Chapter Twenty-Six

      “Jules!” Aiden yelled, running up to me.

      “What?” I asked, exhausted from the muscle intensive gym class I had just endured.

      I’m curious, whose idea was it to make kids climb ropes? Honestly, did someone wake up one day, and say, “Hey! I have a great idea! Let’s torture the younger generation and make them climb up a rope! Maybe they’ll even get rope burn, and a callus or seven!” I think the person who came up with this grueling task was either drunk, high, or both.

      “We need to talk,” he said, sounding serious enough. I don’t like that sentence. When it’s used in the context of a relationship, it always means something like a breakup’s sure to happen, or even in life, it’s used right before you get into some deep trouble.

      “About what? I’m sweaty, sore, and still recovering from being sick,” I said, beginning to walk away from him.

      “I need help,” he said, walking along side me.

      “Join the club,” I said, opening the gym door, as a breeze of air hit my bare skin, indulging it in the cool temperature around.

      “I did a bad thing,” he said.

      “Did ya? You, Aiden Heath, did a bad thing? Do go on,” I said, the sarcasm level of my voice rising by the second.

      “You won’t tell anyone?”

      “Nah,” I said, briefly debating it in my mind. I don’t tell secrets… anymore. When I was younger, my secret-keeping skills were not the best. If I got told a secret that would automatically mean that Taylor and Emily had to know it too. That’s how we were; the closest three could ever be…

      Now, I’m much better at keeping my mouth closed, and not blurting out something that was told in confidence. Besides, in my life right now, as sad as it may be, there’s no one I feel safe enough with, to trust… Well, maybe Adam… or not. Yeah, let’s go with not. 

      “You swear?” he tested.

      “Is this a courtroom?” I asked, tightening the ponytail my hair had been placed in.

      “Fine. Did you ever hear about the Katrina thing?” he asked.

      “Nope,” I shook my head.

      “Okay,” he sighed, “do you have a study hall next?”

      “No,” I shook my head, unhappy that math was the next dreary class on my schedule.

      “Fine. After school, meet me in the library,” he said.

      “Are you going to rape me?” I asked, thinking of how I would’ve laughed at my own joke if I had had the energy.

      “I’m not going to even answer that,” he said, shaking his head so his hair moved off the front of his face. That’s always been something I liked about Aiden; his hair.

      When I was younger, and Justin Bieber was starting to become popular, I was shamefully one of those girls who screamed anytime the mean mention of “J.B.” was spoken. I had the bracelets with his name on them, posters in my room, and all of his songs. But I’d have to say, my favorite thing about Bieber was his hair. The way he flipped it, and the way it always looked adorable. I liked boys with “flippy” hair.

      When I first met Aiden, his hair is really what drew me to him. He had the hair. His hair resembled Bieber’s, and I liked it. He was cute, and somewhat nice… at first. As I’ve somewhat reconnected with Aiden over these past few months, my favorite thing about him is still his hair. Yes, I did recover from “Bieber Fever”, but I still like the hair.

      “So, what’s this all about?” I asked, acknowledging that there was a slight chance I would be late to math, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world by far.

      “Katrina Selby,” he said, leaving me with that last thought as he walked away, disappearing into the jungle of teens.

      Katrina Selby. I remembered that girl well. In my mind, she was always “The chick who started smoking pot in 6th grade.” I think Logan’s mentioned her once or twice. Oh god! I really hope Aiden didn’t do anything involving Katrina, or related to drugs... or both! That would be awful.

      In 6th grade, while most kids were starting to adjust to the preteen years, and settle down with the new changes going on around them, Katrina went a tiny step further in the maturity department. I recall walking into class one day, and the latest gossip was that Katrina was hanging out with 8th graders. A twelve year old was chilling with thirteen and fourteen year olds. At the time, it seemed scandalous. She was hanging out with kids my brother’s age, which I had done before, but Katrina wasn’t me, so it the entire situation seemed weird.

