Toxic Bad Boy (3 page)

I miss you so much, Caleb.
I’m sorry I didn’t write you sooner, but I’ve been so busy with
everything. Getting registered at my new school and moving into the
new house was stressful. Until my left cast came off, it was
impossible to write.

By the way, I wrote my new
cell number on the bottom of this page. You can call me whenever
they let you and if I’m able to, I’ll answer.

Like I said, Cece came
over yesterday and gave me the letters you sent through Dante. With
this letter, you’ll have my new address and can write me directly
here. Don’t worry, my dad won’t have a problem with you sending
letters to his house. He isn’t totally approving of you being
locked up, but he realizes what drove you to violence.

I don’t know if I can say
it enough, but I am so, so sorry about everything that’s happened.
I feel like I’ve ruined your life. I can’t believe you’d even want
anything to do with me anymore. I cried when I read your letters
because it sounds horrible there and it’s all my fault you’re in
that place. Ian too. Tell him I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so
stupid, you two wouldn’t be stuck there.

I’ve decided to give up
cheer for good. I couldn’t imagine ever enjoying it again. But when
my right wrist heals, I’m going back to the crew. I told Cece I was
injured in a cheerleading accident. Thank you for not telling Dante
what happened to me. I don’t want people to know.

I’ll understand if you
want to break up with me. I don’t think I’d make a very good
girlfriend anymore and you deserve someone who’s not so messed up.
Whatever you decide, I’ll accept it.

I’m glad they have an art
class for you to take. You’re so talented and I love that for you.
Your psychiatrist sounds intrusive, but maybe it’ll be nice for you
to open up. I may be a little prejudiced when it comes to
psychiatrists now because mine won’t shut up about what happened. I
told my dad I didn’t want to go anymore, but my mom insists and
he’s backing her up.

I think dancing with the
crew again will be good for me. I just want my life to be the way
it used to be. I don’t want to be the center of attention anymore
and I’m tired of my parents worrying so much about me.

I do love you, Caleb, but
I’m not sure us being together is what’s best. Maybe ending things
is smartest. Things are so messed up and both of our lives have
been turned upside down. So much has happened already and you’ll be
in there for another nine months still. That’s a long time. How
will things be between us then? But like I said, whatever you
decide.

I hope you can forgive me
for ruining your life. Ian too.

I don’t feel like myself
anymore. I don’t like the way I feel, but I don’t know how to stop
it. I just want everything back to normal.

Gianna

“
Don’t brood. Get on with
living and loving. You don’t have forever.”

-Leo Buscaglia

CHRISTMAS DAY

two months down, eight to
go…

CALEB

We had about two seconds
before the guards broke up our rumble. Everything went in
slow-motion as a fist met my nose. At the same time I threw a hand
back to catch my fall, my other hand whipped up to cover my nose.
Too late of course, since the random fist had already done its
damage. The punch effectively put me out of the fight until I saw
Ian take a knee to the gut and forced myself back to a standing
position.

Limping from a mean kick
to the leg I received earlier, I stumbled over to where Ian just
got punched in his ribs. Once I reached them, I got behind one of
the guys beating Ian and wrapped my arm around his neck, putting
him into a headlock. My younger days of watching wrestling on TV
came in handy as I body slammed the dumbfuck into the
pavement.

The guards finally showed
to break up the
group disturbance
taking place behind an outbuilding on the far
side of the basketball court. I didn’t know for sure who started
the fight, but it went a long way to relieve some of my pent up
aggression. I was up for fighting anyone, except maybe Ian and our
friend, Ricky.
Maybe
.

The guards yelled for us
to lie on the ground, protocol in these situations. I immediately
dropped onto my stomach, moaning and pretending to be in more pain
than I actually was. My hands cradled my head, comforting an
imaginary injury. I had a feeling Ian instigated the fight, so in
no way was I offering to take the blame. I’d play the victim, or
even hero card. Ricky and I
had
saved Ian from being jumped by four other
guys.

