He Isn't A Kitten

"I've had several seriously sexual daydreams about the new guy. Have you seen him, Snow?" Cindy fanned her face with her hand while she spoke.

"Cin, too much information. I don't need to hear about your boy crazy fantasies."

We forced our way down one of Salem Academy's busy hallways as we spoke. Directly in our line of sight appeared Jesse, a guy from the football team.

He was handsome, except for the fact that I'd known him since elementary school and knew he was a walking turd.

He winked, and I blanched, thinking for a split second that he'd winked at me.

"Cindy. Babe. Looking good." He made a point of checking her out.

"Don't you know it," Cindy said, giving him a coy smile.

He hadn't been winking at me but at Cindy. I wasn't wink worthy.

Whatever.

I was fine with that. I had plenty to deal with, and worrying about what guys thought of me wasn't one of them.

Except that wasn't totally true.

We exited the throng of bodies to my locker. I turned my combination and lifted the latch, letting my backpack fall off my shoulder.

Most of my books were online, saving me from shoulder and back pain, but occasionally some assignments required a good old-fashioned book.

I unzipped my backpack, took my social studies book and my chemistry book, and jammed them into my bag before slamming the door.

"You can never get too much information about hot guys, and let me just say, wow!" Cindy rested her petite frame against the locker next to mine. Her bright baby blues twinkled in anticipation.

I hefted my backpack onto my shoulder. "Apparently, he's cute?" I asked, closing my locker.

She snorted. "Cute? No! He isn't a kitten. He's dazzling. I'm talking completely gorgeous, and he has a voice that could melt chocolate."

"Sounds delicious," I said, laughing.

We wound our way back into the mob of students on our way toward the gym.

Cindy had a way with words. It'd been like that since the first time we met in kindergarten when she traded me her cream cake for my apple. "I don't think you should eat the apple, Snow White."

We'd been friends for more than ten years.

She was different than me in every way, except for our eye color.

She was the epitome of a waif while I towered over her at five foot eight.

She had blond hair that hung to her hips and was always perfectly styled.

My hair was coffee brown and stopped just below my ears.

Her clothes looked like they'd come straight out of her latest fashion magazines. It was the same with her nails, makeup, and jewelry, including the heart-shaped stud in her belly button.

Me?

Well, let's just say I didn't own any makeup, and my clothes consisted of baggy jeans and sizeable old tee shirts, thanks to my seven best friends and their hand-me-downs.

My nails were stubby, and my ears weren't even pierced. Honestly, I wondered if Cindy found me embarrassing sometimes.

It could've been because she felt sorry for me.

The same year she and I met, I jumped out of a swing, cutting my arm on something on the ground.

At the hospital, it was determined I had hemophilia, a rare blood disorder. Which basically means my blood doesn't clot like other people's.

After that trauma, most school activities and recess became out of the question. Thankfully, my hemophilia was one of the milder cases.

A girl walking by bumped into my shoulder.

I glanced at her, but she just kept walking.

Rude!

I shook my head, noticing that Cindy was looking at me. "What?" Then remembered the guy.

"He sounds nice." I shrugged. What did she want from me?

"Snow!" Cindy stomped her foot. "Nice isn't even a proper word. It's in the same arena as fine, good, okay, and pure." She shuddered, clinging to her sparkly blue notebook with even more fervor.

"What's wrong with pure?" I asked, unable to help laughing at her indignation as we turned a corner before heading down a set of stairs.

She jogged down the steps to keep up. "Nothing if you're Snow White." A look of amused disgust sat on her face.

I pulled the locker room door open. An immediate whiff of steamed perfume smacked my nose. It was extra hot in there as well as muggy.

Cindy followed me in and sat on a bench while I changed into my workout clothes.

I would've been self-conscious had it been anyone else since I tended to bruise easily, and there was always at least one or two on my body. They looked worse than they were.

I was thankful for my body because I knew I could do more than a lot of people.

Growing up, my mom hadn't coddled me per se, but she had been extra cautious.

Once my mom died and my dad remarried my stepmother, all caution went out the window. She thought I needed to be whipped into shape, which was why I was currently dressing for track practice.

"I can't believe your dad and stepmother are still forcing you to participate in this nonsense. Haven't they seen you run? You're an accident waiting to happen, and you don't have to wait long." She tenderly touched a more recent bruise above my knee.

I huffed. "Rude!" But it was the truth.

I ran like a herd of super klutzy elephants or a drunken rhino.

Hence, the bruises. I wasn't graceful or fast. It was just sad.

Still, my dad and stepmother had agreed to buy me a laptop if I participated. I think they hoped I'd get some rhythm or become less bumbling if the coach gave me some pointers.

Both Coach Sorensen and I knew there wasn't a snowball's chance I'd become more agile anytime soon, but he understood why I tried so hard.

"For the sake of a laptop, I'll let you stay on the team," he'd said. "But I couldn't let you participate even if I wanted to. Not with your issues."

That was fine with me. With our mutual understanding, I went to every practice and every meet, holding up my end of the stupid deal.

I knew my dad thought the idea of me running track was foolish, but he kowtowed to my stepmother, and I didn't want to make waves.

Sadly, my disgraceful running behavior had made me the brunt of several jokes.

"Hide the dust bunnies, Snow's on the loose. We don't want her to fall." Unfortunately, that one had been making its way around school lately.

But others popped up every so often.

"What's the difference between Snow and a tree?" they'd ask.

Answer: "A tree sways, Snow falls."

And another: "What do a leaf and Snow have in common?"

Answer: "They both fall."

The lamest one of all: "Why'd the chicken cross the road?"

Answer: "Because he was afraid Snow would fall on him." The jokes weren't really funny or even that creative, but they were shared within my earshot on a regular basis.

"Want to hear the latest joke?" Cindy asked, as though reading my mind.

I gave her a look I hoped said, no freaking way!

"It's actually kind of fun-ny," she said in her sing-song voice.

I plopped down next to her and slid on my shoes. "Do I have a choice?"