      Soon after, it was discovered that she had been caught smoking weed behind the building with some older guys, and they all ended up getting suspended. When she came back, no one looked at her as the same blonde haired, bubbly little girl they once knew. She was an outsider.

      While I was suffering from an addiction to kissing, Katrina was facing the real world problem known as drugs, which later on spiraled into alcohol. At such a young age, in 7th grade, the thirteen year old that she was found herself deep and depressed. I think for a while the pot and drinking cured a void, but it didn’t last forever.

      I was partnered up with her for a project once, and can recollect that I saw something odd on her wrists. They were scars. As experienced as I was, I was also naïve. Very, very naïve. I asked how she had gotten her wounds; if perhaps she had fallen, or if an accident had occurred. She just shook her head, and told me I would never understand.

      She was completely accurate. Why would I understand such an outlandish concept of self-harm? I had a good life; I had no reason of even thinking about ending it. If I could go back in time, I think I would’ve befriended Katrina. As different as she was back then, maybe a friend could’ve kept her from doing half the things she had.

      “You’re late,” the teacher at the front of the room said, as I began to make my way to the back of the classroom. I found my normal seat, and sat down next to Daria, whose chosen attire today consisted of black, and more black.

      “Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to focus my mind back to the world around me, and not a girl I hadn’t talked to in close to three years.

      “Don’t make this a habit, Ms. Tylers,” he warned. I dropped my backpack to the ground, and took out our textbook, slamming it on the desk. A few heads turned after hearing this abrupt disruption, and I smirked. I’m not one to cause trouble, but sometimes, I can’t resist.

      I sat down on the chair, and flipped open the book to a random page. I stood the waste of paper up, so there was a wall between me and the rest of the world. Laying my head down on the desk, I closed my eyes, listening to the in no ways soothing voice of our math teacher. He sounded like a monotone robot; programmed, and boring.

      Soon, my breathing slowed, and all I was focused on was the desk in front of me, which was becoming blurry. After a few more words about exponents and slope intercept drifted into my ears, I was ready. My eyes shut, and the sensation known as sleep washed over me.

I felt a faint flick on my shoulder. My eyes opened, and I looked up to see Daria standing beside me. I smiled weakly, lifting my head up, and closing my book.

      “Thanks,” I said, putting away the oversized pages of math bound together.

      “Sure,” she said indifferently, “I think your friend’s waiting outside.”

      “Who?” I asked, picking up my backpack, and slinging it on my back. I swear, sometimes this thing ways more than me!

      “Aiden Heath?” she said, as if not entirely sure.

      I nodded, sighing. “See ya later,” I said, waving slightly, and walking past her.

      “Bye,” she said quietly. As soon as I exited the room, someone grabbed my arm, and began to tow me away.

      “Aiden!” I whined. “Can we please go slower? I just woke up!”

      “From what?” he questioned, picking up our pace.

      “My math nap,” I said, yawning.

      “Nice Jules…”

      “I know, it was nice!” He shook his head, as we sprinted down the stairs, caught up with the traffic of other students going the opposite way. We came to a stop, and let the flow of adolescents pass. Once the rush of the end of the day had died down dramatically, we continued our journey.

      After speedily “walking” down the halls, we came to the room I had been in only once before with Owen. For the afternoon, it was fairly busy. There were kids with books open, sitting at tables, reading, and others sitting at computers, on Facebook.

      Aiden led me past all the other students to the very back. There was a wall of books separating us from the rest of the library. He slouched down, leaning up against the wall, so his feet touched the bookshelf. I did the same, placing my hundred pound backpack beside me.

      “So…” I said, wanting to get this talk over with.

      “I was the one Katrina cheated on Logan with,” he blurted out. It took a minute for me to digest his words, before becoming confused. 

      “I don’t get it,” I stated.

      “Katrina, Katrina Selby, cheated on Logan, with me,” he said slowly.

