The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) (13 page)

I climb down and trample through the mulch to the swing set. The equipment of the playground is slick, and wet with dew. I balance on the swing, pumping my legs furiously in an attempt to clear the trees. Soon, I am so high the swing might flip around the pole, tossing me out of it, but still I want to go higher.
Back and forth, back and forth:
the motion is disorientating in a good way, and for a minute I forget who I am, where I am. I arrive at a state of peacefulness.

I stop pumping my legs, slowly lose momentum, and soar back down to earth. The sun rises, putting my fears to rest. The sun races across the landscape, fighting every inch of darkness, and ultimately winning, everything it touches brightening.

It is officially my birthday, and I am swinging in an empty park, at the break of dawn, in my underwear.
If this is a preview to how the day will go, I’d rather crawl into the tunnel slide, and sleep it away.

I drag my feet in the mulch, bringing the swing to a halt; Mom will be worried if she wakes and I’m not there. So, I sprint home. The sweat on my skin has dried in the cold air, and my hair is stuck straight.

My legs are tired and sore as I pull myself up the stairs. I twist the doorknob, and gently push the door open. Mom is still passed out on her sofa, and I tiptoe back to bed. I shiver under the covers, finally allowing myself to feel the cold. My feet are numb.

My dream has not been shaken from me. I let its horror resurface in my head, because I think I have gained control over it, and that I will not have such an extreme reaction the second time around.

“He’s more than just a friend, but you don’t love him enough to save him,”
echoes in my mind. I try to dissect it, and figure out its meaning. It is true that I am beginning to view Clad as more than a friend, though it is also true that I don’t love him as much as he loves me. I couldn’t stop Miemah from cutting him because I didn’t care enough to, but that sounds so wrong.

There is something about knowing I could not save him in my nightmare, which digs into my soul. Clad would do anything in his power to keep me safe, but I can’t even protect him inside my head,
so what would happen were he in real danger?
I open my eyes, and let the nightmare fade to the back of my mind. Mom is preparing breakfast in the kitchen. It is time to get up and face the day, and whatever it may hit me with.

Mom pops into my bedroom, her expression cheery and warm. “Happy Birthday Darling! Sweet sixteen, how exciting!” she says. I force a smile and hug her.

“Yep, really exciting,” I say less cheerfully.

“I’m making pancakes for breakfast right now, and I am going to curl your hair if you don’t mind, so you can feel extra pretty on your birthday.”

“Am I still grounded?” I ask her before she goes back into the kitchen.

“No. That was stupid of me. You are ungrounded,” she says, her voice airy and sweet.

I stare lasers at my sock drawer for a moment, reciting the Bullet List in my head. Miemah…
Miemah
. She’s number one, the top dog on my list. She would take pride in knowing that. Even if it means that my first bullet is for her.

Without a doubt she will be at school today, and without a doubt she is going to beat me up. I just hope she gets it over with quickly. The idea of her slowly torturing me makes my heart jump. She threatened to reconstruct my face with her knife, and Miemah always makes good on her threats.

These thoughts are too heavy for a birthday, so I reluctantly store them away. I slide off the bed, and crawl on my hands and knees to the bathroom, my hip too swollen from my morning run for me to walk anymore. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and then put on some clean clothes. By the time I am done, Mom has also finished up making breakfast, and setting the table.

She helps me into my seat, and pours a generous amount of syrup on my pancakes. I dig in, while she stands behind me, curling and pinning my hair.

“You should eat, Mom,” I say. She leans over my shoulder, still holding my hair, and I feed her a bite of pancake from my fork.

“Yum,” she says. “Thank you, sweetie, but I will eat after you get on the bus. And then I will bake your birthday cake.”

“Can it be vanilla?” I ask.

“Of course, that is your favorite flavor; didn’t you think I would already know that?”

I shrug, and the curling iron hits my shoulder. It burns for a second, but I say nothing about it. I don’t want Mom to feel guilty.

“When can I have my presents?” I ask with a giddiness that is unusual to me.

“Hold your horses! I want to wait until you get back home from school,” Mom says, a hint of mystery in her voice.

“I have
no clue
what you got me,” I say earnestly, because I have not asked for anything in particular, and aside from her Walther and some bullets, I don’t need anything.

