Fragile(29)
Author: M. Leighton

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Never had Hardy so anticipated school before, much less a Monday. And yet on this morning, he was actually excited. But it wasn’t really school he was looking forward to; it was Miracle. He was anxious to see her again. Without the goon.

It wasn’t until he was turning the corner to make his way to his locker that Hardy happened to remember Cheyenne. Normally she would be there waiting for him. But they’d broken up on Friday. Since then, except for when she’d made it impossible to ignore her, he hadn’t given her a second thought.

Until now.

He was relieved to find only Nate standing at his locker. Their lockers were only three apart, but Nate wasn’t at his; he was at Hardy’s.

With a sigh, Hardy continued his approach. At least he’s alone, he thought. Thank God!

Hardy felt his eyebrows draw together as he remembered Nate’s blatant appreciation of Miracle. It was enough to dampen his mood, but only minimally.

“Details, dude! I want details,” Nate said with a lascivious grin when Hardy stopped in front of him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” Hardy snapped, ignoring Nate to reach around him and work the combination on his lock.

“Don’t get all girlie on me now, Bradford! You know I’m talking about that new chick, Miracle. Dude, if you don’t tap that, give me a shot at her. I bet she—”

Before Nate could even finish his degrading sentence, Hardy had his fingers curled into the collar of his rugby shirt and was hauling him up against the lockers.

“Shut your mouth, Nate. You’re my friend, but right now I’m not feeling very friendly.”

Hardy didn’t realize how inordinately irate he was until his friend started to laugh.

“Dayum!” was all Nate said as he watched Hardy with a surprised yet impressed expression on his face. “I’ve never seen you like this before, amigo. If you wanted me to back off, all you had to do was ask.”

“This is me asking,” Hardy growled. Nate raised his hands in surrender and Hardy released his hold. As Hardy peered into the face of his stunned friend, he sighed, recognizing his overreaction. “Sorry, man,” he said, stepping back and rubbing a hand over his face.

Nate laughed again, straightening his shirt. “You always did have a way with words.” Hardy glared at him, but Nate, ever the unflappable jokester, paid him little attention. Recovering quickly, Nate playfully punched Hardy in the arm and danced a circle around him. “You’re not gonna start writing ‘Hardy loves Miracle’ all over your notebooks, are you? Get a tattoo with her name in a heart? Sing her a song and post it on YouTube?”

Nate stopped, put a hand dramatically over his heart, and started to sing in an incredibly offensive falsetto. He crooned something about lights guiding her home and trying to fix her. The more he twirled around singing like a girl, making a spectacle, the more attention and strange looks he attracted.

Hardy held back his smile until he could hold it no longer, finally laughing outright. He begged Nate to stop, a plea with which he thankfully complied.

“That was almost painful, dude.”

“You know I sing like an angel. Don’t be a hater,” Nate teased as he turned to spin the knob on his combination lock.

When he opened the door, two books and a slew of papers fell out. Hardy just shook his head. He had no idea how Nate managed to keep his grades up as disorganized as he was. Hardy doubted he could even find some of his books, let alone take them home to study or complete his homework. Somehow, he did it, though.

Hardy retrieved his own books for first period and shut his locker, turning to Nate just as he was haphazardly stuffing the fallen books and papers back in his locker.

“So,” Hardy began conversationally. “No Cheyenne?”

Nate gave a bark of laughter and threw Hardy a sidelong glance. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Hardy rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“That’s what she said,” Nate quipped, snorting in amusement.

“Yeah, right. ‘Please stop’ maybe.”

“More like ‘Please, God, don’t let this be Hardy’.”

Hardy grinned. “What happened? Really?”

“You know I can’t be tamed.”

“Come on, Nate. Seriously, what happened?”

Nate shrugged his wide shoulders uncomfortably. “No offense, man, but I don’t know how you put up with her as long as you did. That chick is psycho!”

“Nah, she’s just high maintenance.”

“Hardy, seriously, she scratched me. Hard! Look at this.” Nate pulled the neckline of his shirt down and to the side, exposing three long gashes across his chest. “That freak’s got claws, dude!”

Hardy laughed. “What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing she didn’t like before.”

Hardy cackled. “It’s my curse, man. Once they’re with me, every other guy is just—”

“Shut up, you ass!” Nate griped lightheartedly, jabbing his elbow into Hardy’s ribs. “I make ‘em purr.”

“Those aren’t the marks of someone who was purring. Hissing maybe, but not purring.”

“Eh, with Cheyenne, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference,” Nate declared, unconcerned.

Hardy laughed. “Good point.”

“No need to worry your pretty little head over it, though. She’ll be back. Trust me.”

Hardy rolled his eyes again. Nate was probably right; Cheyenne had a pathological need to chase that which was not easily obtained and, in some ways, Nate was unattainable. Hardy supposed that was why he’d always been able to keep her attention. Although he’d thought he loved her at one point, since meeting Miracle, he realized his feelings for her had been lukewarm at best. There was a very good chance Cheyenne knew that, fueling her fascination with him.

Not wanting to think about Cheyenne anymore, Hardy bid his friend goodbye and headed to the first class of the day. He knew he’d be counting the minutes until Chemistry, until he could see Miracle again.

By the time Chem Lab rolled around, Hardy’s mood was much more morose. He hadn’t felt like himself since about ten minutes into first period. He’d quickly discovered all he could think about was Miracle. All he could do was count the minutes until he got to see her. He could’ve kicked himself for not finding out more about her classes and where her locker was, anything to give him enough information to “run into her” more often. The word stalker came to mind, but he pushed it ruthlessly aside, reasoning that he was no stalker.