Half the school calls me that now.
But Regina Sinclair has never called me Rabbit Ears.
Granted, she’s never called me anything. I doubt she even knows my name.
She’s an eighth grader. She has shiny black hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. She’s almost always wearing a striped miniskirt—with leggings if it’s cold outside—and a creamy cardigan that wraps around her body the way I’d like to. She wears makeup, too. I heard she was the first girl in her class to start wearing it, and all the other girls followed. Her lips are always the color of a fresh strawberry.
I’ve always wondered if her lip gloss is strawberry flavored, too. There’s only one way to find out.
I’ve never kissed a girl before. My buddy Maddox—he goes to a different school—says he has, but I think he’s lying. He kept deflecting my questions when I asked him about it.
“Rabbit Ears!”
A chill runs down my spine. Right on time, just when I’m working up a little courage to walk by Regina, maybe even make eye contact with her, my personal tormenter has made his entrance.
Hector Dimpsey is wearing his usual attire. Yellow T-shirt stained with whatever he had for lunch today, athletic shorts with his underwear sticking out, and ratty sneakers. He grabs me by the ear and slams me against my locker.
“Where’d you think you were going, Ears?”
“To…recess,” I sputter out.
We call it recess. It’s really just outdoor time after lunch. There are a few basketball hoops that some of the kids shoot half-deflated balls through. Other than that, it’s a chance for the teachers to get a moment to themselves before afternoon classes begin.
It’s also a chance for Hector to deliver his daily beating to me behind the cafeteria dumpsters. The paraeducators don’t patrol that area during recess, so it’s a free-for-all.
Every so often I manage to sneak out of lunch before Hector gets ahold of me.
No such luck today, though. If anything, he’ll beat me twice as hard for not immediately submitting.
He drags me through the back door by the ear and then pushes me to the ground. Two of his goons—I don’t know their names, but he calls them his Kingsmen—flank him. They start kicking at me as I squirm on the ground.
Then Hector hoists me up by the shoulders and the Kingsmen hold me in place. He starts wailing into my belly. He never hits my face—way too easy to leave a black eye or other evidence of his wrongdoing—only the parts of my body where bruises will be covered by clothing. He knocks the wind out of me, and I try to hunch over, but the goons keep me standing to maximize the pain from Hector’s punches.
He ends the beating with a kick to my balls, and I crumple to the ground, crying.
“Pussy little Leprechaun never fights back.” Hector spits on me for good measure. “What a fucking wimp.”
The Kingsmen laugh with Hector, and they head to the main outdoor area.
I check my watch. I have just enough time to run to a bathroom and clean myself up before class. Make it look like this never happened.
Hector’s an ass, but at least he’s got good time management skills.
I get to my feet and fall right back down to the ground. One of the Kingsmen must have gotten my ankle, and it hurts like hell. I can’t put any weight on it.
Shit.
I’ll have to call for help. Get a teacher. And then I’ll have to explain why I look all messed up.
If I tell them I got beat up by Hector Dimpsey, he’ll make my life even more of a hellscape than it already is. If I tell them I just tripped and fell, they won’t believe me.
I grit my teeth and try one final time to get to my feet, but I collapse to the ground again, crying out in pain.
“Hey, need a hand?”
I look up and gasp.
It’s another eighth grader. Tall, slim, with dyed black hair—highlighted with electric green streaks—that covers one of his eyes. Wearing all black, including eyeliner.
