gave my mom and dad each one of my paintings for Christmas.  One was of Ian, in profile, laying on his top bunk, throwing a ball up at the ceiling, the ball was mid-flight, he had both his hands in front and above him, waiting to catch it on its way back down.  The other was of a prison guard yelling down in the face of a scrawny twelve-year-old inmate, while the boy wore a defiant expression, but with obvious fear in his eyes.  Probably should have painted something a little nicer for them.  Like a bowl of fruit or a sunflower. 

My mom hasn’t seen anything that I’ve done in awhile and when her eyes went wide, I felt pride in my work.  She mentioned wanting to show them to the director of the art gallery she works, but I think she has a case of mom goggles.  Everything I do is wonderful, cause I’m her ‘baby’.  Yep, she definitely deserved something nicer.  Like a painting of a puppy or something.  My dad’s never been into the ‘art-thing’, or puppies for that matter, so I knew he could care less.  It was a total ‘it’s the thought that counts’ moment when it came to him. 

I’m glad my mom was happy with her gift.  As long as she keeps the chocolate coming . . .

My dad apologized for not being able to get the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition past the front doors for me, but I told him jokingly to just give it to Chance.  My mom gave me a stern ‘Caleb’ that says everything in just two syllables and we changed the subject.  At least he got some car magazines and graphic novels through security.

My dad said that his divorce from Julie will be finalized in just a couple months.  All I need is for Gianna to cut all ties with her mom too and the life I’ll be going back to will be perfect.  Unfortunately, being a good big sister, she probably won’t for Chance’s sake. 

After dinner, I take advantage of the privacy again . . .

After taking advantage of the privacy again, I start hating the privacy, being alone.  Without Ian’s sarcastic, cynical yapping at night, I’m left to my own thoughts.  Never a good thing when you’re forcibly away from the girl and life you love. 

That first letter from Gianna last month really tore me up.  I even let Ian read it to try and get another opinion.  Was Gianna trying to get me to break up with her because she doesn’t want to be together anymore and feels too guilty to do it herself?  On the bright side, I figured the fact that she gave me her new cell number was a good sign.  On the sucky side, the overall caution and melancholy in her letter didn’t indicate anything good.  Her ‘love you’ is what saved me from complete dejection. 

Ian told me to man-up and not read in-between the lines because that’s always subjective.  He also used the word ‘wuss’ somewhere in his uplifting speech. 

My letter of response was mailed the very next day to her new address.  I told her that I understood why she took so long to write, although secretly my feelings were still hurt.  I conveyed how happy I am that her dad has moved to Denver for her and Chance.  Making sure to avoid the subject of her mom, I went on to assure her that my life is not ruined, although sometimes it does feels as though it is, and told her that nothing that happened was her fault. 

Would have been stupid for me bring up Josh’s name at all, so I left that subject at that.  Trying to keep the letter light, I told her more about being here, told her funny things that happened with Ian or Ricky since the last time I’d written. 

I gave her nothing but encouragement when it came to her going back to the crew when her other cast is finally off.  As much as I’ve always detested Jared, I know that he, Taye and the rest of the guys will watch out for her, make her feel safe.  Getting her mind off what happened couldn’t hurt either. 

Feeling like I was about to cry, I wrote to her that what I want and what I need is her.  Will always be her.  That I didn’t feel like anything had changed between us and when I get home this summer, things will be back the way they were.  Inadequately, I wrote some of the phrases from the psychology books I read.  Phrases that are supposed to make her feel less shameful and help her not dwell on what happened.

I brought up things that happened between us during our short time together.  Good memories.  Hopefully, she laughed when she read the letter.  Trying my best, I attempted to be romantic.  Not easy for a guy like me, but I hope I said what she needed to hear.  Telling her that my love won’t die and that we’ll be together and happy again seemed like the best way to close the letter.

As soon as the envelope was licked and addressed, I punched the nearest wall, tearing up my knuckles.

My first phone call to her new cell number was also made that same day a month ago.  The time allotted to me to use the phone is early in the day, so I was bummed out that I could only leave a message.  I rambled on as long as I could on her voicemail, using that short amount of time, before time ran out, to the fullest.  Everyday for the rest of the week, I did the same thing. 

Saturday finally came and my throat felt tight at the sound of Gianna’s “Hello”.

