When I shaved, I did something different and left a line of stubble from my lower lip to my chin. I stared at it for a moment and decided to make it a bit fuller, like one of the guys did on the Abercrombie site I saw. It worked. It gave me an edge.
I shook my wet hair and watched it fall naturally into place. I dried it with a towel and ran my fingers through it.
When I was finished, I dressed and stood in front of the mirror again. I looked the same but not the same, if that makes sense. The change was just enough. I filled out my clothes but not ridiculously so. I hadn’t gone too far. People would notice and they might mention it, but I had a plan for that, and over the next several weeks the changes would continue to be subtle.
I left my bedroom and was met by my father in the kitchen. He was brewing a cup of coffee. His lower back was pressed against the countertop and his eyes were bloodshot. One look at me and they widened. “What the hell happened to you?”
I wasn’t staying long. I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“You working out or something?”
“Trying to.”
“Huh.”
No criticism? No caustic judgment? That was new. I wonder if he knew it was my eighteenth birthday today. I doubted it. “See you tonight,” I said.
“I’ll probably be out.”
Of course, you’ll be out. You’ll be at Judy’s with creepy Jim.
“Time to find work.”
And that stopped me.
“What kind of work?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just time to find work.”
“That’s great, Dad.”
“Nobody’s going to want a washed-up drunk, kid. Don’t fool yourself. But I’ll give it a shot. I have to. They’re cutting off our disability.”
“I can get a job.”
“You might have to.”
“I can flip burgers or something.”
“What you need to do is do better in school so you won’t have to when you’re my age.”
I walked outside, surprised by what had just taken place and glad that it was another sunny day. I started walking up the incline that led to the street, where a group of other students were waiting for the bus to arrive. I hoped he could find a job. I hoped they could turn their lives around. I felt that if they could get back into their routine, the drinking would stop and it would be better at home.
As usual, I hung back from the other kids, not wanting to draw their attention, but when a car rounded the corner and stopped beside me, that changed. It was Jennifer and she was smiling. I felt a little rush and couldn't help smiling back.
The passenger-side window was open. “Want a ride?” she asked.
“You’re picking me up?”
“Maybe.”
“That would be great.”
I slipped off my backpack and was aware that she was looking at me.
“No hoodie,” she said. “That’s a change.”
I got in the car, aware of the others watching and likely wondering why this girl of all girls had swung by to give me a ride. “Change is good.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without one.” She looked over at me. I could almost feel her eyes on me as I tucked the backpack between my legs. “You should wear a T-shirt more often.”
“I had nothing else to wear.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
Was she flirting with me? What the hell? Nobody ever flirted with me.
She put the car into gear and moved forward to turn around. And then we saw it. She stopped the car and put her hand over her mouth. I stared at it and felt shame, embarrassment and anger.
It was our trailer.
Sometime in the night, somebody had spray-painted the words “A FAGGOT LIVES HERE” in huge black letters that took up almost the entire side of our home. Behind us, the kids at the street corner started to laugh because they knew we had just seen it. I stared at the words and while I knew I could make them disappear, I obviously couldn’t do anything about them with Jennifer or the other kids here.
I looked at her and saw genuine concern in her eyes. Behind us, the bus arrived in a rush of squealing brakes.
“Would you mind if I walked to school?" I asked. "I need to take care of that.”
“Let me help.”
“No,” I said. “I appreciate it, but I need to do something now before my parents see it. They’ll freak and I don’t want you to see that if it happens.”
I grabbed my backpack, opened the door and stepped out. “Would you mind telling Principal Roberts that I’ll be a little late.”
“Of course.”
“And don’t worry about this,” I said as I shut the door. “I’m used to it. I can handle it. I’m stronger than they think I am." I smiled at her. "See you in class.”
I watched her drive off and made sure she was well down the street before I turned to look at that the trailer and the words someone had scrawled across it. Would I never get a break? Is this how I always would be seen?
Happy fucking birthday. My chance to have a moment alone with Jennifer, who for some reason had gone out of her way to offer me a lift, was now driving away.
I looked around and wondered how many people in the neighborhood had seen this. No one was around, but still it was humiliating. I looked around me, saw that it was clear, and waved a hand over the side of the trailer. The words disappeared.
Now, the larger question was who did it? Hastings? Would he really come after me after what went down yesterday? If he was sane, it would seem unlikely. But the thing about Hastings is that he is off. Something isn’t right with him. There’s a craziness about him that's always worried me. You can see it in his eyes.
Yesterday, I gave him one hell of a show. He busted his hand on my pinky, which pretty much was a kick to his balls and to his masculinity. Was he pushing back or was this done by somebody else? Maybe a friend of his? Maybe one of the dozens of others who’d like to see me burn?
I didn’t want to be late. There was nothing worse than walking into a classroom when class was in session-all eyes suddenly were on you. I checked my watch and knew I could make it. I hurried to the woods behind my house and, with a little boost from the amulet, I ran faster than I ever had.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I made it with a few minutes to spare.
I went to my locker, dropped off the books I didn’t need, grabbed a few others I did need, shut the door and spun the combination lock. I turned to leave for my homeroom-and there it was.
Everyone in the hallway was looking at me.
Some were trying to be discrete, but others were flat-out staring at me and there was no question that what I saw on their faces was confusion. I swung my backpack over my shoulder and walked through the crowd, expecting the typical jeers, but they didn’t come.
At least not immediately.
I was about to enter my homeroom when Jake Tyler, he of yesterday's broken nose and boo-hoo crying jag, came up beside me and blocked the entrance with an outstretched arm. “How’s it going, roid boy?”
I looked at his arm, then up at his swollen nose. “Let’s put it this way-things are way better than what's going on with that blob of a schnoz of yours.”
There was a flash of genuine surprise on his face. I’d never stood up to him before. “What did you just say to me?”
“Your nose,” I said, loudly enough so people could hear me in the room beyond. “It looks like shit. Are they going to try to straighten it, or are you going to be stuck with a hooked nose and be permanently disfigured?” I put my hand on his arm and pushed it down so I could pass. “Excuse me,” I said.
Every eye was on me as I entered the room. It was like I was an alien. Or that I had some secret-op doppelganger who had taken my place. I looked quickly for Hastings and saw that he wasn’t here. Neither was Jennifer, though Alex was. And then, by the expression on his face, I knew I was in for it even before Jake Tyler lifted his books and slammed them down hard on top of my head.