We were all hauled into
the main building and thrown into solitary cells designated
for
Time Out
. I
could’ve actually used a little alone time. Constantly being in the
company of other people became annoying. Before slamming the steel
door shut on me, the guard gave me a stern look and informed me
we’d be taken in twos to the infirmary to see the medical staff. I
imagined Band-Aids and lollipops being handed out and laughed to
myself.

I hoped to be taken at the
same time as Ian because I owed him a slap upside the head. What
was he thinking getting us into trouble like this? I was trying to
bide my time until I got the hell out of this place and he’d
dragged me into his bullshit. Fighting was an outlet for the jumble
of negative shit in my head. But if I wanted a chance at getting
out of this place any sooner than eight months from now, I needed
to wear a freaking halo, not a busted up nose.

The solitary cell was more
barren than the one I shared with Ian. There was a drain in the
middle of the floor that I didn’t want to know the purpose of and
someone had scratched up one wall. Using the sink and toilet paper
in the cell, I cleaned up my face the best I could, washing off
most of the blood. A mirror would’ve been helpful. I was definitely
claiming self-defense to the warden later. Once I was as fixed up
as I was getting without the help of real first-aid supplies, I
plopped down onto the three-inch-thick mattress covering the metal
bed frame and closed my eyes.

Merry fucking
Christmas
.

The day had started out
pleasant enough. My parents showed up this morning for Christmas
visitation, a special version of regular visitation. Mom and Dad
were here when they’d opened the door to families at eight o’clock
this morning and didn’t leave until they marched us prisoners off
to lunch at noon. We were limited as to what we were allowed in
juvie, but the presents I’d unwrapped included books, magazines and
a quilt from my grandma in Florida. It had palm trees, coconuts and
flamingos on it. Ian had called it my fruity blankie when I brought
it into our cell after lunch. Of course, he was quick to snatch out
of my hands the Mickey Mouse quilt my grandma and her quilting bee
had made especially for him.

I was glad my family had
thought of him. He’d acted uncaring at breakfast when most of us
were excited to see our families, but I’d noticed he paid close
attention when a guard announced who had family members waiting in
the visiting room. When his name wasn’t called, he’d gotten real
quiet. As we were led away, I’d turned back to see him dumping the
contents of his tray in the trash and slamming it down on a stack
of other used ones. Even from across the cafeteria, I’d cringed at
the harshness of the sound.

A few months ago I never
would’ve thought I’d be concerned for Ian’s feelings. Life was
strange. Perhaps Ian’s hurt caused him to take on four guys at
once. Pity for him had me jumping in with Ricky to defend
him.

Waiting patiently in
solitary, my cell door clicked open and, trained to respond, I
immediately stood up to be escorted by a guard to the infirmary.
Ricky was taken at the same time as me and I gave him a nod as I
scanned him for injuries. Or lack thereof, as the case was. Slick
punk didn’t have a mark or streak of blood anywhere on him. H was
the cleanest fighter I’d ever seen, with not even a tear in his
clothing. If I hadn’t seen him in action, I would’ve thought he’d
stayed on the sidelines.

Ricky grinned smugly at my
perusal. “Your nose isn’t looking too good, white boy.” At
six-foot-three, muscular and only fifteen years old, Ricky was a
big guy. His opponent had been brave not to run in the opposite
direction.

I probed at my tender nose
and shrugged. “At least it isn’t broken. Could be worse, did you
see Ian? He had two guys beating on him.”

Ricky grimaced, running a
hand over short black hair. “I hope they took him to get checked
first.”

Ian’s dad was a bastard.
The more I thought about it, I was positive Ian started the fight
because of his anger over his dad not visiting. Even if it was
expected, it couldn’t get any easier to accept that your parent
didn’t give a damn about you.

The nurse practitioner on
duty made quick work of getting us in and out of there. Like I’d
told Ricky, my nose wasn’t broken. After asking Ricky a couple
questions, Nathan Brothers N.P. sent him back with a guard to his
solitary cell.

