Beast(55)

My stomach sinks.

They all got the go-ahead to hate me, say the terrible things, reduce me to anecdotes that make them feel like they have the right to do whatever idiots do. JP gave them his blessing. I know it. And the son of a bitch confirms. From the far end of the hallway, where he just left English, he sees me. A smile lights up his face. He points at me and starts to walk over. One of his minions laughs along with him. The one laugh attracts more guys and the group grows larger. They all look at me and laugh.

JP makes like he’s merely passing me in the hall, as if it’ll ever be that simple again. “Bad news, Dylan,” he says my way. “I don’t take payment plans.”

If I could, I would run.





TWENTY-TWO


This past week has been hell. The only thing getting me through is nightly phone marathons with Jamie telling me to turn the other cheek, to forgive, to be patient…all the things she tries to muster up every day and all the things I am currently failing at.

Thanks, JP. Now I’m everything I never wanted to be again. I’m the kid not picked for dodgeball or volleyball or to represent Mrs. Martin’s class in the first-grade spelling bee, even though I can spell the second and third grades under the table. Heads turn away from me. Like I have leprosy, Ebola, and plague all in one. It used to be I couldn’t go anywhere without a robust “BEAST!” thrown my way as I went by. Now the sea in the hallway parts with a trail of snickers made under their breath.

And really, for what? Because some sniveling little jerk told them to? Because they think it’s weird I kissed a trans girl on the cheek? So what, big deal. Lots of stuff is weird. I’m no fan of ketchup, but Jason Harrington practically drinks it with a straw. I might not hold hands with a dude but I didn’t give him shit when he brought a guy from his traveling basketball team to the dance last year. No, I was cool about it. I was like, oh wow, good for him for getting some palm-on-palm action because I—the sweaty, heaving ox over here in the corner—will never find someone to hold my hand. Hoof. Paw, whatever. So I’m not too keen on Jason following JP’s orders by throwing me a bunch of ketchup-swigging judgmental smirks these days.

There are a few smiles. Little quick sympathy grins from the girls in class. I only notice because I’m trying to not stare at their assets as they walk by.

I’m still mad.

Mostly I sit and eat my lunch in the library and pretend I’m Gandhi. Which is bullshit because I can guarantee if Gandhi hadn’t been on a hunger strike, he would’ve had friends to eat with him. Plus, I want to pick up JP and throw him into the whirling, twirling engine of a jumbo jet, and I’m very sure that goes against everything Gandhi preached.

Every time I see JP’s face, I think of Jamie. I wish you peace, I chant in my head. “I wish you peace,” I say now as he’s at my locker trying to “touch base.”

“I really want to talk to you,” he says. “Please? Just for one minute? You can time it.”

“I wish you peace.”

“Stop f*cking saying that.”

I lean over him. “I will say that until I’m purple because if I don’t, you will be literally—not figuratively, not metaphorically—dead, and I have no desire to go to prison. Not my scene. I wish you peace.”

While pushing off my locker, I “accidentally” knock him on his ass. Not super hard, but enough to end it for today because I can’t handle adding another ball to the juggling act I’m trying to pull off. No matter, he’s off to his new girlfriend’s house so he can go molest her in a quiet corner and she can coo and feel special that he chose her for the day. I’m alone again. But hey, this is great. I’m totally not feeling like ground-up slug on the bottom of someone’s shoe as I get into my mother’s car, which is waiting for me in the drop-off zone because she doesn’t trust me to get home by myself anymore.

I slam the car door shut.

“How was school today?” Mom asks, her attempt at sunshine falling short.

“Awesome. I made a lot of new friends, and everyone picked me to represent our class in the school spelling bee.”

The car pulls into traffic. “They still have spelling bees?”

“Uh-huh. And Becky and Suzie made me friendship bracelets at recess too.”

“Okay, enough.” She sighs, about to begin again. “You know, Dylan—”

“Please don’t,” I say.

“All I’m trying to say is—”

“Mom, not today, okay? Please.” Because I’m having a shit time and if you’re going to say anything, say I Love You. That’s it. No advice. No wheedling about my attitude. No momsplaining to me why JP and I need to go back to Square One and be bestest buddies for life. No opinions on my friends or lack thereof or school or grades or my imminent future. Just I Love You. That’s all. Done.

“We’re having some trouble, you and I. It’s obvious.”

“Mmm.” Astronauts can get the gist of it from space, so yeah.

“Maybe we need a break. Some time apart. Come back together in a stronger place.”

My ears perk up.

“I’ve decided to go to Pittsburgh,” she says, and I want to jump out and do the cha-cha.

“Really?”

“One of my coworkers ran into the same problem with her teenagers, and she said it was a breath of fresh air for everyone,” Mom says. “But there’s a but!”