Bruiser by Neal Shusterman Page A

enough for the lazy-eyed lunch lady to notice but enough to shift the balance and flip the whole tray, turning the ravioli into projectile pasta, splattering every available surface, including the expensive fashion statements of several speechless kids,
    Who believe Ozzy when he calls me a clumsy waste of life, all eyes turning in my direction as if I’m the one to blame, and I know I’m beaten because as much as I want to expel my fury right in his face, as much as I want to play whack-a-mole on his hairless head, I can’t, and wouldn’t they all laugh from here to the edge of their miserable universe if they knew that the boy most likely to fry was incapable of lifting a finger to hurt anyone, even if the hurt was earned.
    With nothing left but humiliation and red sauce, I just want to escape, until Tennyson arrives out of nowhere, barging his way between us, casting himself as an unlikely avenger, and says,
    Â 
    â€œGot a problem, Ozzy?”
    Â 
    While the lazy-eyed lunch lady, out of touch with anythingon the far side of the warming trays, hands a plate of ravioli to Ozzy, which Tennyson grabs from him and gives to me, asking Ozzy if he plans to do anything about it because, if he does, he should fill out his complaint form in triplicate and shove them in all three of his bodily orifices,
    Which Ozzy has no comeback line for because he’s still trying to figure out which three orifices Tennyson might be referring to, if he even knows what an orifice is, and even though I don’t want Tennyson fighting my battles for me, I can’t help but crack a smile, because now I finally understand what it means to have a friend, and maybe it’s worth the pain I’ll endure because of it.

28) ANABOLIC
    Chest press, shoulder press, lats press, squats;
    Tennyson is all business in the gym,
    â€œFree weights are the way to go. Machines are for girls.”
    Half an hour in, I’m feeling muscles I never knew I had.
    Biceps, triceps, deltoids, pecs;
    I am Tennyson’s new project,
    â€œYou need muscle mass to take on guys like Ozzy.”
    Brontë might appreciate some muscle mass, too.
    Crunches, curls, extensions, thrusts;
    Tennyson is the trainer from hell,
    â€œYou want something easier? Go pick flowers.”
    He tells me it’ll hurt even more tomorrow.
    Low weight/high reps, high weight/low reps;
    I’ll learn to love the burn if I don’t puke first,
    â€œYou think this is hard? Wait till next time.”
    Tennyson says he’ll make a bruiser out of me yet, and laughs.
    Elevate heart rate, hydrate, repeat;
    Better living through anabolic exercise,
    â€œGreat workout,” he says. “And I’m not even sore.”
    Right. Because I’m sore for both of us.

29) SURREPTITIOUS
    Lacrosse,
    Soccer’s angry cousin,
    Football’s neglected stepchild.
    No cheerleaders, band, or stands,
    Games are played on the practice field
    If you want a chair you bring your own,
    Brontë waves,
    She’s saved me a spot,
    It’s Raptors versus Bulls,
    Dinosaur against beast of burden,
    I’ve never seen the game played before.
    We turn to the match, which has already begun.
    Tennyson
    Is a starting attackman.
    He’s very good, but not great,
    He’s a fast runner, but not the fastest,
    Still, he makes up for it in bullheaded aggression.
    â€œHe’s always bucking for MVP,” Brontë says,
    â€œbut never gets it.”
    A pass,
    He catches it
    And moves downfield,
    Cradling the ball in the net of his stick,
    He shoots for the goal and misses by inches.
    Then the Bulls power through the Raptor’s defenses;
    Goal.
    Disappointment.
    I feel Tennyson’s frustration,
    And I know that Brontë is right:
    He’ll be a team captain, but never the star,
    Unless he has something to make him invincible.
    I’m breathless
    As I watch the game,
    Then I suddenly realize why;
    Tennyson does have a secret weapon
    That can make him the star