      “No, I heard you, but Katrina and Logan aren’t dating,” I said.

      “They were,” he said, sounding tense. He looked at me for a brief moment, and then said, “Oh; you don’t know, sorry.”

      “I mean, I kind of know, I heard that she broke his heart or whatever, but what don’t I know?” I asked.

      “About a year ago, Logan and Katrina were dating. I didn’t know Logan, and I still don’t. I knew Katrina; I mean everybody knew her, but the two of us had talked a few times,” he paused.

      “Wait, while I was gone, did Katrina magically become popular or something?” I asked, wondering if that was the puzzle piece I was missing to connect this story.

      “So you don’t know that either… Sorry,” he said. “Katrina stopped the cutting and smoking. She was still into the alcohol, but it had gotten better. She was a loner. She didn’t want friends. Everyone in her life, she pushed away. Then, the way I saw it, Logan began talking to her, and something changed. They acted like they were in love.”

      “So, just to clarify, they were dating?” I asked, tapping my thumb against my thigh.

      “Yeah… until I screwed it up,” he said, whispering the last half of his sentence.

      “You screwed it up?”

      “She started talking to me. I don’t know why. I wasn’t into her, but for some reason, every time she saw me, we would end up talking.”

      “So what happened?” I asked, aware of the volume level of my voice, being in a library with other people and all.

      “I was finishing up with football practice one day, and went to get a cup of water. The cheerleaders had their practice at the same time we had ours. Katrina had somehow become a cheerleader. She turned her life around…” he said, his eyes distant, and glazed over, probably thinking about a memory. “Anyways, when I was getting the water, she came up to me, and said that she needed to talk to me… behind the bleachers.”

      “That’s so cliché…” I found myself murmuring.

      “What?” he asked.

      “Nothing,” I said dismissively, “go on.”

      “Well, we got behind the bleachers, and she told me to kiss her. Straight up, those were her exact words, ‘Kiss me.’ She was still going out with Logan, and in the back of my mind, I knew,” his voice broke off. Through his eyes, though half covered by his hair, I could tell he was far away from the dusty room in which we were sitting.

      “Then what?” I urged lightly, not wanting to pressure him. I wanted to know the rest. In the rare occasion that I’m reading a book, I can’t stop in the middle, I need to go all the way through to the end, so I know the outcome, and the happily ever after.

      “I lost my mind. I kissed her. I kissed Katrina. I think she just wanted a way out of the relationship, without just telling Logan it wasn’t working. The next day, she told Logan that she cheated on him. And… and- she didn’t tell him it was with me.”

      “So does he know now?” I asked, remaining calm.

      “No,” he shook his head.

      “Why are you telling me Aid?”

      “Because- because I think I’m ready. I want Logan to know. I don’t want to feel guilty anymore. I don’t like it. It’s not a good feeling. I can’t live with this any longer,” he said, closing his eyes.

      “So… why did you tell me?” I repeated.

      “I need your help.”

      “Okay…”

      “You know Logan-”

      “Not that well…” I admitted truthfully. I don’t know Logan. I know who he is, but quite honestly, I don’t know his story. I know he skateboards, is pretty chill, and is on the verge of becoming a total stoner. That’s it. He’s a good kid; I just don’t feel like I know him.

      “Well, you know him better than me, so I want you there when I tell him. Maybe then he won’t kill me,” Aiden said.

      “He’s not going to kill you,” I said.

      “How do you really know? I’m just… scared,” he breathed. At that moment, when he said that word, “scared”, all the weakness he possessed was exposed, and he was completely vulnerable.

      “I’ll help,” I said, patting him on the head.

      “Are you trying to be comforting?” he asked, removing my hand, and fixing his hair.

      “Yeah!” I said.

      “You failed.”

      “Eh, it’s the thought that counts,” I countered.

      “Thanks Jules,” he said, patting my head.

      “Sure Aid,” I said, offering up a smile.