Page 2 of Manny

His lips twitch. “Annoyed?”

“Yeah, like you’re ready to punch someone.”Hopefully not me.

“We’re getting off track here.”

“Next you’ll be saying you’ll pay me to finish your homework.”

He gives me a look that says ‘hey, that’s not a bad idea’.

“Don’t even think about it,” I mutter.

“So we have a deal? I’ll keep everyone off your back and you’ll fuck around with art like the good little freak you are, and we both get an A.”

I try not to bristle at the wordslittle freak.“I still don’t see what’s really in it for me. I don’t get beat upthatmuch.”

We share a look, both knowing that’s not true. Then his eyes trail down to my baggy shorts, pink sneakers, and then back up to the legion of bangles and beads up my arms. “That could change by the time the bell rings.”

Why are kids so intimidated by pink trainers? I mean, okay, I don’t have the money to afford Nikes, and I may have spray painted them, but whatever. At least nobody can accuse me of being unoriginal.

“I’ll think about it.” I turn back to the textbook, flicking my eyes to the front where Mr. Adams is distracted by helping astudent. “What guarantee do I have that you won’t renege on the deal?” I add out of the side of my mouth.

“It’s not a lifetime deal,asshat. You turn in the work, I’ll keep you safe.”

“This is technically extortion.”

“Extortion with an end goal, one where we both win.”

So I agree. I mean, what choice do I really have? And being able to walk around without fear of being jumped is kind of appealing.

We end up spending weeks side by side. Him studying field positions and strategy on the team under his textbook, and me doing all the work. And I have to admit, things have been good lately. I can eat my lunch outside without the fear of someone sneaking up behind to yank my shorts down, or have my head smacked into one of the lockers. Kids can be fuckers.

So the weeks pass and Shep ends up being the perfect bodyguard. We leave each other alone, barely talk, and there’s an understanding out in the corridors; a place I’ve always dreaded having to walk.

Now and again, I catch him looking at me. I’ve no idea what he’s doing, but I don’t meet his eyes. He’s probably looking for any excuse to beat my head in and turn the entire school against me.

If another kid hassles me, Shep deals with it. So in a way, as the semester passes, I feel differently at school. Like there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Like I can get through this.

When he gives me a chin lift one day and says, “What are the bruises from?” It startles me.

I realize my long-sleeved top has ridden up, revealing the bruise that my step-dad left there a few days ago. I yank it back down. “I got tackled.” Apparently I don’t lie very well...

“You don’t play sports.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. I meet his eyes angrily. “What do you care,hotshot?”

“I don’t. I just wondered why you always wear baggy clothes, and now I know why.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I can teach you how to fight.”

I snort. “Right. Like that’ll help.”

He leans toward me. “I’m not the monster you think I am.”

I want to believe him. But I’ve been fooled so many times that I’ve lost all faith in the human race. Shep isn’t my friend. He’s just another dude using me for something, because that’s what I am. A human punching bag, if not physically, then definitely emotionally.

“Right, but like you said; this isn’t a lifetime deal.”

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