Circles

2 ~ Warning

They just don't understand you, James. My mothers words are like a carousel in my head, soft and continuous but occasionally stuttering every time I peel yet another 'kick me,' sign from my back. I sigh, slam my locker shut and rip the note into tiny pieces. Self-esteem, crashing, burning... Stupid teenagers: Spotty and horribly uneducated. I'm a teenager too, but at least I'm not completely lacking in brain cells.

My school really isn't that bad. Just a little screwed up. The people inside aren't so nice, but the school itself is beautifully built - It's an ancient thing, with long, spiralling staircases and stained glass windows like multi-coloured rebel diamonds. A bit like a palace invested with rats. I'll bet anyone a Twix that Mr Architect is simply rolling over in his grave right now. Shaking away my thoughts, I shove my bag into my locker.

Except it won't fit.

I decide that beating it within an inch of its non-existent life might work.

"Stupid thing... go in..." I spit through gritted teeth.

"That's what she said." a voice whispers in my ear. "Boo, Bitch."

I screech like a girl; my books cascade out of my arms and land with a slap at my feet. I clutch at where my heart is, only it's beating like an African drum. It's like a knee jerk reaction to scowl as soon as I see Beverly, whose grin is spread across his round, pudding-face like peanut butter over toast. He's wheezing hysterically, partly because he's laughing, and partly because he really is that fat.

"Jerk." I mutter.

"Bean-pole." He shoots back.

"Ginger-nut."

"Crater-face."

"Round-o."

"No friends."

"You don't have any friends apart from me!" I say pointedly.

Beverly nods. "Touché, brah. Tou-ché."

This is the thing about Beverly. It's like God decided to point his magic finger, saying, Hey, you know what would be funny? Giving this poor unfortunate soul a hard time by making him even more unfortunate! The kid is gifted with ginger hair, a round body (which face it, is more down to the Flakes and Mars Bars), and a lust for other boys. His name's down to his ditsy yet adorable mother. Apparently he looked like a girl as a baby, and I agree; I've seen the pictures.

Most people would say we make an unlikely pair; me, being lanky and, well, about as hench as a small duck. Then there's Beverly, who can accidently sit on you, and will have suffocated in two seconds flat from his plus sized ass. Another thing: I have to scream to be heard. Beverly, on the other hand, is a human foghorn. And damn do I regret it at what he yells next:

"Hey brah, I heard you snuck into that chick Oregons house last night-,"

"Shh, shutthehellup!" I hiss, glancing around frantically for the blue haired demon from last night. Sure enough, my eyes zone in on the solitary figure standing frozen in the corner of the quad. Two ear plugs are stuffed in both her ears, something she's done since I first saw her. Her iceberg eyes lock with mine. Suddenly she looks like the ground is fitted with explosives. Her face tinges pink; dangerous, yet beautiful.

"Brah." Beverly waves his hand in front of my face. "Wake up."

"I can't talk about it now. Too dangerous." I shudder.

"You're being girlier than me, and I'm gay."

"That's not a word."

"Gay?"

"Girlier." I scoop up my books with both hands, mostly to stop them from shaking because I haven't broken eye contact with Oregon yet, and it's starting to feel like a challenge. I snap my eyes away as quick as I can and start to my feet. I pull Beverly aside. "Listen, I'll talk later. I can't say anything right now."

"But!-,"

I clamp my hand over his mouth. "Later."

Confused and slightly pissed, Beverly walks off in the other direction towards his next class. The bell goes - I gather all my things and lock up my locker. I glance over my shoulder, and I have a mini heart attack; Oregon peels herself from the wall, the eyes of the horny males following as her hips sway and her cerulean hair slaps against her back in a thump-a-thump. My pulse dances with the beat of her clipping heels against linoleum floor as she slinks...

Slinks towards me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"I didn't say any-," I begin, but she presses a finger to my lips.

"I have a present for you." She says with a purr. I don't like it, not one bit. "I thought I would give you these as a little souvenir. Or maybe it's a reminder of our agreement, because you looked dangerously close to confiding in your plump little friend back there." Oh no. She's reaching behind her back, and I really don't like this. She drops something into my hands and I can barely force myself to glance at it.

I feel the silk in my fingers. Ballet shoes.

But these are not just any shoes. They are the shoes she wore that night while... God.

And they're caked in dried blood.

"Why..." I whisper after I stop staring at the grotesque gift that sits in the palms of my sweaty hands. I lift my eyes slowly, slowly up, preparing myself for the blizzard that came with Oregons icy gaze. But I cant. Not because I'm tongue-tied, but because she's long gone. Evaporated into the slalom of students that file into their classrooms like sheep.

And the shoes. What do I do with the shoes?

What do I do?

It seems like forever before I finally tuck them safely inside my locker.