“Hey… Hey, quiet kid,” a guy on the other side of the planter called out.
Quiet kid.I had no plans of turning around but was forced to when I was hit on my back by a small rock from the planter. The rock hit me on a spot that was bruised from Sebastian, and I saw red. I turned and glared at the group of guys wearing black pants and Metallica shirts with black jackets. These kids were nothing but assholes. They bothered lots of kids, including me. And none of us ever said anything because nothing would probably change anyhow.
“Hey, why don’t you go follow him and see if he’ll let you suck his dick?” One of them gestured to the basketball jock I had been watching. I felt the heat rise on the back of my neck. He’d said it loud enough that he’d drawn attention… a lot of attention.
“Hey! Mitchell!” another Metallica kid yelled over to the basketball group. Apparently, the kid from under the bleachers was Mitchell. When they all looked this way, Metallica hollered out, “The quiet kid wants to suck your dick!”
The basketball guys with Mitchell laughed and pointed at me while they gave Mitchell some shit and teased him. Mitchell didn’t look amused and flipped me off. I sighed and unzipped my backpack to pull out my sandwich. Tiny rocks from the planter were tossed at my back and embarrassing phrases meant to humiliate me were called out loudly. Still, I kept my head down and concentrated on unwrapping my sandwich.
People really suck.
I had just unwrapped my sandwich when one of the Metallica kids jumped in the puddle right in front of me. As the rest of his pals burst into laughter, I could feel my patience slipping.
“Hey, are you lost?” the kid asked while his buddies continued to throw pebbles and rocks at my back.
“What the hell? You just got me all wet!”
“I saw you eyeing Mitchell—”
“I wasn’t eyeing anyone!”
“I was going to say, you can suck my dick… for a hundred bucks.” The kid laughed and grabbed his crotch while his friends cheered him on.
More rocks.
More laughter.
More stares.
More name calling.
More reasons I hated life.
“Hey!” A booming voice sliced through the crowd of laughter, instantly putting it all to a stop.
I looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. I couldn’t find a teacher or an adult. The courtyard was quiet, and no one moved. The muffled sound of students inside the lunchroom and thunder in the quickly darkening sky was all that could be heard. From across the courtyard, a kid wearing a letterman jacket walked briskly toward us.
Hollis—Star running back for the football team… Most popular kid in school… Teacher’s pet… The guy everyone wanted to date… Tons of scholarships waiting for him… Brand new car in the parking lot—Hawkins.
I thought the Metallica kid thought Hollis was coming to his aid. Everyone in the courtyard must have thought that, including me. He walked right up to the Metallica kid.
“Knock it off!” Hollis yelled at the kid.
“Dang. Sorry. I didn’t know he was your friend, Hollis,” the kid said, sounding genuine.
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to him.” Hollis gestured to me.
“Sorry,” the kid said to me.
Hollis looked at me, waiting for me to do or say something. I nodded at the Metallica kid as I tried to process what was happening.
“Stop throwing rocks and words. It’s shitty, and everyone here sees the crap you guys pull day in and day out. You guys hurl around words like weapons, and it doesn’t matter to you who your target is. Leave people the fuck alone,” Hollis barked.
Suddenly, teachers and staff hurried over to find out what was going on. My voice seized up because I couldn’t believe this guy—theguy—put these punks in their place. As the teachers sorted everything out by listening to Hollis and the Metallica kids, I stood by in case anyone needed anything from me. One of the teachers happened to be my American Lit teacher. It was interesting to see how the staff paid Hollis attention as if he was another adult. How could the staff have been so oblivious to the punks and bullies of the school until Hollis opened his mouth?
“Patrick, do you need anything?” my Lit teacher asked as other staff escorted the Metallica kids to the front office. Hollis glanced at me before he made his way back to his social bunch. I shook my head at my teacher’s question and looked down at my damp clothes. I had a dry sweatshirt in my locker and would change into it. “Do you need something to eat?”
“No. I’ll be fine. I have some other stuff in my backpack,” I explained.
