The Bad Boy's Sidekick Chapter 3

Zayn's POV




               The day went by in a blur, like usual. Ken is now hopping in the passenger seat of my truck. Once she is settled, she reaches over to skim through the radio. She finds a channel playing Independent Woman by Destiny’s Child.




               “Are you serious?” I ask, feeling myself relax. In the confinement of my vehicle, and with Kennedy at my side, any wall I had up, crumbles immediately.




               Kennedy has that effect on anyone that gets to know her.




               “Yes, really,” She replies with the little sass she has.




               Before I pull out of the parking lot, I take a minute to take in the sight of the blonde girl in the seat next to me. This may seem weird, but we are always catching each other staring at one another. It’s not that I’m physically attracted to her or she to me (I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me in that way), it’s just that we see no reason to hide what’s on our minds. That’s I like most about my friendship with Kennedy.




               Kennedy, or who I sometimes call Ken, is an average sized girl, with an average size body. She’s not super curvy, or stick thin. And even though she’s not lacking in the boobs or butt regions, she’s not overbearing in them either.




               It’s her face that has everyone do a double take.




               She’s oblivious of the kind of beauty she possesses.




               She has breathtakingly bright blues eyes that don’t seem to glisten as much as they do when she’s with me. And she has naturally light blonde curly hair that frames her face angelically, and flows down her back like a waterfall. Her features express pure innocence.




               But it’s her expressions that tell you otherwise.




               Even though everything about her screams ‘naive’, her eyes, and the way her mouth sets says something different.




               Her face says she’s intelligent, cunning, and thoughtful. She can be kind, passionate, and selfless, yet standoffish, crude, and meticulous. All these emotions are displayed on her face all at the same time. Her face can speak so much, yet be completely unreadable at the same time.




               The only trait that is always plastered on that petite face of hers is vulnerability.




               And fear.




               One time I asked her why she looked so frightened all the time.




               She had replied, “It’s good to always be a little afraid. Fear keeps you in check, and makes you stronger.”




               Those are words I can never forget.




I remember when I first spoke to Kennedy. I knew of her since 8th grade when she transferred. I never gave her much thought until high school when puberty got a hold of us all. Even then I never talked to her. We had health class together like we do now, and we both were quiet.




               It wasn’t until that night I found her in an ally that we had a conversation.




               In those days, I really had two things on my mind, break every rule and express myself through art. So naturally I took up the art of graffiti.




               I never did tags. I found them quite stupid and pointless. I liked to create an image, a statement.









Freshman year




My latest statement is partly finished on a brick wall in an ally I had claimed my own. There were two guys who had loitered there, and did pathetic tags that weren’t even that great. I got into a fight with them two days ago, and beat the life out of them. After words, I cleaned the wall of their sad attempts at art, and proceeded to create my own. I haven’t seen them since.










               Right now I’m walking down the street, with spray cans in a plastic baggy in my hand, nearing my ally. I’m nearly finished with my master piece. 'I smile as I see The Joker smirking in the distance, or at least partly since I haven’t finished him yet.










               And then I see a thin figure in a black hood spraying on the wall beside my art.










‘Bastard,’ I think, ‘That’s my wall!’










I speed up my walking until I’m directly behind the kid (he couldn’t be any older than fifteen by the looks of his size), and I proceed to roughly grab him by the shoulder until he is turned to me.










I pull back the hood, wanting to see the fear in his eyes.










And then I stop.










In front of me is Kennedy.










I recognize her from school. Even though she speaks to no one and minds her own business, she is very well known for being a very good girl.










Then why does she have a spray can in her hand?










I look at the wall, and breathe in with sudden surprise.










In front of me is a very detailed portrait of a girl with headphones on, lost in the world of music.










I turn to the small girl in front of me, “You painted this?” I ask.










She nods her features unreadable.










“I thought you were a good girl,” I say.










I’ll admit, I’m kinda curious how a goody goody gets into vandalism.










I watch a small smile spread across her face, “Good girl as in ‘unable to bang’ not ‘goes by the rules.”










“Did you seriously say ‘unable to band?” She does not look the type to say such words, her face screams innocence.










She nods again. I’m about to regain my hostility and ask her to leave when I hear rough laughter and footsteps nearing the ally.










Kennedy turns to face the large group of boys coming towards us. My eyes go wide when I recognize two of them as the guys I had beaten up several days ago.










They have friends.










Shit.










Usually I wouldn’t be worried, if I had to, I could take a beating. But now I glance at the small girl in front of me.










Shit. Shit. Shit.










I may not be the nicest guy in the world, but I do have little sisters, and girls being physically harmed is not something I like.










I once again grab Kennedy’s shoulder, this time gently. I lower my lips to her ear, “It’s okay, I’ll handle them.”










Since her back is to me, I can’t read her face, but I hear her small voice, “Okay.”










Suddenly two guys are on me and I lose sight of the blonde girl.