“Be patient, and you will see when you come home,” she says, and pulls my bangs out of my face with yet another bobby pin.

“Finished, let me see.”

I turn around for her, and smile widely.

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Happy birthday, baby. Now go get your bag, the bus will be here any minute,” she says. I think I see tears forming in her eyes. Tears of joy.

I should be crying too
, I think
. Soon I will be at school and will have to face the wrath of Miemah.

I fetch my bag and sling it over my shoulder. Mom gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I hurry out the door and to the stop sign at the end of the street where the bus is waiting for me.

I board the bus, and the door closes behind me, sealing my fate.

Chapter 17

I can’t help but notice the looks I receive when I walk into school, with my hair curled and pinned. The attention is daunting and unwanted; the last thing I need is people assuming I am beautiful and made up, when inside I am ugly and gutted.

It is like walking through a maze to get to my first period, as if every clique of students has conspired to block my way. I weave in and out of the groups, and finally end up at Mrs. Latcher’s room. For once I am not completely dreading her class. I am counting on Clad apologizing for giving me the cold shoulder yesterday, and us becoming good pals again.

He is sitting behind me, and I feel him staring at my hair. I turn, and smile at him, but he frowns. I wave and he rolls his eyes.

“Why are you trying to look nice?” he finally says.

“
I’m not
,” I squeak.

“You are ugly inside and out, happy birthday!” he says, and my throat tightens.

“Thank you,” I croak, and face straight ahead fighting back the urge to run out of the room.

Latcher hands me a piece of paper before she takes attendance. It is a note for my mom, probably to tell her what an awful student I am.
Thanks for the nice birthday present
.

“You look pretty today? Is there a reason?” she asks.

“My birthday,” I say numbly.

“Happy birthday,” she says, and smiles at me.

Mrs. Latcher just smiled at me? What has the world come to when Mrs. Latcher smiles at me and Clad won’t?

I open the note and skim over it.
“Bailey has an attitude, she is rude, she talks back to me, and she is failing, lowest grade in the class, drama queen.”

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday!
My head is screaming. I tear the note into minuscule pieces, like I am a human paper shredder.

“Stop that!” Latcher hollers at me, when she sees the mess I’ve made of her note.

I push the pieces of paper off my desk and watch them sprinkle to the ground like confetti.

“Fuck you!” I spit at her, then turn to Clad and say, “You too. Trenton’s right, I am not your property I can do what I want!” I dart out of the room.

That’s how it is, I make a scene and people take the paper bags off their faces, and suddenly I am there, alive and screaming, thrashing, and they can’t help but notice.

I speed down the halls, throw open the door, and hit the cot so hard it trembles. I toss and turn, praying that somehow I will be able to fall asleep for a
very
,
very
long time.

With my nails I rip open the cot’s thin mattress and pull out the stuffing. This is as bad as it gets: my mind is wandering in places I didn’t know existed. This is how it feels to be insane. I toss the fluff in the air and watch it land.
Amusement
. To take the edge off the hysteria that is taking over every part of me.

Sleep doesn’t come. Of course not, why would it? After all, I am Bailey Sykes, and I have lost all control over myself.

I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, holding my breath for lengthy intervals, trying to stop my heart. There is a knock, two knocks, three knocks, a pounding fist, a shout, at the door. I get up and open it. Clad is there foaming, at the mouth like a rabid squirrel.

“Latcher will have you expelled for what you did!” I step back,
don’t want to get rabies
.

“Wonderful,” I say, and look past him. “Where is she?”

“In the classroom, duh. You think I would let her follow me here? This is your safe haven.”

“What do you want?” I ask suspicious.

“I came to say that I am sorry.”

“I must be dreaming,” I say, and collapse on to the cot.

He pushes the door closed with his foot, and lies down next to me, our noses touching.

“You are right. If you want to kiss Trenton, that is your business,” he says, and pushes a curl from my eyes.

“I flagged on you,” I say

“That hurt, yes. But Bailey I think you honestly forgot. In all my years of knowing you, I have never seen you tell a lie.”

“I did forget, and I thought that spending time with Trenton would be amazing. Thought he was hot shit.”

“Was it? Is he?”

“No. Ashten’s hair caught on fire. The whole night went up in flames
, literally
.”

