not too bad,” I countered. “I just finished a ballbuster from Mr. Hamburg. Lucky I had a smart partner.” I smiled, remembering the fun Melody and I had had writing our report…and the fun we’d had Saturday night.
“Who was your partner?” asked Dylan, scratching himself in two places at once.
The bell buzzed, and we gathered our things.
“Melody Hennon.”
Dylan hefted his backpack. “Scarface? Ugh. You should get an A for just having to look at her all that time.” He then made a gagging noise and left.
I sat there, quietly shredding the study guide. That dick wasn’t any different! After all this time, he still was the same shallow, bullying son of a bitch. Nothing had changed.
One thing had changed.
I ran out of class, just in time to see Dylan enter the men’s room. Bolting in, I found him approaching a urinal.
Was I really going to do this?
I grabbed his shoulder. Dylan, who’d been unzipping his fly, turned in shock.
“Um, hi, Leon?” He didn’t seem sure what to make of my getting touchy-feely in the bathroom.
I ground my teeth. My stomach was jumping and I had to pee.
“Dylan,” I said, my voice certainly more confident than I felt. “If you ever call Melody that again…if you ever call her anything again…”
Dylan was not smiling. He roughly shoved me back. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll hurt you.”
And now I would repeat the sixth grade. Now I’d be in for another serious ass beating. Now Dylan would once again prove that he was big and I was small and nothing would change that. All because I didn’t like him calling Melody what everyone else in school called her.
Only that wasn’t what happened. He just stood there, scowling at me.
I was aware we were not alone. Other guys had entered the john. I waited for them to start screaming at Dylan to mess me up.
Nothing but tense breathing. The stench of bleach and crap. A toilet flushing in the adjacent girls’ room.
Suddenly, Dylan barged past me, knocking me into the wall. But that was it. I wasn’t going to spend the next hour picking my teeth up off the floor or washing toilet water out of my hair.
The tardy bell rang, and the loiterers left. I just kind of stood there.
Why had I risked my jaw like that? If Dylan had insulted Rob, or Jimmy, or me, I would have let it go. I might have even joined in. And I was sure Melody had been called worse than Scarface.
But Melody was my friend. Maybe more, but a friend all the same. And not like Rob or Samantha. She had made me cry. She had opened her soul to me. I’d never connected with anyone like that before. And if Melody trusted me with her most secret hurts, I sure as hell was not going to let anyone talk about her like she was some kind of damn cartoon character that people could laugh at.
Even if we never kissed again, I knew that for the first time in my life, I had a best friend. An ally. Someone I could stick up for, and who would stick up for me.
And who, by the way, had an amazing ass.
15
AN ARGUMENT FOR ARRANGED MARRIAGES
T he poster in the school lobby declared KISSING A SMOKER IS LIKE KISSING AN ASHTRAY . A cartoon teen coughed and hacked while a pretty cartoon girl turned away in disgust. Someone had drawn something in the smoker’s mouth: either a bong or a crude sketch of the male anatomy.
It was the morning after I’d confronted Dylan, and I was a little nervous about going to school. Just a little. Still, I avoided my usual breakfast with Samantha, in case Dylan was looking for me.
I watched the hundreds of students pass me by. Dan Dzyan, reading a copy of
The Physicians’ Desk Reference
and laughing. Buttercup, snapping pictures of happy things, like the trophy case and the fire alarm. Bill, stumbling as he attempted to chew gum and walk. Amy…
Amy! She was walking with her chemistry lab partner, a curvy brunette named Cassandra. Amy was wearing a very short skirt, the kind that would ride halfway up her thighs when she was sitting down. She
“Who was your partner?” asked Dylan, scratching himself in two places at once.
The bell buzzed, and we gathered our things.
“Melody Hennon.”
Dylan hefted his backpack. “Scarface? Ugh. You should get an A for just having to look at her all that time.” He then made a gagging noise and left.
I sat there, quietly shredding the study guide. That dick wasn’t any different! After all this time, he still was the same shallow, bullying son of a bitch. Nothing had changed.
One thing had changed.
I ran out of class, just in time to see Dylan enter the men’s room. Bolting in, I found him approaching a urinal.
Was I really going to do this?
I grabbed his shoulder. Dylan, who’d been unzipping his fly, turned in shock.
“Um, hi, Leon?” He didn’t seem sure what to make of my getting touchy-feely in the bathroom.
I ground my teeth. My stomach was jumping and I had to pee.
“Dylan,” I said, my voice certainly more confident than I felt. “If you ever call Melody that again…if you ever call her anything again…”
Dylan was not smiling. He roughly shoved me back. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll hurt you.”
And now I would repeat the sixth grade. Now I’d be in for another serious ass beating. Now Dylan would once again prove that he was big and I was small and nothing would change that. All because I didn’t like him calling Melody what everyone else in school called her.
Only that wasn’t what happened. He just stood there, scowling at me.
I was aware we were not alone. Other guys had entered the john. I waited for them to start screaming at Dylan to mess me up.
Nothing but tense breathing. The stench of bleach and crap. A toilet flushing in the adjacent girls’ room.
Suddenly, Dylan barged past me, knocking me into the wall. But that was it. I wasn’t going to spend the next hour picking my teeth up off the floor or washing toilet water out of my hair.
The tardy bell rang, and the loiterers left. I just kind of stood there.
Why had I risked my jaw like that? If Dylan had insulted Rob, or Jimmy, or me, I would have let it go. I might have even joined in. And I was sure Melody had been called worse than Scarface.
But Melody was my friend. Maybe more, but a friend all the same. And not like Rob or Samantha. She had made me cry. She had opened her soul to me. I’d never connected with anyone like that before. And if Melody trusted me with her most secret hurts, I sure as hell was not going to let anyone talk about her like she was some kind of damn cartoon character that people could laugh at.
Even if we never kissed again, I knew that for the first time in my life, I had a best friend. An ally. Someone I could stick up for, and who would stick up for me.
And who, by the way, had an amazing ass.
15
AN ARGUMENT FOR ARRANGED MARRIAGES
T he poster in the school lobby declared KISSING A SMOKER IS LIKE KISSING AN ASHTRAY . A cartoon teen coughed and hacked while a pretty cartoon girl turned away in disgust. Someone had drawn something in the smoker’s mouth: either a bong or a crude sketch of the male anatomy.
It was the morning after I’d confronted Dylan, and I was a little nervous about going to school. Just a little. Still, I avoided my usual breakfast with Samantha, in case Dylan was looking for me.
I watched the hundreds of students pass me by. Dan Dzyan, reading a copy of
The Physicians’ Desk Reference
and laughing. Buttercup, snapping pictures of happy things, like the trophy case and the fire alarm. Bill, stumbling as he attempted to chew gum and walk. Amy…
Amy! She was walking with her chemistry lab partner, a curvy brunette named Cassandra. Amy was wearing a very short skirt, the kind that would ride halfway up her thighs when she was sitting down. She
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