Dibs! (Lesbian, GxG)

Chapter 2

The first thing I do when I get out of the Cafeterrible is to go to my locker and get my violin. I hold the case close to me as I lean against the locker next to mine.

     "Bad day or something?" someone asks in front of me. I don't have to look up to know who's speaking. May and I have been friends for about a year. It's kind of an odd friendship: me with my anxiety and May with her popularity. It's not as if being friends with her is a big deal or anything.

     I nod. I might as well be rocking back and forth by how I'm acting. Someone walks past me with a snicker. 

     " . . . Okay, what the hell happened?" May asks. 

     Focusing on her shoes, I mumble out the event from start to finish. While I'm talking I notice a thread has peeked out of one of her shoes. Because she doesn't like me pointing out any flaws to her clothing, I don't say anything about it. 

     All of the sudden May stops me in the middle. "Did you just say Jules?" she asks. 

     "Um, yeah," I respond, quieter. "She wouldn't go away, especially after she said--"

     "Dibs?" May finishes for me. 

     For a brief second I look up. "How'd you know?"

     "Oh, honey." She leans besides me and carefully gives me a tight side hug. "I'm surprised you don't know about Junkie Jules," she confesses. May tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear. 

     "Junkie Jules?" I question.

     The warning bell rings, causing May to jump up. "Crap! I have P.E. this period," she says. "Callie, I promise we'll get back to this conversation, alright? Love ya!" Like that, she sashays down the hall towards the gym. 

     Holding the case by the handle, I start walking to class, even though it's history. I'm not risking any more panic attacks without my go-to comfort. If May's confidence ever rubs off on me, I might consider not bringing it anywhere. 

_________

The now-happy students are bustling out the doors to their cars or buses, while some other kids (like me) stay in the school building. The theatre geeks are lounging in the auditorium waiting for rehearsal to start. The art club members are walking down the halls making plans for a mural stretched to every wall visible. 

     As for me, I'm part of the Quiet Musicians Club, population of one. And as long as I'm doing nothing but being quiet and playing, Mr. Neven is fine with having me practice with my violin in the music room.

     I take one of the music sheet holders and set it up. Shuffling through my backpack, I find a new piece I've been wanting to try out. Unfortunately, Lindsey Stirling likes having her pieces contain techno, so I'll have to use what I can. 

     Bow at ready, I read over the sheet. The first sound the violin makes when the bow brushes against a string gets my back to straighten, like it always does when I start playing. A few more sounds in, I start to relax. 

     Most people would have yoga to help clear their minds. Even if I can tolerate being in a crowded room full of sweaty people (yes, I do realize I'm describing my classrooms), I have this, and the mind clearing is very effective. The humiliation from lunch fades away, Jules disappears, and all I have left is me and the music. 

     That is, until my phone buzzed in my pocket. 

     Placing the violin and bow on a nearby chair, I get my phone out and answer. "Yeah," I say. 

     From the other end of the line someone says, "Callie, it's May. See, I told you I'd get us back to the conversation about Junkie Jules." I hear a smack, and guess she's putting on lip balm. 

    I look back to the office, where Mr. Neven is correcting some papers. I quietly walk to the hallway so I can speak as loud as I want to. Not that I'm naturally loud. "Why do you call her Junkie Jules?" I ask.

    May tsks. "I need to get you schooled on the people here. Jules spazzes out at times and does questionable things only drug addicts would do."

     Childish Jules apparently isn't a good enough nickname for anyone to use. I doubt junkies would act like children like Jules does. Then again, who am I to judge? I've never been in a dark alley, much less crossed paths with a junkie. 

     "Are you still there, Callie?" May asks. 

     "Yeah." Someone runs out of the auditorium nearby, breathing heavily. He was probably trying drama out as a hobby. No theatre geek here at Fife High freaks out like that. Unless that's their role in the play.

     "Is some pervy boy sitting next to you?" May questions. "I'm hearing some panting."

     I half-smile. "No, just someone expressively showing his anxiety."

     She gasps. "You should ask for his name. You two would be a perfect couple!" 

     I roll my eyes. Of course she'd be saying that. "He has first-time-on-a-stage-in-front-of-everybody nerves. I have an anxiety in general," I whisper, now that the guy is even closer. He's trying to calm himself by drinking mouthful after mouthful of water. "We're getting off topic here, May."

     "Huh? Oh yeah, Junkie Jules. So after you told me what happened, I asked a couple of people who's seen her antics a few times. And guess what she's done last year."

     My breath quickening (seriously, the guy just won't go away), I speed walk down the hall until I feel alright again. "I'm not going to guess, May," I say. 

     "Ugh. Fine, be that way," May teases. "Apparently she had a crush on this one guy, and completely lost it."

     "What does that mean?"

     "Junkie Jules followed this guy everywhere, barged into conversations and even fought with his girlfriend over him." Somehow, I get this feeling that isn't all May knows about it.

     Too long have passed before I finally say, "Is there something else you should tell me?"

     May whistles pitifully. "Hell yeah. You want to know how the school knew she was crushing on the poor guy?"

     "Do I know already?"

     "You bet. She poked him and called, 'Dibs'." 

     The conversation falls silent due to my shock. May takes this as an opportunity to say, "You are screwed, girlfriend. Junkie Jules will do anything to get you, even if it involves someone getting hurt."