“Trenton is a player; he just wants you for your body. Want to know how I know?”

“Tell me,” I say, dreading his response.

“I was in the hallway this morning and overheard him-”

“You were definitely listening in,” I interrupt him.

“Okay, I was listening in, and I heard him say how he is going to do it with you the next time you guys hang. Then he went into great detail about your make-out session at the beach.”

“Shit-head,” I say, scowling.

“He was telling Nessa all about it, and a couple of his guy friends.”

“Nessa?” I ask.
Is there anyone who is not friends with that girl?

“Yeah,” he says tweaking my nose. “But no more bad news, it’s your birthday.”

“I pulled the tiger’s tail yesterday, and she is going to turn around and bite me for it. I guarantee it,” I say of Miemah.

“What did you do?”

“Went to her house, and she caught me and Alana looking through her bedroom window. She chased me down the block with a knife.”

“She was going to bite you whether you rattled her cage or not Bailey, all you did was make it happen a little faster,” he says.

“That’s true,” I sigh.

“It’s like we are back in kindergarten,” Clad says, and giggles.

“Oh my God, us lying down, and me wanting to touch your shiny curls.” He pulls one, like a spring. “Looking into your eyes entranced.”

“Where’s my cookie?” I laugh.

“I don’t want to give you one,” he says grimly.

“Why?” I ask confused.

“Your eyes don’t smile at me.”

“What do they do now?”

“Nothing, I used to look into them and see contentment. They glittered with life, but now they are empty, like I am looking into the eyes of a corpse,
dead
.”

My dead eyes cry and cry and cry. Clad wipes away the tears, but he can’t keep up with them, there are too many.

“Why do you stick around?” I ask.

“I want to bring you back from the dead, Bailey; I need to see you be who you were when we first met. The girl with rosy cheeks and starry eyes.”

“Are you well experienced in the process of resurrecting the dead?” I sniffle.

“I will be. Whatever it takes.”

“Stay here and do not let go of me, Clad,” I say, my eyes wide with fear. “In just a couple of hours I will have to suffer at the hands of Miemah. Stay with me until then, so I don’t go crazy.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” He kisses my forehead.

My tears mingle with his, my legs twine with his, and our arms are wrapped tightly around each other’s. He passes out, and I watch him sleep. I kiss his lips lightly and he flinches.

His lips are salty from our tears, and even though he doesn’t kiss back, I can feel the love he has for me radiating from them.

I am like a killer on death row, pacing in his ten-by-ten jail cell, trying to imagine what it will feel like when he takes his last breath. What will Miemah do?
Gouge my eyes out, burn me with acid, light me on fire, or chop off my limbs?
Not in the locker room, not in front of so many girls who will undoubtedly report it.
Or will they?
Maybe they will be too scared to tell.

Clad’s eyes flutter open, and he untangles his body from mine.

“It might be time for your gym class,” he says.

“I don’t want to go, I can’t. I am serious,” I say, the words rushing from my mouth.

“Bailey, a coward dies a thousand deaths; a brave man dies but once.”

I’ve heard the saying many times throughout my life, but this is the first time it sinks in. I rise to my feet. I grab my tote bag and open the door before my courage can leave me.

“Good luck, kid. Remember, she is just a teen-age girl, like you. How much damage can one girl possibly do?”

“I will fight back this time,” I tell him. “I am not going down easy.”

“Good girl, Bailey. Kick her ass, I know you have it in you,” he encourages me.

I walk to gym as if I am strolling through a garden, admiring the flowers. I won’t let my nerves get to me, and make me overreact. Plenty of kids get beat up every day at school, and they all make it back home, crawl into their beds, sleep it off, and return to school the following morning.
Why should I be any different?

I am early for class. The locker room is still empty, so I use the opportunity to take a shower without anyone watching. I strip myself naked and close the curtain behind me. I intend on washing out the curls: I don’t want to be prepped up like a pig fattened for slaughter when Miemah comes.

The water is cold and it feels like needles going into my body. I soak my hair and comb away the curls until there is nothing left but a slight wave. I hear the door to the locker room open and close. I turn off the water, clip on my bra, and just as I pull my underwear on, the curtain is yanked open.

