gothchic56

"Can…Can I have this dance?" Baljeet was seated in a field of grass, trying to make sense of what just happened when he heard a voice. He looked up to see Buford standing with an outstretched hand and gasped. Buford? But…this wasn't possible. Buford wasn't here. Buford couldn't be here…he was dead. But here he was with a crooked smile on his face, tattered tux jacket and red stains across the chest. Acting like nothing was wrong. Like they hadn't just been in a car accident that had sent them tumbling into a ditch. Baljeet's hand started to tremble as he put it into Buford's. He was pulled to stand, and into his chest. He wa

Buford smirked as he waited outside the school for his nerd. It was long past school hours, but Baljeet always stayed late for everything that could possible raise his grade. Not that the school would allow him to have anything more than 100 since he was already way ahead of everyone else for valedictorian, but Baljeet felt it would still be useful for his college applications. Buford? He didn't care so much for that. Granted, his time spent with the Indian boy did make him concerned just a teeny bit about his grades, but not by much more than a hair. Another minute passed and Buford felt himself getting antsy. He reached into his cargo pan

"Don't go…please?" Buford's voice came out barley above a whisper. He never thought he'd see the day where he would be the one begging, the one pleading for something. And that something was Baljeet. Baljeet looked at Buford with sad brown eyes. He was sitting next to him in Buford's beat up old car, clutching a wrinkled and heavily used map. His eyes darted down, and he tightened his small hands around the papers in them. "I have to Buford. You know that as well as I do." Baljeet couldn't bare to look Buford in the eyes anymore. He could see his former bully's eyes starting to water, and he was holding back tears himself. "But you'r

Buford was a bully. That much everyone knew. But what they never knew was that he would never actually hurt Baljeet. He would push him down, but only to extend a hand and help him back onto his feet. He would steal his calculator and break it. But he knew Baljeet could easily get a new one. (His warranty had been renewed so many times the company almost knew when it was time for the new one.) It was almost a game between the two boys. It came down to Buford's teasing antics with a wide grin, and a half-assed complaint from Baljeet, who would laugh and roll his eyes. Buford would steal something of Baljeet's and hold it high over his head. B