Janelle’s P.O.V.
I walk as fast as I can, trying to get away from Bexley.
Why am I running from him? It’s not like he did anything to hurt me. He asked a simple question. Maybe simple for others, but quite hard for me to answer.
I cross paths with a few students before someone tries to stop me.
“Janelle? Are you OK?” Oliver asks with worry.
“I”m fine,” I answer, walking away without even a glance.
I can hear Bexley calling after me a few times, but for now, I just want to ignore him and be alone.
I just need to regroup and get my head on straight before class.
I open my locker and hung up my bookbag. I pick up what I need, struggling to hold everything with my uninjured hand.’
“Here, let me help,” Bexley says, grabbing everything from my hands.
“I'm fine. I had it,” I huff, closing my locker and trying to get my things back, but Bexley pulls them back just out of my reach.
“Give me my stuff back,” I exhale, a little annoyed.
“Nope! We have the same class, and I’m carrying your things for you.” He says with a sly smirk.
I gave him an angry look before rolling my eyes and walking away from him and toward our classroom.
I settle at my desk, Bexley only a few steps behind me.”
“Here you go,” he says, placing my things on top of my desk and sitting down next to me.
I mumble a small thank you, but I didn’t look in his direction.
Am I being too petty and a b***h again?
Should I have told Bexley about…him?
No. I did the right thing not saying anything, didn’t I?
Maybe I would have felt better talking about it. He seemed relieved talking about his dad. But then again, my situation is much different than his.
What should I do?
“Janelle, will you look at me, please?” Bexley asks.
My heart tightens at the sadness resounding in his voice. So, naturally, my guilt compels me to turn my head his way.
I”m quite surprised by the softness of his eyes. I expected them, him, to be angry. But he isn’t. Which confuses me a little.
“Look, I don’t know what I asked you that made you shut down like this, and I’m sorry that I made you so uncomfortable. I won’t pry if you don’t want to talk about it. But please, don’t avoid me.”
His request leaves me speechless.
“We have just made peace with how bitchy we both have been since meeting each other. I don’t want the little progress we made to go to waste.
He lowers his head before looking back at me.
“How about this, if and whenever I ask or say something to you that you don’t want to talk about or hear, why don’t you say…” He looks up, rubbing his chin for a second before exclaiming, “ Oh, I know! Why don’t you say, could you say the same amount of words as when you're drinking lemon juice!”
I burst out laughing.
“What?!”
“Think about it, when you’re drinking lemon juice, you can’t talk. You get all puckered face,” he says
“You sound ridiculous!” I exclaimed, wiping off tears of laughter.
“But it’s true! It makes a lot of sense if you think about it!”
“Where in gods name have you heard that saying?” I ask, trying to calm my laughter down a bit.
Bexley’s laugh falters.
“My father used to say that to my mother all the time. Well, they said it to each other. It was kind of their thing. I guess I picked it up,” He says, looking down at his hand on top of his desk, picking at the skin near the edge of his nails.
“I’m sorry,”
“What for?”
“For running away. For making you upset with memories of your father,”
“I’m not really upset with you running away. More like confused. But I’m definitely not upset with my father's memories. I’m actually glad to have them. It’s been so long since I’ve last thought about him this much. And I’m glad that I am. Thank you for bringing these memories back into my life. I think I needed that. I needed a reminder to be kind and funny like he used to be.”
“Good. It’s good that it makes you happy. And you know, maybe someday, I’ll be ready to talk about whatever happened. But I’m not for now, so, could you say the same amount of words about where I learned skating, as when you're drinking lemon juice?” I ask with a light blush creeping on my cheeks, making him laugh.
“Sure, I won’t ask again. But feel free to talk about it wherever and if ever you are ready. I’m a much better listener than I let on to be.”
I give him a bright smile as our teacher walks in.
I think we might just have become friends.
“Do you want to come to the ice rink with me after school?” Bexley whispers, trying not to get caught by the teacher.
“I don’t think I’ll be skating for a while,” I answer sadly, waving my cast upward.
“Maybe not full-on practice with stunts and everything, but maybe you could give me a hand with the junior trainees?”
“Did my uncle put you up to this?” I ask with a raised brow.
“I haven’t really asked him if it would be OK, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” he says, scratching the back of his head.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. He wanted me to teach a class or two after I refused to train for competitions again.”
“Why did you say no? To compete I mean. With your skill level, you’d definitely get first place in every category.”
“Bex,”
“Yeah,”
“ Could you say the same amount of words as when you’re drinking lemon juice?” I ask, looking at him pleadingly.
“Ok, sorry.”
“It’s ok. Nothing for you to be sorry about. I just really don't want to get into all of that now. It’s really messy and I’m not ready.”
“It’s alright, I get it,” he says, giving me a comforting smile.
“But do you want to help me at the rink tonight?”
“Sure, why not? It could be fun!”
Aksara