Miemah springs on me, jerks me by my shoulders, and I lose my balance, my feet slipping on the slick tile. The ground rushes up to meet me, and I throw my arm behind my back to catch myself. My head bashes into the corner of the metal bench that is right outside the shower, and the arm that is twisted behind my back snaps like a twig. I open my mouth to cry out in agony, but the combination of the pain in my arm and head causes me to pass out.

Colors swirl before my eyes, like I am looking into a kaleidoscope. Red, blue, pink,
nauseating colors
. Voices, are trying to reach me, but it is like my ears are stuffed with cotton: all the words are coming through as static.

I make out the voice of Cecil. She is screaming.

I am beginning to wake when I hear Miemah cackle like a witch. I keep my eyes closed, like playing dead in front of a bear that might attack. But showing no mercy Miemah lifts my head off the ground and smashes it into the tile. The pain forces my eyes open.

Cecil is crying now, her face hidden behind a video camera.

“You think it’s funny to record people getting beat up? Now you can be the star,” Miemah says, banging my head into the tile again. I slip away into unconsciousness.

Hands are tearing at me, pulling me underwater, and drowning me. There is too much screaming, agonized screaming. It is bubbling up inside me, gurgling out of my mouth. My head is like a coconut that has been cracked in two as I am pulled from the water, and when my mind re-surfaces, the pain hits me.

Like nothing I’ve ever felt before, like a hatchet is digging into my skull, like my head is being crushed in a vice.

I try to make myself black out, to make the colors come back. There are dots through the darkness, but nothing more. If I could find my voice I could cry out for help, but my head doesn’t know where my vocal cords are, has forgotten how to navigate my body, as if the nerves have been severed.

There is a click. A shriek. Someone is in the room with me.

Wake up, Bailey, Wake up Bailey
, I say to myself.
Wake up, and get out, Miemah has come back to cause more damage
.

I manage to lift my arm and pull it to my head, though even this simple movement is exhausting. I reach for my head, but miss, and my hand falls in a puddle of water from the shower. I place my wet hand on my eyelids, and push them open.

Red, a beautiful rose red
. My hand is caked with blood; it was not a puddle of water I realize, and scream.

“She’s awake!” I hear Clad yell. “Alana, help me!”

I see his face and then slip under again. I am in darkness, like the night Jack died, no stars in the black sky, only a shining moon. I am standing there, watching my dad check for life in Jack, seeing the paramedics cover his face with a blanket.

Something soft rubs across my eyes, and I gasp.
I am dead and being zipped up just like Jack!
I moan, because my voice won’t allow me to scream again.

“The towel!” I hear Alana say.

“Sorry,” Clad says, placing his hands on either side of my head.

“Clad,” I cry out. My voice has returned.

“It’s okay,” he says, his words quivering like the plucked string of a guitar.

“Am I going to die?” I ask my voice tiny and barely audible.

He wraps a towel under my head and places my broken arm on my chest.

“No-o,” he says, his voice breaking, and I know he doesn’t believe it.

“Call her mom,” he orders Alana.

“Am I bleeding?” I ask.

Clad laughs through his tears, “Only a little babe, just a little.”

He falls silent when my mom’s voice comes on the phone. Alana has put her on speaker. I can just imagine her serving drinks at the bar, trying to scrounge enough tips for dinner tonight, and what she will feel like when Alana tells her that I am hurt.
Hurt bad
, I think.

“Mrs. Sykes, it is Alana,” she says.

“Alana what is it? Is everything alright?”

Alana breaks down in tears.

“No, Bailey is bleeding…you need to get to the school now, drop whatever you are doing,” she says, the tone of her voice indicating that I am worse off than I suspect.

“There is so much blood…” she trails off.

Clad slaps her shoulder.

“You will scare her,” he says.

It is too late.
I am already terrified
.

“We have to dress her, so we can take her through the halls,” Clad says, unzipping his hoodie.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” I apologize, because I am dripping wet from the shower, and wearing nothing but my bra and panties.

“Shhh,” he says, placing my arm in the sleeve of his hoodie.

He grabs my fingers and pulls my injured arm through the sleeve carefully, but I still howl out from the gentle touch.

“I’m so sorry.” he kisses my head, trying to make the pain go away.

“Hand me those gym shorts,” he commands Alana, who is vomiting.