~~~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.
"I punched Dylan Shapiro in the face."
"That's a lie! He fell in gym," I counter immediately.
"Did you ask how he fell?"
"He...got hit in the face with a volleyball and went down," I try to read her stony exterior.
Ellie grins, "What a jerk. He doesn't even have the balls to admit a girl kicked his ass."
I scoff, "No way, I call bullshit."
Ellie squares her stance, "Did you see how he got to the nurse's office?"
"My friend told me he just saw Dylan there."
Ellie shakes her head confidently, "We were outside and he kept making fun of my friend, so I said something. You know Shapiro -"
"Asshole," I breathed.
"Well, he started making fun of me too, talking about my parents, so I punched him," She finishes.
I pause as Ellie and I stare back at each other, and I wonder why I had never spoken more than two words to her before.
"What was he saying about your parents?"
Her smile falls, she looks down to her knee instead, "Not much really, but I better get a paper towel or something."
I snap my attention back to her gash and nod, opening the door to the main hall and then stick beside her. We arrive at the nurses office to find Mrs. Reynolds, who sighs tiredly at the sight of Ellie's knee.
"Get up on the table, I'll get some disinfectant," she creeks back from her desk and waddles over to the medicine cabinets that remain bolted to the cinder block walls.
Ellie hops up on the ancient table, the leather squishing loudly beneath the sanitary paper. She wriggles up and finally settles. Mrs Reynolds passes us with an ice pack and hands it to none other than Dylan Shapiro, who's sat behind a grey curtain which she draws back quickly. Ellie doesn't see, but I glance over with a smirk. He's a speck, worth none of my time but I feel the need to stare, to show him that I know how he really got that black eye. Shapiro doesn't say a word, peers over at Ellie with a glare that could kill, and then disappears behind the curtain once more.
Mrs. Reynolds jangles back over to Ellie, her jeans crying out for air. She has a jagged cut bob, silver hairs highlighting mousy brown locks. Her skin is pocked and wrinkled, and two beady eyes peer out from behind a set of thick-rimmed glasses. A thin watch, the strap made of stringy plastic, remains buried except for the face within the plumpness of her wrist. She unscrews a bottle of rubbing alcohol and gently soaks some cotton ball, before looking up the Ellie.
"It'll sting a bit, dear," she warns.
Ellie simply nods and presses her lips into a firm line. Mrs. Reynolds gingerly begins to dab away at the gash, and I grimace at the sight. Ellie flinches perhaps once or twice, but it goes unnoticed by the nurse. I watch Ellie quietly, taking note of her toughness. Her eyes remain determined and I wonder what she's trying to prove to the world. Ellie wipes away some stray hairs from her emerald irises, and finally glances at me as Mrs. Reynolds applies a bandage.
"Okey dokey, I'll write you two a pass, then off to class."
I nod obediently with my books in my lap, turning back to Ellie who's clambered down from the table. She brushes off her shorts but stops, squinting behind herself. She pin points a infamous pair of dirty, Adidas sneakers from beneath the curtain, smirking at the sight.
"Coward," she announces clearly, spinning on her heel to exit.
I grab the pass from Mrs. Reynolds and hurry after Ellie, hoping that Shapiro doesn't run after us. We enter the main hall just as the bell rings and a floodgate of students rush out of their classroom. Ellie takes her time, but I nudge her to keep going.
"We have a pass, we can be late. Where's your next class?"
"The second floor. With Mr. Langer."
"Honors Algebra 1?" Ellie raises one brow.
"Yea," we stroll as the crowd dies down, eventually the two of us are alone once more as the hall empties.
We listen for the second bell signaling the beginning of a new class period, but we take our time. I take in the hundreds of navy blue lockers on our left, as Ellie gazes out the large steel-framed windows to the right. The school courtyard is maintained, but it's nothing to look at except for a couple of concrete benches and a tree.
"He said my parents were a couple of dirty, communist Jews" Ellie's voice cuts through the silence of the hall.
I swallow dryly as we continue to walk and Ellie never tears her gaze from the windows.
"All Russian people aren't communists. And he's Jewish himself. Shapiro's full of shit."
"You know my family's Russian?" She peers at me curiously.
I shrug, "Your last name sounds Russian. Anything with a -sky, or -ich, sounds Russian to me."
Ellie giggles, and it makes me happy to see her look even the slightest bit better. She sighs however, "I shoulda never touched him."
"Do you have a suspension?" I glance at her from the side.
"No, just an after-school detention. I wonder if they called my parents yet."
"Your parents can't be mad," I try to shed a positive light on the situation.
"They'll be furious. I started a fight."
"You were defending yourself and your friend."
Ellie switches her gaze to her hands as we reach the stairwell.
"I threw the first punch."
"He punched you back?" I gawk and Ellie stops as I position myself before her.
"He tried. I ducked so he ended up tripping me. That's how I cut my knee."
"That piece of shit," I breathe.
Ellie suddenly smiles, staring at me with some strange expression I can't make out.
"What?" I shift to my other foot.
"Nothing," she laughs and we ascend to the second floor where we finally arrive before my class.
"What's your name," Ellie asks suddenly just before I open the door.
"Jude," I smile.
"What period do you have lunch?" she smiles back.
"Seventh, I'll see you there," I open the classroom door as Ellie nods.
We part, and as I sit down at my desk, first from the front, I grin.