expert, and his equipment isn't anything special. I mean, in a purely observational capacity, I've seen nearly a hundred gherkins every day for the past three days and I can attest that Shane's gherkin is a certifiably ordinary gherkin and he shouldn't be so cocky about it.
There is no
big
reason for Brat to be staring.
If you get what I mean.
It's funny. A week ago, it would have killed me to hear Shanetalking about messing around with Jazmin. Even yesterday, it freaked me out when I saw them together in the hall, and I used to hate having to sit in the same room with her during math and art history. She was so slick, and so unaware of me, and yet I'd sit there looking at her like she was my replacement
,
because Shane thought she was better than me
,
and so that meant she probably
was
better than me
,
and I'd wonder—what's the secret of her sex appeal? Is it the way she licks her lips, or the size of her biscuits?
And I'd think about them fooling around—
not because I wanted to, but because those stupid thoughts would jump into my head—
and picture them hot on Shane's couch with the lights all dim—
and I'd feel sick to my stomach and full of jealousy and obsession and rejection.
But now, when his gherkin is talking about how good Jazmin treats it, and I know for sure he's going all the way with her or at least doing oral, all I think is
,
I'm glad it isn't me he's bragging about in the locker room.
Brat looks shocked when Shane says “Leave me the fuck alone”—and it really is unfair for Shane to get mean about it, since at this point it's Adrian who's putting all the focus on Shane's gherkin, anyway.
Brat grabs his jacket from his locker and runs out of the room. The sound of the swinging door echoes against the tiles.
“You didn't have to be such assholes just now.” It's Malachy.
“What?” says Adrian. “We were kidding around.”
“Brat's tough, he can take it,” agrees Shane. “Besides, those eyeballs of his are always wandering.”
“Who cares about his eyeballs?” says Malachy. “You don't have to pick on him.”
“It was a joke,” says Adrian. “He's gotta learn to take a joke.”
“C'mon, Malachy. It was funny. Dear Shane's gherkin.” Shane chuckles again as he pulls on his jeans.
“Brat didn't think so. I'm gonna catch him up. Later.”
And Malachy is gone.
Shane and Titus and Adrian finish getting dressed.
Titus doesn't say anything at all. When he leaves, saying he's got homework and can't hang out after school, Adrian and Shane stand in front of the sinks for a minute, messing with their hair.
“He's freakin' out,” says Adrian.
“Who, Titus?”
“Um-hm. About the sports thing next year.”
“Well, he should freak. I love the guy, but he objectively sucks. It's like he's the most uncoordinated man on the planet.”
“I know. Poor wuss.”
“He's gonna end up like Gunther and those other geeks who have to take gym four days a week.”
“You think?”
“That's what they do if you can't even qualify for JV bench. They make you take double gym.”
“That sucks. Sanchez is such an ass.”
“Titus should try swimming.”
“Nah, he'll never make it. He barely floats.”
“Did you see the poor guy cowering when Taffy came at him with the hockey stick?”
“She took that puck like taking candy from a baby.”
Shane grins. “There's only one way out for him, then.”
“What?” asks Adrian.
“African dance.”
W ednesday night. In the deep darkness. From all the way across the room, I can hear the spider spinning new threads in her web.
The clock ticks.
A sink is leaking occasional drops of water onto the floor. One of the toilets runs funny.
There is no other sound.
The night is endless. I feel like I've been a fly forever.
I've got to turn back sometime. Somehow.
But how? And when? What if my fly body dies of old age before whatever powers made this happen reverse the spell?
Oh hell oh hell oh hell oh hell
Get
There is no
big
reason for Brat to be staring.
If you get what I mean.
It's funny. A week ago, it would have killed me to hear Shanetalking about messing around with Jazmin. Even yesterday, it freaked me out when I saw them together in the hall, and I used to hate having to sit in the same room with her during math and art history. She was so slick, and so unaware of me, and yet I'd sit there looking at her like she was my replacement
,
because Shane thought she was better than me
,
and so that meant she probably
was
better than me
,
and I'd wonder—what's the secret of her sex appeal? Is it the way she licks her lips, or the size of her biscuits?
And I'd think about them fooling around—
not because I wanted to, but because those stupid thoughts would jump into my head—
and picture them hot on Shane's couch with the lights all dim—
and I'd feel sick to my stomach and full of jealousy and obsession and rejection.
But now, when his gherkin is talking about how good Jazmin treats it, and I know for sure he's going all the way with her or at least doing oral, all I think is
,
I'm glad it isn't me he's bragging about in the locker room.
Brat looks shocked when Shane says “Leave me the fuck alone”—and it really is unfair for Shane to get mean about it, since at this point it's Adrian who's putting all the focus on Shane's gherkin, anyway.
Brat grabs his jacket from his locker and runs out of the room. The sound of the swinging door echoes against the tiles.
“You didn't have to be such assholes just now.” It's Malachy.
“What?” says Adrian. “We were kidding around.”
“Brat's tough, he can take it,” agrees Shane. “Besides, those eyeballs of his are always wandering.”
“Who cares about his eyeballs?” says Malachy. “You don't have to pick on him.”
“It was a joke,” says Adrian. “He's gotta learn to take a joke.”
“C'mon, Malachy. It was funny. Dear Shane's gherkin.” Shane chuckles again as he pulls on his jeans.
“Brat didn't think so. I'm gonna catch him up. Later.”
And Malachy is gone.
Shane and Titus and Adrian finish getting dressed.
Titus doesn't say anything at all. When he leaves, saying he's got homework and can't hang out after school, Adrian and Shane stand in front of the sinks for a minute, messing with their hair.
“He's freakin' out,” says Adrian.
“Who, Titus?”
“Um-hm. About the sports thing next year.”
“Well, he should freak. I love the guy, but he objectively sucks. It's like he's the most uncoordinated man on the planet.”
“I know. Poor wuss.”
“He's gonna end up like Gunther and those other geeks who have to take gym four days a week.”
“You think?”
“That's what they do if you can't even qualify for JV bench. They make you take double gym.”
“That sucks. Sanchez is such an ass.”
“Titus should try swimming.”
“Nah, he'll never make it. He barely floats.”
“Did you see the poor guy cowering when Taffy came at him with the hockey stick?”
“She took that puck like taking candy from a baby.”
Shane grins. “There's only one way out for him, then.”
“What?” asks Adrian.
“African dance.”
W ednesday night. In the deep darkness. From all the way across the room, I can hear the spider spinning new threads in her web.
The clock ticks.
A sink is leaking occasional drops of water onto the floor. One of the toilets runs funny.
There is no other sound.
The night is endless. I feel like I've been a fly forever.
I've got to turn back sometime. Somehow.
But how? And when? What if my fly body dies of old age before whatever powers made this happen reverse the spell?
Oh hell oh hell oh hell oh hell
Get
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