Page 7 of Taking It To Overtime
“I’m not a baby,” she insisted, stamping her foot even though she knew better than to react. They’d think they were getting to her.
“A total baby.” The boy continued.
“Careful Brody,” one follower said, eyes flashing. “Don’t let her touch you. She’s covered in ugly spots. Probably has some hideous disease.”
Vera looked down at her arms and legs. She was all straight lines and knobby joints covered in a spray of freckles.
“Those aren’t spots. They’re freckles. You can’t catch freckles.”
“Whatever baby.” Brody said. “Get out of here.”
“No,” Vera said, determined not to talk to them anymore, but not to give in either. She also would not let herself cry. Not even one tiny tear or a single sniffle. She turned her back on the boys, ready to resume her scan for more suitable future friends, when she felt something push her hard.
Vera went down like an unbalanced stack of books, smacking her cheek hard against the woodchips. A rock dug into her hipbone, her knees knocking together, and the tears welled-up in her eyes despite the number of times she swallowed. She took a minute, breathing through the ache in her side and the sting in her face. She breathed back the hurt and the fear and the pain. She wouldnotshow them they got to her. Not at all.
A quiet thump sounded from above and behind her. Followed by two more. A shadow fell over Vera as she took stock of herself on the slightly damp ground. She pushed up on her elbows and rolled over, ignoring the woodchips stuck to her knees and shins. Standing above her was a tall boy with dark, wavy hair. His back was to her, but he had an off-white polo shirt and a pair of blue shorts. His feet were planted wide on either side of her ankles, and his hands balled into fists. Fists he held up in front of his narrow chest.
The three meanface boys were lying on the ground just like she was, although they weren’t nearly as composed as her, Vera thought. The two goonies were crying, one clutching his shoulder, the other his stomach. Brody wasn’t crying, but bright red blood poured out of his nose, staining the front of his t-shirt. Vera could see splatters on the edges of the new kid’s scuffed sneakers.
“I think it’s time for you to go now,” the new boy said, but he was looking at the bullies, not at her, so Vera continued to push herself upright until she was sitting in the dirt. She used her hands to wipe the woodchips from her legs, wincing at the scrapes on her palms. She didn’t look when Brody and his friends lumbered to their feet. They might have been taller than her, but they weren’t taller than her champion.
“Whatever,” Brody said, his words muffled through his hands and still dripping nose. “Standing up for babies again, Robbie? Can’t find friends your own size?”
Her champion, Robbie, didn’t answer. He just waited until the bullies slunk away and then turned to face her. He was ordinary looking, Vera thought. Dark eyes, dark hair, lopsided smile. She didn’t know why that surprised her.
“I like your freckles,” he said, extending a hand out until it hovered right in front of her face. He was helping her up, Vera realized. She slid her palm against his, feeling the callouses along his fingers and at the base of his thumb.
“Thanks,” she said as he hauled her to her feet. They were almost the same height, but Vera knew she was tall. He was probably older than her. “I like your punching.”
The boy grinned.
“I’m Robbie Oakes.”
“Vera Aster Novak. I’m new.”
“In Kimmelwick?”
Vera nodded. “I’m going to be in third grade, but I thought it might be nice to make some friends before school starts.” There was only one elementary school in town, so unless his family lived somewhere else, or he went to one of the fancy private schools thirty minutes away, they’d be in the same building.
“I’m going into fourth, but my neighbors Vic and Erik are in third. They’re pretty cool. They’ll be your friends.”
He looked over her shoulder and she turned to see two identical-faced boys holding three separate hockey sticks and watching them like they were a new movie at the Cineplex. All her gratitude vanished in a puff of smoke.
“I don’t need anyone to look after me,” she said, full of piss and vinegar and a touch of bravado she definitely didn’t feel. Not when her hands still stung as she fisted them.
“I know,” Robbie smiled at her and she felt herself soften by degrees. First her fingers, her wrists, the long bones in her arms—both of them—then her elbows and up to her shoulders. “But now you have us, too.”
“Cool,” she said. “Thanks.”
She watched him step out of the line for the monkey bars, turning his back to her as he trudged up the small hill to where his friends waited for him. The twin—because they had to be twins—with two sticks held one out to her champion. He took it, his eyes meeting hers for one suspended moment as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked, her voice floating between them like a dandelion seed. “Why get involved?”
“My dad told me we have to take care of things that are precious. He said they can’t be replaced.” His smile wasn’t so lopsided, after all. Not when he showed all his teeth.
“How’d you know that was me?”
She expected her dad to know she was one-of-a-kind and unique and precious and irreplaceable. It was literally his job. That and he’d known her for all eight years of her life. Longer if she counted the time before she was born. But this kid didn’t know her. He hadn’t even heard her name, or told her his, until after he’d stepped in. So how’d he figure out she was worth saving?
