Chapter 16 Sixteen

I do not speak to Cleo after our atrocious exchange and she did not speak to me either. When our eyes meet from across the room, we quickly look away like the eye contact burnt us.

She is always in Adam's arms; laughing and talking about something interesting with their heads lowered together and their lips pulled back from their teeth in smiles. They look great together and that hurts me even more.

"Why are Cleo and you not friends anymore, Gigi?" Arla asks from behind me.

I excused myself from a class (Ms. Azizen shot me a glare) and escaped to the school bathroom I came to the school bathroom because I felt the heaviness of my breakfast in my stomach. I thought I would be alone, I guess I was wrong.

I can feel the heat of Arla's stare at the back of my nape as I wash my face in the sink. She probably came to do the same thing I did.

"Who says that we are not friends?" I say, glaring at her in the mirror. I dry my hands under the dryer whilst humming under my breath, trying as much as possible to ignore her.

"Oh, please," she says with an eye roll, "everyone knows but I am the only one brave enough to ask you."

Brave? Did these girls see me as some fearful monster?

"Well, if you know so much," I say, giving her the cockiest and most daring smile I can muster, "why are Cleo and I not friends anymore?"

She shrugs her bony shoulders (her clavicles look so sharp it could cut through glass). "The rumours are really sketchy, nobody really knows."

"What is your hypothesis?"

"It has something to do with Adam and a possible love triangle," she says as-a-matter-of-factly.

Arla is one of the best ballet dancers in our school right behind Cleo and I. She was always the odd one because of her outspoken personality. She feared nobody, not even Ms. Azizen. She did not entangle herself with gossips though and tried not to draw too much attention to herself. She is not the conventional beauty; there is nothing striking or attractive about her. She has short hair that can barely be pulled into a bun, average brown eyes and average lips—not too plump or too thin. Her build is not a ballerina's dream and it is not a non-ballet body either. She is the kind of person that can easily fade in a crowd; if you do not look close enough, you might not see her.

"You are not too off in your guess," I hear myself mumbling.

"So, now that you do not have Cleo anymore, you are just going to go lone wolf?"

I cock my head, hearing the subliminal messages in her words. Do I want to take up her offer? I am not so sure.

"I have to get back to class now." And with that, I hurry out of the bathroom and drag myself back to class.

In class, I keep getting distracted by Cleo's giggles and Adam's chuckles and my performance suffers greatly. Although Ms. Azizen warns them several times during the class, they do not listen.

I heave a huge sigh of relief when class is over and the dancers troop out to lunch. At lunch, I sit as far away from Cleo and Adam but still, I cannot help overhearing the cheery laughter and guffaws that emanate from their table. I remember when Cleo and I would judge them for being snobby and pretentious but now she is now a member of the snobby and pretentious clique.

My mind wanders to the image of Cleo and Adam walking hand in hand. What other things have they done? Have they been kissing? Have they gotten to second base? Have they even gone further than second base? The thought of Cleo and Adam tangled together under sheets makes my stomach writhe and I lose my appetite. As I walk—as light and graceful as I can manage in my state of mind—out of the refectory, I hear a familiar voice call out my name.

I turn to see Arla smiling at me with a tray in her hand. It seems she is taking her lunch to her room. "Are you done with lunch already?"

"I lost my appetite," I reply with a snarl. Why is she pestering me? Did the other ballerinas put her up to this so she can get my sob story out of me? Although I will like to believe that, it is not something that Arla can do. She would not stoop so low.

"Mind joining me in my room?" She chooses an apple from the trio on her tray and bites into it. Juice runs down her chin but she does not seem to mind.

"Why would I do that?" I ask her. I would rather go shopping with Ms. Azizen than spend time with Arla in her bedroom of all places.

"Because," she says slowly like I am a five year old, "I have booze." She does not even bother to drop her voice.

"I do not drink alcohol, Arla." I make sure my voice is as harsh as it can be.

"Your loss," she says with an indifferent shrug and begins to walk away. When she is about three metres down the hall, she turns and says, "I am glad you are no longer friends with that leech. She had you blind and you could not see what a horrible person she truly is."

"What? What the hell are you talking about, Arla?" Why is Arla making up such nonsense about Cleo just to get to me? I guess I was wrong; Arla can stoop low.

Arla scoffs. "I am not making anything up! Do you even know who your best friend really is?"

"Ex best friend," I correct through my teeth.

Arla turns and continues walking towards the Bedroom Wing. "If you need me, you know where to find me," she says over her shoulder.