“You skate?” he says to me like we’re friends. I ignore him, fumbling with my lock. I haven’t used it in three months, and I’ve forgotten the hang of it. “I’m new here,” the kid says. “Maybe you could show me where the good skate spots are around town.”
“Don’t talk to him,” Chris says to the new kid, still staring him down and standing broadside to further intimidate him. Chris hasn’t even bothered to put his stuff away.
“Why? Is he your bitch?”
Everyone goes silent for a second, the whole hallway it seems, the whole city of West Palm proper. Then Chris lunges at him, slams him back against the locker with his forearm locked under the kid’s chin, like he could break his windpipe if he felt like it. I jump out of the way. I’ve never seen Chris pull a move like that before. Meanwhile our crew all makeoohandahhnoises, the musical prelude to an ass beating.
“Watch your mouth,” Chris hisses. Now the kid looks rattled.
“Everything all right here?” a teacher barks, storming up to us, knowing full well everything isnotall right. Chris has a reputation for being a good kid, though, which is why the teacher gives him the chance to back down.
Chris releases the kid and backs off, but not too far. Chris’s posture tells me he’s ready to fight, itching for it. Chris gets this crazy look in his eyes when he’s about to go off—his nostrils flare and his face flushes, his muscles get all beastly looking. I swear he grows an inch or two. He has that look now. Meanwhile I’m motionless and tense, which is my reaction to conflict—I freeze up and become generally useless.
The new kid twists his neck as though stretching it. “I was just introducing myself. My name’s Dave.” He holds out his hand to me. I can’t believe the size of this kid’s cojones. I glare at him and finish with my locker, then walk away without another word to that asshole.
“See you after class, Papi,” Dave calls, and I flip him off, not caring if the teacher’s still there. I hate guys like that. Guys who get off on making other people feel small, like the world isn’t big enough for all of us to fit comfortably. I hate feeling weak and looking weak, especially in front of Chris.
Of course, Chris didn’t have to go apeshit on him either. Makes me wonder if Chris reacted so strongly because of the insinuation we were gay. I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
Regardless, I can’t have Chris always sticking his neck out for me. I’ve got to start fighting my own battles. Being more independent. I’m not his bitch or anyone else’s. Maybe I do have something to prove after all.
Standing up to an asshole like Dave is a good place to start.
I THOUGHTAsshole Dave would take the hint and move his locker somewhere else, but he seems determined to stick it out. A couple of days into school and he’s practically one of us, telling jokes and talking shit with the best of them. His mouth is foul, and the only good thing I can say about him is that he doesn’t talk to or about my sister again, at least not while I’m around.
Instead he’s all up in my business, asking me questions about my skateboard, my hair, where I’m from, what’s for lunch in the cafeteria that day, where my next class is, and if he can walk with me there. It’s kind of insane. I try to ignore him, but sometimes his shit is just too much. He only pesters me when Chris isn’t around, which means he thinks I’m an easy mark. Which sucks.
“The guys say you’re Puerto Rican, but I’ve never seen aboricuawith blue eyes,” Dave says to me on Wednesday between second and third period. “You sure you’re not adopted?”
“Do you know how ignorant you sound right now?” I say, unable to ignore his idiocy any longer and doubly irritated that he’s asking people about me.
“He speaks,” Dave exclaims and claps his hands together like he’s discovered a new element. “I knew it. So, what’s your name?”
I don’t answer, and he continues his assholery.
“Say something to me in Spanish, Papi.”
“No.”
“Por favor?”
“Fuck you.”
“Seriously, man. I’m in Spanish III. I’m practically fluent. Try me.”
“Eres un gilipollas.”
“You’re a….”
“Asshole,” I finish for him.
He laughs, a real gut shaker. I’m so glad I can amuse him. He slaps my back, and I yank my shoulder away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Lo siento,” he says, and it almost seems like he means it. I finish trading out my books, go to shut my locker, and Dave reaches up and grabs the door to stop me. “We should hang out sometime. You can help me with my Español.”
I glance over at him. The smile is gone and he looks sincere, but it’s hard to say either way. I still can’t believe he has the balls to mess with me. I’m being bullied by the fucking new guy.