I’ve had the chance to talk to her now for the past several Saturdays, same time.  Sucks that she’s in class during my phone time during the weekdays, but I don’t want to ask her to cut class in order to talk to me.  Everything in her life should be calm and pleasant right now.  Getting in trouble for missing second period would be anything but pleasant.  It’s weird, but I don’t even think I’ve ever thought the word pleasant before all this happened.  But, that’s what I want for her, words like pleasant, happy, harmonious, comforting.  Hell, that’s what I want for me.  Just with a few naughty words thrown in there. 

Those way-too-few phone conversations did little to alleviate the frustration I’ve been feeling about our relationship.  While I try to pretend that nothing has changed, it’s obvious that Gianna is distancing herself emotionally.  Gritting my teeth, I sometimes barely keep myself from lashing out at her.  It’s not that she doesn’t say ‘I love you’ back, because she does.  It’s the fact that she acts more like a friend over the phone than a girlfriend.  And I want my god damn girlfriend back. 

She’s promised to visit me soon, once she’s cleared to drive again.  I don’t mention that she could always get a ride from Dante or Cece.  I’m sure even her dad would bring her here if she asked.  The guy’s probably still giving her whatever she wants after what happened to her.  I know that I’d feel all sorts of misplaced guilt in his situation. 

At the end of each call, I give her the number of days until we’ll be together again.  I live for that countdown.  The updated number of days left is the first thing I think of when I wake up each morning. 

After a long time laying in the dark cell, I finally fall asleep. 

They escort us to breakfast in the cafeteria the next morning and straight to the warden when the last of us is finished eating.  A long lecture and threats of the ‘incident’ being on our permanent record is followed by us being escorted to the computer labs.  I throw myself into my online classes, making sure to use my phone time halfway through to call my mom and leave a message on Gianna’s voicemail, just letting her know that I’m thinking about her. 

When I talk to her on Saturdays, I try really hard not to be angry with her.  I know she can’t help the way she’s feeling.  Hell, maybe the time apart is what she actually needs.  Selflessness doesn’t exactly come easy for me either, but I’m trying.  If I were with her right now, I’d be as protective and understanding of her as possible, but eventually I’d enact a little tough love.  Force her out of her funk. 

In Art class, I start a new painting.  This one is going to be of Gianna laughing.  If I can’t make the real Gianna laugh anymore, at least I can capture on a canvas a memory of her before.  There isn’t enough time to come even close to finishing when the hour is up, I’ve only finished the sketching, but Ms. Singh has gotten the administration to let me come in on my free time on the weekends to work on my paintings.  She argued with them that it was better than me doing brainless activities like watching television.  Hey, whatever works. 

Sometimes Ian sits in here with me either yapping or sculpting inappropriate things out of clay.  Once my brushes are clean and I’ve stored my unfinished piece, I quickly chat with Ms. Singh and give her a ‘see you later’.

As payback for getting us in trouble yesterday, I trip Ian while passing him in the hallway.  The guards aren’t paying attention, so he retaliates by kicking me hard in the ass as I walk away.  It is so on in our cell tonight.  Letting out a little more frustration physically sounds like a plan. 

The next day during my phone time, on an impulse, I call Hailey.  Being the girl version of me, she’s obviously skipping school and answers after I’m forced to listen to the crappy Paramore song that’s her call tone for a whole eight seconds.  Eight seconds of my life I’ll never get back. 

She answers with a wary, “Hello?” Obviously not recognizing the Pueblo area code.

“Is this 1-800-YOU-SLUT?” I ask seriously.

“No, it’s 1-800-KICK-ASS,” Then, “Oh my god, Caleb!  I can’t believe you’re calling.  I heard they locked your ass up.  Good riddance was my first thought.”

“Still mad at me?”

“Yes, still mad at me?”

“Yes.”  Doesn’t matter that I don’t like the skanky player anymore, I’m bored out of my mind.  “Tell me what you’ve been doing.  I know you got some good stories for me.”  Yes, Hailey is a frenemy now, I am getting so used to using that word now, but she’s an entertaining frenemy.  Entertaining in the most scandalous ways. 

By the time a guard taps my shoulder telling me that my time is up, I’m laughing my head off at her antics.  She better watch it or she’ll end up in the girl version of this place. 

I don’t have time to make another call to Gianna’s voicemail today, but I do realize that maybe, like her, feeling like my old self would be a good goal to have. 

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