I was returned to my cell
five minutes after Ricky and the guard informed me I’d be there
till tomorrow when the warden arrived in the morning. Whatever, at
least I’d get privacy for one night from Ian and everyone else.
Maybe I’d get in fights more often if alone time was the
reward.

Alone in my solitude, I
thought of Gianna.

Always her.

Our dinner was brought to
us an hour later and I devoured it. Fighting always made me hungry.
When I got out of this place, the freedom to eat when I wanted
would feel like Christmas every day. My mom had given me one of
those big plastic candy canes filled with chocolate candy and I
thought about how I would’ve laughed at her and rolled my eyes last
Christmas. This year, it was my favorite gift.

I’d been slightly
embarrassed, but I’d given my mom and dad each one of my paintings
as a present. One was of Ian in profile, lying on his top bunk,
throwing a ball up at the ceiling. The ball was mid-motion and he
had both his hands above him, waiting to catch it on its way back
down. The other was of a prison guard yelling down in the face of a
scrawny twelve-year-old inmate. The boy wore a defiant expression
but fear was obvious in his eyes. I probably should have painted
something nicer for them. Like a bowl of fruit or a
sunflower.
Nice
wasn’t my style, but I couldn’t imagine my parents hanging my
artwork over the fireplace.

My mom hadn’t seen
anything I’d created in a while and her eyes had gone wide with
evident pride in my work. She’d mentioned wanting to show them to
the director of an art gallery she sometimes submitted to, but she
probably had a case of mom goggles. Everything I painted was
wonderful because she gave birth to me. Perhaps I’d force myself to
paint a puppy for her birthday. My dad had never been into the art
thing, or puppies for that matter, so I knew he could have cared
less what I painted him. With him, it was the thought which
counted.

My dad had apologized for
not being able to get the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition past
reception for me, but I’d told him jokingly to give it to Chance.
My mom gave me a stern
Caleb
that said everything in just two syllables and we
changed the subject. At least he’d gotten some car magazines and
graphic novels past security.

When I’d asked, my dad
confirmed his divorce from Julie was still in the works. All I
needed was for Gianna to also cut all ties with her mom and the
life I’d be returning to would be perfect. Unfortunately, that’ d
never happen. Gianna loved her mom despite any mental illnesses the
woman had.

Solitude became boring.
I’d somehow gotten used to Ian running his mouth. Without Ian’s
sarcastic, cynical yapping at night, I was left to my own thoughts.
Never a good thing when you were missing someone.

That first letter from
Gianna last month had tore me up. I’d even let Ian read it for a
second opinion. Had Gianna been trying to get me to break up with
her because she didn’t want to be together anymore and felt too
guilty to end our relationship herself? Was it a good sign she’d
given me her new cell number? Unfortunately, the overall caution
and melancholy in her letter hadn’t indicated anything good.
Her
love you
had
saved me from complete panic.

Ian had told me to man-up
and not read too much into it because Gianna was likely still in a
bad place after the attack. He may have also called me a wuss at
some point in his uplifting speech.

I’d mailed a letter the
very next day to her new address. I’d explained how I understood
why she’d taken so long to write, although I secretly felt she
could’ve gotten someone else to write it for her. I’d conveyed how
happy I was her dad had moved to Denver for her and Chance, even if
I worried her dad would disapprove of our relationship after my
release. Making sure to avoid the subject of her mom, I’d gone on
to assure her that my life was not ruined, although sometimes it
did seem as though it were.

I’d promised her nothing
that went down was her fault, which it absolutely wasn’t. It would
have been stupid for me bring up Josh’s name at all, so I’d been
vague on the topic. Trying to keep the letter light, I’d told her
more about being here. To ease her guilt, I’d made up a funny story
about Ian and Ricky. It was complete bullshit, but I pictured the
smile on her beautiful face as she read about it.