Bella

By
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At school there is always one kid nobody likes, and in our class
that kid was Bella Armstrong. Looking back, there was nothing really
wrong with her. Okay, she came from the rough side of town, but then so
did I. Her dad was scary looking with brown skin and missing teeth, but
she couldn't really be blamed for that, could she?
My best friend at the time was a girl called Cynthia, who was often at
the centre of the torment against Bella. I'd like to say I stayed clear
of the trouble, but that would be a lie. I was in awe of Cynthia, with
her sweets and nice clothes, so much so I would have done anything to
keep her friendship, and that included picking on Bella.
I didn't dislike Bella; we had a lot in common actually, and often
played together when it was just the two of us. But that was the
problem; we were kindred spirits. It could quite easily be me standing
there, eyes welling with tears as the taunts and jibes rained down on
me. So I kept quiet and pretended not to notice when her dark eyes
sought me out, like two fresh bruises on her pale face, demanding
attention. But she worshipped me, a desperate adoration that I returned
half-heartedly.
"I do like you, but I have to pretend I don't while we're at school," I
told her, na?ve in my belief that this made me a better person than the
others, more admirable somehow.
"Okay," she said reluctantly, a smile masking her disappointment.
After school, away from the playground, we shared everything from
practical jokes to
dolls, and together we laughed until the tears ran down our faces at
our childishness. With Bella I never had to worry about looking stupid.
We just had fun.
Then, one day, something happened to change all that. It was my
birthday and I had been given a brand new rubber set, something I was
extremely proud of. One rubber in particular was impressive enough to
make me the envy of my classmates. It was blue, shaped like a
television set with a moving picture of elephants in the middle, giving
the illusion of a real screen. For once even Cynthia was quiet as she
and the others gathered round to admire my prize.
"Let me see," she said, holding out her hand. For once I hesitated, but
quickly handed it over, not wanting to risk a scene. "It's really
cool," she said, flicking the rubber so the screen elephants moved. But
then, as she handed it back to me, she appeared to trip. The rubber
went tumbling from her hands, and before we could stop it, rolled
across the playground, down the drain. If I was being mean, I could
have said she did it on purpose, but she was so genuinely upset that I
brushed the thought from my mind and did my best to comfort her. "We
can still get it back," she said, peering into the drain where the
rubber had lodged itself just beyond our reach. "Bella will get it for
you, won't you Bella?" Bella, looking startled to have been singled
out, said nothing, but looked at me. Guiltily I looked away.
Dan, one of the big boys in our class, pulled up the lid of the drain
and gingerly,
Bella eased her hand into the darkness. My heart hammered as I looked
around for a teacher, a small crowd was gathering and I knew we'd all
be in big trouble if we were caught. Bella was now stretched out on the
ground, her arm up to her shoulder inside the drain. "I think I've got
it," she cried, starting to slide backwards.
"Yes." Slowly, slowly her hand inched backwards, coming into view. Yes,
there was my blue rubber just beneath her fingers.
Then it happened. Still to this day I don't know if it was an accident
or a prank, but the drain slipped through Dan's fingers, landing
squarely on Bella's tiny hand. The look of surprise on Bella's face.
The moment between registering pain and starting to cry, and the
betrayal of her laughing classmates was agony to watch. Then she was
screaming and the teacher was there, ushering us all away as Bella was
carried inside, out of view. The rubber was lying on the floor. I
picked it up and hurriedly put it in my pocket, fingering it furiously
in an attempt to control the sickness that was welling up inside of
me.
Later that day, I overheard the teachers talking: "Bella Armstrong has
three broken fingers, and she's at the hospital. Apparently she was
getting a rubber for a friend."
"Some friend," said the second teacher. In that one sentence I saw
myself exposed as a fraud for the first time.
I never saw Bella after that. I went to her house that evening but her
mother wouldn't
let me see her. She wasn't at school for the rest of the week, and
later we were told that
Bella's parents had decided she should change schools as soon as
possible.
I stayed friends with Cynthia, and gradually we became very close,
although I was always careful what I said with her, as I found she
could often turn at any moment and this made me quiet with her.
The next time I saw Bella was at the local college and she was very
different. Gone was the haunted expression and the quiet desperation I
remembered from youth. Instead, she was smiling and confident,
surrounded by a few close friends who she spent her time with. They
were always laughing and joking, but never in a way that made you feel
uneasy. In fact they went out of their way to include everyone in
conversation, but at that time I was always too awkward and shy to say
much to anyone.
Bella and I didn't share any classes, but once I was in the toilets,
washing my hands, when she came out of a cubicle. Our eyes met in the
mirror, and she smiled knowingly at me just once before she turned and
walked away&;#8230; I carried on looking into the mirror at the
space where she had been; but somehow all I could see was my own face
staring back at me, my eyes filled with silent desperation.
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