I have not proofread or even reread this, fair warning. It’s like airing my dirty laundry over a busy (or not so busy) city street. After writing this bit, I think I might change the POV, because all the I(s) are starting to annoy me! But at least I’m doing the damned thing!
I didn’t want to be mean to him, though I felt like I didn’t have much of a choice. I was the new kid, Dougie Fergus was the well established nerd. He had this sort of sideways shuffle when he walked that made it seem like he had something stuck up his arse. He was the first person to talk to me when school started that fall. My family moved to Capitola, Ohio early that June, so I’d spent all summer with no company but my two brothers and my sister, which naturally got old pretty fast. And this kid named Jerry from down the street, but he was in eleventh grade and I was in ninth, so I didn’t have any classes with him and didn’t even see him that first day of school.
I was standing in front of my locker trying to figure out how to put in the combination when Dougie Fergus stopped and offered to help. I showed him my combination, and with three quick turns my empty locker stood open.
“I’m Doug,” he said, offering his hand. I turned my back to him and shoved my notebooks into the locker. The truth was, I could see the score. He had dark brown hair like a dull, unwashed helmet on his head, pants that ended long before his sneakers began, glasses that almost engulfed his whole face, and that awkward sidle. Befriending the kid would have been nothing less than social suicide, and our family was already poor to start out with, which made things hard enough. Already I’d been working out ways to keep the other kids from guessing it. It was the free or reduced lunch that would give me away, but I could wait until everyone else had their food and get my lunch once there was nobody left in line.
“Thanks, Doug,” I said over my shoulder as I walked away. He shuffled behind me, trying to catch up in the hall. Breathlessly, he asked what class I had first period. I pretended that I didn’t hear him and walked faster. I felt like the kids loitering on either side of the hall were all watching me.
I made it to first period English just before the bell. Dougie, although I suppose I shouldn’t call him that, made it slightly after. He stopped up front to catch his breath and survey his surroundings. He spotted me and waved enthusiastically. I faked a yawn and put my head down on my desk.
“In your seat,” the teacher said. Her hair was cropped short and she had the absolute biggest ass I’d ever seen in person, like two watermelons bundled and stuffed into a pair of stretch-band pants. Dougie (old habits die hard) made for an empty seat next to me, but the teacher redirected him to a desk in the first row. It was the only time that whole school year that I liked the woman.
I watched as she called roll, trying to put faces to the names, trying to puzzle out who it might benefit me to make friends with. As I examined my peers, I realized that they were all watching me.
“Megan Kopinski?” the teacher said, her voice all mild exasperation, as though she’d said it several times, which she might have. I realized I hadn’t been listening, really. I’d spotted this boy with broad shoulder and an easy smile, although now I know that he was really laughing at me.
“Right. Here. Sorry,” I said. The class tittered and then Mrs. Walker (I only just noticed that she’d written her name on the board behind her) mumbled something under her breath about kids not even knowing their own bleeding names. Then she moved on, pronouncing names in a tedious monotone.
“Lindsey Laster…Mark Lawrence…Sandy Majors…” My attention drifted again.
The boy’s name was Stephen Harding. He was a junior varsity football player and Lauren Bywick’s boyfriend. She must have noticed me looking at him, or Dougie looking at me, because after class she asked me if I had a thing for that wanker Dougie. When I told her that I didn’t, she tsked at me and told me it was a shame, that we would have made an absolutely adorable couple. She flicked her blond hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. She brushed by me a little too close and nearly knocked me off balance. I was glad that neither of them were in my next class, though I thought Dougie was, because he followed me down the hall until I ducked into the girl’s restroom. It was filled with smoke and giggling girls passing what I thought, at first, was a home-rolled cigarette. The one with braided brown hair glared at me, nudging the redhead next to her.
“This is the senior’s bathroom,” she said. The redhead smirked. “The little girl’s room is two halls over.”
“But I–”
“No,” she said, “freshman, right?”
“Yeah, but–”
“No, you don’t talk.” She turned to her friend. “The nerve, right Brandy?”
“Totally,” Brandy-the-redhead replied.
“Can you inform her?”
“Do I have to?”
“Somebody’s got to,” the brown-haired girl said. She took a puff and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, too thick and spicy-sweet to be a cigarette. “I’m hardly in the mood.”
