A & L Do Summer by Jan Blazanin

straight.”
    I slump against the wall. “That makes two of us.”
    A hulking shadow blocks the sun. “There are two of you, all right,” a high-pitched male voice mocks. “Two major losers asking to get their faces busted open.” After delivering the line that earned him his nickname, Buster Reese exposes the tobacco wad in his cheek in a brown-toothed sneer. With his tattooed arms crossed over his beefy chest and his flabby stomach almost sucked in, I’m sure he strikes terror into the hearts of children under ten.
    Okay, maybe he scares me, too. Ferret is disgusting and annoying, but Buster is pure evil. From reading the police calls section of the Cottonwood Creek Gazette I know Buster’s been busted for vandalism, assault, criminal mischief, and public intoxication. I’ve heard rumors that he’s done a lot worse, and the crap he pulls at school is enough to convince me. I’ve seen him trip guys and elbow them in the gut just because they’re within reach. Girls walk to class in pairs as protection against Buster cornering them in the stairwell for his idea of romance. Two weeks ago he aimed his truck at a squirrel crossing the street. I wouldn’t be surprised if he goes after small children, too.
    â€œYeah, busted open,” Kong Chesterfield chimes in, punching his meaty right fist into the palm of his left hand. Having reached his conversational limit, Kong stops palm-punching to swat at a swarm of early-rising gnats.
    Laurel and I catch each other’s eyes, and my uneasiness comes out in a giggle. Kong’s nickname came from his monstrous size, sloping forehead, and inept ball handling on the basketball court. Buster is close to six feet tall, but the top of his head barely reaches Kong’s chin. Kong has never looked more like King Kong swiping at planes in his signature death scene than he does now.
    Ferret pokes his head under Kong’s armpit. “What are you laughing at, Ash Rot?”
    Laurel lifts her chin. “Look in a mirror, Ferret, and you won’t have to ask.”
    Buster spits a stream of tobacco on the sidewalk. “Quit trying to distraction us, bitches. We know what you did.”
    I pull up a confused frown, which isn’t difficult. Buster has four-letter words mastered. If he ventures beyond that, you’ll need an interpreter. But he’s also infamous for slamming guys into their lockers because they might be looking at him funny. Which means I keep my mouth shut.
    â€œAs usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Buster.” Laurel bats her lashes in wide-eyed innocence, which totally works—with her left eye. The right one looks a little guilty.
    â€œCut the crap,” Ferret says. “Last night we went to a lot of trouble to pull off the most awesome stunt in this loser school’s history. And it went off smooth as snot.”
    Not the best choice of words for a guy with chronic booger issues.
    â€œWe got everybody here early to watch Hammond walk into a mess of pigs.” Ferret gestures at the crowd of before-school loiterers, which—now that I notice—is larger than usual.
    With my hand half-covering my mouth, I mutter, “A herd.”
    â€œWhat?” Ferret shoves a wad of greasy hair behind his oddly tiny ear.
    I lower my hand. “A group of pigs is called a herd, not a mess.”
    Kong scratches his armpit. “It was supposed to be pigs and a mess,” he observes.
    Ferret gives him a look that’s half-frown, half-disbelief. “So the senior class is here bright and early to see Hammond get trampled by the three little pigs, and what do they see?”
    â€œAn exceptionally lovely sunrise?” Laurel suggests.
    â€œNothing,” Ferret snarls. “No pig crap, no pigs, no nothing.”
    Buster shifts his chaw to his other cheek. “Which makes us three look bad in front of all our friends.”
    Does the guy have a clue how many