               I shake them off so I can get another glance of Kennedy. There now is a boy looming over her small frame. She doesn’t look the least bit intimidated as she looks up and meets his gaze.










               “Look at me when I hit you,” One of the boys on me growls, pulling my attention back to them.










               I punch him in the face and knee the other in his guts. I search for Kennedy once more, worried for her safety.










               Now, instead of the boy having the upper hand, he is on the ground clutching his stomach, While Kennedy stands back slightly, unfazed.










               She then turns to meet my eyes, “Zayn!” She yells as a couple more guys pounce on me, “The cans!”










               I am unsure of what she means until I look down and see my bag of spray paint. I kick them towards her direction, watching them spill out at her feet. Kennedy quickly grabs a can of red spray paint, pops off the cap, and aims at the crowd of approaching boys. She started spraying at their faces, most likely fully aware of the damage the spray does on their eyes.










               The boys on me freeze in surprise at her actions. I chose this as an opportunity to elbow both of them in the stomach and turn to Kennedy.










               “Zayn!” She yells again, this time throwing a can of blue paint in my direction.










               I caught it and we unleashed the paint on the group, together.










               Soon we hear sirens.










               ‘Shit.’










               The group has either dispersed or is on the cold ground grabbing at their eyes. There is nowhere to run as the sirens approach the mouth of the ally.










               “Quick,” Kennedy says as she grasps my wrist firmly. We run to the opposite end of the ally, where I assume there is a dead end. I soon realize there’s a wooden fence, and beyond that is the back of some building. Kennedy quickly tries to climb up the fence, but clumsily slides down. I hear her hiss as the wood scrapes across her stomach.










               “Here,” I say as I grab her by the shoulders and slowly hoist her up so she’s in a sitting position on the fence. She hops down and shouts for me to hurry. As I heave myself up the fence, I feel my stomach contract, using every ounce of muscle I had. Luckily I got over the fence.










               Unluckily, I fell on my back.










               “Zayn!” Kennedy shouts in a hushed tone.










               “Mphh.” Is my intelligent response.










               “Who’s there?” A deep authorative voice calls in the dark.










               “Shit,” I whine through the pain. He can’t find us or Kennedy and I will be in deep shit.










               “Come on, Zayn!” She whispers, panicked.










               Annoyance temporarily shoots through me. Then it’s gone in an instant. She’s not leaving me to save her own ass.










               This thought is confirmed as Kennedy bends over me, wrapping her arms around me, as if she is giving me a hug, but slowly pulls me up.










               “We can do this,” She says in a calming manner, “And by the way, you’re staying at my house tonight. You have no choice. And don’t worry, my mom is probably the anti-mom. She won’t ask any questions and will even lie to your parents if need be. Just don’t do anything stupid or forget your manners. She will throw things.”










               She rambles on as we walk down the street, most likely to her home. She soon realizes that I’m not much of a talker, and this doesn’t bother her. She’s very weird. She seems so shy, yet at the same time bold. So fierce yet timid. I know nothing about this girl.  










               I did, however, ask her about the boy who fell down in the beginning of the fight, if she had punched him or something. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to answer me, and quickly closes it. Her face contorts into an emotion I can only describe as confliction. She mumbles to me something about the boy’s friend hitting him accidentally instead of her. I don’t exactly believe this, but since it’s the first awkwardness between us, I decide to drop it.










               I haven’t thought about it much since.




               When we got to her house that night, her mother had welcomed me, but said if I did anything funny towards her daughter, I would be dead in a matter of seconds. That’s when I knew I would enjoy the Jones’ household.      




               It wasn’t until the next day after my very first incident with Louis that I decided I should have Kennedy at my side at all costs. I need her, and she needs me.









                My truck pulls to the side in front of the church Kennedy attends every Wednesday. I don’t believe in any of that, and Kennedy never brings it up, so we don’t talk about it. That difference doesn’t even effect our relationship.




               I lean over and place my lips to her forehead, giving her a small, but friendly kiss as I feel her arms wrap around my torso. I pull away and look into the bright blue eyes of the girl that as I see as my little sister, my companion, and my best friend.




               “See you tomorrow,” I say, reaching over to open her door.




               “Bye Zayn,” She smiles, something she doesn’t do a lot at school, and rushes out of my truck and into the building, leaving me behind.









               But the best thing about Kennedy is that I know she’ll come back to me.









               I pull out, and follow the directions to Genna’s house, bracing myself for complete torture.

Hey Gators... Sorry I'm such a slow updater. If it wasn't for a fan on a One Direction Fanfiction website being so persistent, this wouldn't be up. I've some major drama in my life.

I do apologize for this chapter being soooo crappy. I'm a mess. Don't blame Kennedy. She'd probably slap me right now and say to get a hold of myself.

Probably not. She'd just mutter something about idiocy and walk off, shaking her head Liam-style.




... Well... That's it...

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