“Greg?” Brandy asked. She set her backpack on the floor and took the joint from the other girl. She took a hit, exhaled slow, and then sighed. “What are you still doing in here?” I stood there, slack-jawed, kind of frozen in place. I thought I felt my fingertips tingling, but maybe that was just my imagination.
“Tell her,” the other girl demanded.
“Fine,” Brandy said, her voice all irritation. “Here’s the thing,” she passed the joint back and examined herself in the mirror, as though I wasn’t even worth a glance. “Freshman are not allowed to speak to seniors unless asked to. But you knew that, right?”
I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to say anything or not.
“Go on. Answer,” she said.
“No?” It came out like a question, but I was just glad that I’d been able to say anything at all.
“New here, huh?” Brandy said. There was something like sympathy in her voice, her features softened in the mirror, and I really wanted to like the girl.
“Brandy,” the other girl whined.
“Right,” she said, and it was like I’d imagined the momentary change in her. “Well, now you know. You don’t get to speak to seniors, if one asks you to do something, you have to do it, and finally, you aren’t to be caught using our bathroom. Te claro?” I didn’t know what that last bit meant, but the other girl was glaring at me and so I hurried out and on to my next class. The bell rang before I got there.
I didn’t see Dougie again until lunch. I’d hung out awkwardly against one of the cafeteria walls, trying to look like there was some reason for me to be there, until I saw the lunch line die down. Then I took my place at the end of the line. Doug was maybe six people in front of me, nearly to the checkout. Lauren Bywick and Stephen were right behind him, whispering to each other. Lauren stopped to giggle and toss her hair over her shoulder. That’s when she spotted me. She scowled in my direction, though I don’t know what I’d done to her. Dougie noticed me a second later and hollered back to ask if I wanted to cut in front of him in line, and then have lunch at his table. I tried to pretend that I didn’t hear him again, but Lauren grinned maliciously and pulled Stephen with her out of line. She rejoined the line right behind me, and the others standing between Dougie and me followed her example. I was stuck behind Dougie, who waved at me like he hadn’t seen me for twenty years. I tried to slide my lunch back over the counter like I’d changed my mine about the pasty pizza square and the carton of milk. Lauren giggled and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Don’t forget your lunch,” she said, sliding the tray back in my direction. I should have told her I just realized I’d forgotten my lunch money, but I didn’t think of it in time. The cashier looked at me expectantly and I just moved ahead. I whispered that my name was on the free lunch list and hoped that she’d let it go at that.
“What?” She said.
“Free lunch,” I said as quietly as I could.
“What?” The lunch lady almost yelled it, it seemed like it took everybody at this school about one half second to get annoyed. “Child, you’re going to have to speak up.”
“Free lunch,” I said once more, almost in a regular tone. The lunch lady crossed her arms over her chest, her apron was stained with pizza or spaghetti sauce. She leaned forward, her tremendous boobs rested on the cash register.
“What did you say?” she said angrily. Behind me, Lauren snickered.
“Mrs. Dolin, she said that she gets FREE LUNCH,” the last part Lauren practically shouted, the lunch line fell silent. Dougie, who was still waiting for me looked at the tiles, or maybe at his slice of pizza. At that moment, I hated them all. Mrs. Dolin nodded and leaned back in her chair. “You’re welcome,” Lauren said, as though she’d done me some great favor.
“Right,” I mumbled. I could feel my cheeks burning. Mrs. Dolin grabbed a list from under the register.
“Name please?”
“Megan Kopinski,” I said.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t hear you.”
“She said her name is Megan Kopinski, and she wants her free lunch now!” Lauren was barely able to finish the sentence before it dissolved into giggles.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Dolin said. “Yes, there you are, Miss Kopinski, got you right here.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered. I took my tray, brushed by Dougie (pausing only long enough to glare at him) and found my way to an empty table. I dumped the pizza and the milk in the trash on the way, left the tray on top of the garbage can, then plopped down. I put my head on my arms and pretended to sleep. I wasn’t crying. I wouldn’t want anybody to think that. I was only sitting, and wishing I was just about anywhere else. I felt somebody sit down next to me. I knew it was Dougie.
“You don’t have to pay her no mind,” he said.
“Go away. Go away and leave me alone,” I snapped. It came out muffled by arms, but at the moment the last thing I wanted to do was see him. I blamed him for the whole thing. He got up without another word and left me. At least there was that.
