Snapping shut my dusty Nancy Drew book, I straighten my back and glare at the zit-covered boy who’s clearly just gone out of his way to bump into me.
“Sorry, Pimple Butt,” I say, and some of the boys guffaw. “Try taking up less space next time.”
Mom also says I need to rein in the smart talk. Whatever.
The guy I’ve just aptly nicknamed Pimple Butt puts up two hands and gives me a hard shove. Guess he doesn’t like to be called that. Or laughed at by his friends.
When he shoves me, I realize just how strong he is. And I remember, again, how surroundedIam.
Maybe Mom was right. Maybe Idoneed to learn when to shut up.
Oh well.
“What did you say?” he growls, shoving me again, and it’s getting kind of annoying, honestly.
I answer his question seriously. “I said, ‘Sorry, Pimple Butt.”
It happens pretty fast. One minute he’s facing me, turning red as the boys around him laugh. The next, he’s shoving me a third time, so hard now that I slam into the wall behind me. Then he lifts up a hand and smacks my face.
The first thing I’m aware of isn’t the pain of the slap. It’s that I can’t see anymore. My glasses have just fallen off my face, and then there’s a sickening sound as he crushes them under his sneaker.
Oops.
I may only be ten years old, but I already know certain things. Things like, eight times eight is sixty-four. Santa Claus doesn’t exist, and neither does the Tooth Fairy. And Mom and Dad can’t afford a new pair of glasses.
Without glasses, there is just no way I’m going to be able to finishNancy Drew and the Hidden Staircase.Too bad, because it was just starting to get good.
“Ow,” I say, putting a hand to my cheek as the pain suddenly bursts through. My eyes burn and I’m horribly aware that I’m about to cry.Great.This day just really couldn’t be getting any better.
The second I get home, I’m telling Dad we have to go back.Mom can stay if she wants, but I’m not spending another minute in this stupid town.
Pimple Butt blinks down at me dumbly, as if wondering what to do now. Shove me yet again? Leave? Hurl a few insults my way?
Doubt it. He doesn’t look like he knows how to string a basic sentence together.
“Hey! Leave her alone!” calls out a voice, just as Mr. Pimple Butt seems to reach the conclusion that what he needs to do is give me another shove.
The crowd separates enough that I can make out the boy who just spoke. I recognize him. He’s in fifth grade too, but not in my class. I did see him in the cafeteria earlier and around the school. A dark-haired, sulking kind of boy half-hidden in a black hoodie. He doesn’t look like the type of kid who would speak, let alone speak to defend me, but that’s just what he’s doing.
“Leave her alone, fuckface,” he adds, and my eyes widen.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard a kid in elementary school swear. At least, not like that. Not as if it comes naturally. This kid can’t be older than eleven, but he just swore like it’s second nature to him.
Dad is always embarrassingly going on about how his pumpkin is so advanced for her age, just because I read a lot. But this kid sure could give me a run for my money. Maybe not in the book smart kind of way, but he’s definitely street smart.
I’m kind of nervous as he draws near and his eyes clash into mine. I don’t know what it is about him that’s so unsettling.
Maybe I’m just feeling the vibes change as the other kids immediately back off. Especially Pimple Butt, even though he’s a lot bigger than Hoodie Boy.
“Whatever,” he mutters, throwing his equally pimply hands into his pockets and walking away.
Hoodie Boy stares at me for a beat, then turns around.
“Wait!” I squeak out.
I curse myself as I do. What the heck? Why does my voice always come out weird at the worst possible time?
He looks back, glaring at me as if I’m the most annoying person on Earth. Didn’t he just… stand up for me? Why the sudden personality change?
