Page 50 of Forgotten Comeback
I’m being called to the principal’s office. Story of my youth.
Gavin
Twelve-years-old
One class to go, and I’ve officially survived my first week of middle school.
I close my locker and turn around, only to have my folder smacked out of my hands; it, along with my papers, goes flying across the hallway.
“Dropped your shit, polock.” An older boy gets in my face. He’s been trying to stir up trouble all week.
“Is he a polock, or is he a guido? I’m confused.” His buddy chimes in.
My lips curl. I’m getting ready to lay into both of these fuckfaces, but a teacher appears. “Boys, run along to class.”
What sucks is that we all have the same class. I keep my eye on the duo, refusing to allow them my back.
We arrive at class at the same time, none of us wanting to walk in first.
The bell rings, with the three of us lingering in the doorway.
“Boys, I don’t know what you’re doing, but get in your seats. Rocco, you first.”
The class snickers as I walk in first, the teacher writing something on the board. My leg’s kicked from behind at the calf. It buckles, with me nearly falling on my ass.
More snickers as I drop into my seat.
A note’s passed to me, and I hide the folded paper under my desk, opening it.
Is your mom a big whore like everyone says?
A pencil hits the back of my head, and I turn around to find the shitstirrer and his dumb face smirking.
A dangerous calm washes over me as I fold the note and stick it in my back pocket, counting down the seconds until the bell rings.
The day goes by in a blur, with P.E. up next. I don’t bother going into the locker room and changing; I’ll be getting my exercise in, but not with gym drills.
Lurking underneath the bleachers, I wait until shitstirrer exits the locker room, and I slink up behind him.
I kick his leg at the bend, and he stumbles forward.
He spins around, about to talk shit, but my fist’s already flying at his face. It connects with his jaw, a satisfying crunch as his head jerks to the side. Blood sprays my face as I tackle him to the ground and lay into him.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The chants barely register over the pounding of blood in my ears as I pin him with my knees and begin to pummel his face.
“Stop that right now!” The P.E. teacher shouts as he tries to pull me off the shitstirrer, but I’m so amped up, he can’t.
There’s a commotion, and multiple teachers are now ripping me away from his bloody face.
“Say fucking something else, you little pussy.” I spit.
I fidget in my chair as the headmaster behind his desk pretends to be busy on his computer. My mama bursts through the door in a skin-tight dress, her cleavage at risk of spilling out.
God, I hate that she has to dress this way at school. The note, still in my pocket, feels like it’s burning a hole through it.
“Headmaster,” she says before giving me the eye. “Rocco here looks perfectly fine. Are we sure that this other boy is in as bad a shape as you claimed on the phone?’
