It seemed to be a theme for me that day, and not a particularly original one, but that didn’t change the fact that I found myself storming out of Mrs. Brown’s office in the dance studio and slamming the door. To be honest, I likely could have avoided that, if I hadn’t done it earlier in my classroom, and I might have been able to prevent -that- if it weren’t for an earlier incident with Lela. If I had just taken the time to think about it, I would’ve recognized how ridiculous the whole thing was, considering what had set it all off, but I wasn’t quite ready for such introspection.
“Hey, Skye, what…?” Dale started to say before I brushed past him, hardly in the mood to trade barbs with him, nor to answer why my classroom was empty while there was still half an hour until his class. He wasn’t about to let me go that easily, however. He reached out, grabbed my arm, tried again. “Skye, what in the world is going on?”
It started at some little girl’s house, some kid I didn’t actually know, though that honestly wasn’t hard to believe, looking at her. To put it kindly, she wasn’t the most… athletic of children, and I couldn’t quite imagine her as even a preliminary a form of ballerina as the kids who passed through my class. Lela had introduced us, of course, but I can’t say that I remembered the girl’s name, and I find it doubtful that she was interested enough in me to even listen to my name.
Lela and I hadn’t really been doing anything special, but I would have been doing straight up nothing if I hadn’t been with her. Much like it had been the past few days, when I’d gone to find her at wherever she was babysitting that day. The people in this house didn’t even subscribe to any interesting magazines, so I’d been stuck looking through the newspaper, listening to the music from that CD I’d found the other day – it was strangely relaxing, so I’d decided to rip it to my computer, which, oddly, couldn’t find any information on it, then put it onto my MP3 player – and snacking on one of the shortbread cookies Lela had baked for me.
Unsurprisingly, there was no interesting news to be reported that day, nor, did it seem, any other day. It was amusing to skim through the movie listings, for a minute or two, wondering if I should even bother trying to see if Lela wanted to go see anything that weekend. Even if the answer was yes, we’d probably have to see some kids’ show, since, chances were, she’d be babysitting. Again. I’d asked her once what she did with all of the money she made, but she hadn’t answered that any more than she would tell me why she worked so much. Her parents were pretty well off, after all, and it wasn’t like she ever had free time to go out and spend much of her hard earned cash.
“Do you wanna catch a matinee Saturday?” I’d asked finally, deciding the momentary conversation it would spark would be a better diversion than trying to muddle through some old woman’s article on the correct way to plant tulips.
“Is there anything good playing?” Lela had glanced up from the game of Candyland she and the girl were playing on the coffee table.
“That’s not the point,” I’d rolled my eyes. “We should just go to the movies together, you know? We used to go all the time!” That wasn’t strictly true, but I remembered going with her family a couple times when we were little, back when the theater was in a completely different and far cooler building, even if it’d had much fewer screens.
“So that means there isn’t anything good, huh?” she’d asked, sharing some secret smirk with the girl.
“Oh, come on,” I’d whined, moving from the armchair I’d been sitting on, flopping down on the couch behind her, at least until she cleared her throat and I sat up with a sigh, to get my feet off the upholstery. “You’re no fun, you know that?”
She’d smiled at me, friendly enough, shaking her head slightly. By all accounts, her comment was innocent enough. Unfortunately, I hadn’t quite been able to see it like that.
“You know,” she’d said, moving her piece on the board, “maybe I should start charging your parents.”
“What?”
She’d shrugged, pulling another card from the deck. “Well, all this time I’m spending with you, it’s almost like I’m babysitting -you-.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, but I’m pretty sure she could feel my eyes boring into the back of her skull, because she turned around. “I was just joking…” she’d said upon seeing my expression.
“Yeah, whatever. If you want me to leave you alone, just say so.”
“Why would I want that, Skye? Come on, it was just a stupid joke.”
But I couldn’t help thinking of the book, and what I’d read there. “Skye,” the passage began, “was often afraid that her friend, despite being the more physically child-like, saw her as just another kid to watch, and that was part of the reason they had stopped hanging out as much. Perhaps, that part of her mind thought, Lela was finally accepting that Skye was growing up, and, as such, wasn’t interested in being around her anymore.”
Ever since reading that, I’d been trying to convince myself I didn’t really think that way, nor did Lela. After all, it was just a book, right? Never mind the fact that it had described me and Lela exactly – it wasn’t like we were unique, no matter what our kindergarten teacher had tried to tell us. And never mind that it had detailed the incident with my shorts, though at that point things -were- getting a bit freaky. But I’m not the only person in the world to rip an article of clothing in the park, I’m sure. To be honest, I hadn’t gotten any further than that before stuffing the book into a desk drawer.
Hearing Lela say that, after reading that part of the book, was too much for me, I guess. “I have to go,” I’d told her stiffly, getting back off the couch and heading for the front door.
“It was just a joke!” she’d repeated.
“Yeah, you’re a freakin’ comedian,” I’d said, before slamming the door shut behind me. I don’t think I really intended to be quite so dramatic with it, but it was a windy day outside.