is finally over, I hurry to my locker, grab what I need and am one of the first to get on the bus.
When I get home, the first thing I do is change into dry socks. Comfortable once more, I use the phone in the kitchen to call Perry’s house. I get his answering machine, and I leave a long message, begging him to call me. I wait by the phone until dinner, trying to hide my distress, but Mom seems to have a sixth sense. I guess moms do.
‘Are you and Perry fighting?’ Mom asks me as the three of us sit down for dinner after Dad gets home from work.
I shrug, poking at my spaghetti with my fork, not sure if I want to eat it or play with it. ‘I have everyone mad at me lately.’
‘Are you still seeing Brian?’ Dad asks.
I’m sure he’s hoping I will say that we’ve broken up. But to be honest, I don’t know if we are still together or not. I don’t know if Brian is just angry because I embarrassed him with that outburst on the bus. Am I supposed to assume that because he’s ignoring me, we’re breaking up? I’ve been too afraid to call him to find out what’sgoing on. Maybe we all just need some time to ourselves.
‘I don’t know how to answer that one, Dad.’ It’s all I can say.
For the rest of the week and all through the weekend, there is no word from Perry. He doesn’t come to school, he won’t answer his door. I’ve been to his house five times – and he won’t return my two-dozen phone calls. Brian and all of my so-called new friends ignore me when they aren’t making fun of Perry to my face. I am so frustrated and depressed. I don’t think I have ever felt so alone.
It’s Monday and I am now so miserable that I don’t think I can make it through another day. I sit alone on the bus, ignored by Brian and his friends. When I get to my locker, I dig out the scrap paper with the combination number that I can never remember and open the door. Perry’s leather bomber jacket is hanging on the hook. I feel my heart skip a beat. Perry is here.
I turn to look down both ends of the hallway and through the mass of kids scurrying about. I can’t spot Perry. I shove my parka into the locker and grab the books I need and hurry off to my first class. Perry will be in that class.
I walk through the hall and down a set of stairs, mentally sorting out all the things that I am going to say and what order I will say them in. I think about what Perry might say and how he might respond to me. I have it all playing in my head. Everything is going to be alright.
As I walk towards my classroom, a swarm of kids comes flying down the hall. I have to throw myself up against the wall to avoid being knocked over. Strangely, they all seem to be running in the same direction, down the hall and towards the gym. I can’t imagine what’s going on. I don’t care. I’m still thinking about seeing Perry. At least if everyone else is distracted, Perry and I will be able to have some time alone to talk before class starts. But from somewhere I can hear a noise.Voices. Dozens of voices, chanting, cheering, jeering. Something is going on.
I start walking in the direction the voices are coming from. My pace quickens as I make out some of what is being said.
‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’
I drop my bag to the floor to sprint down the hall, towards the crowd, towards the noise. I slam hard up against the wall of bodies and push my way through to the front. It’s a struggle of elbows and shoving and cursing, but I get there.
I see a flurry of orange and white jackets – school soccer team jackets – punching, kicking, spitting, taunting. It’s Perry in the middle of it all. I jump forward and grab at sleeves, screaming for them to stop. One by one, I recognise each individual. I pull at them, screaming their names, pleading with them to leave Perry alone. One by one, they fall back and disappear into the crowd.
I drop to my knees, my hands hovering over the bruised and bleeding shell of my friend. I want to touch him, to
When I get home, the first thing I do is change into dry socks. Comfortable once more, I use the phone in the kitchen to call Perry’s house. I get his answering machine, and I leave a long message, begging him to call me. I wait by the phone until dinner, trying to hide my distress, but Mom seems to have a sixth sense. I guess moms do.
‘Are you and Perry fighting?’ Mom asks me as the three of us sit down for dinner after Dad gets home from work.
I shrug, poking at my spaghetti with my fork, not sure if I want to eat it or play with it. ‘I have everyone mad at me lately.’
‘Are you still seeing Brian?’ Dad asks.
I’m sure he’s hoping I will say that we’ve broken up. But to be honest, I don’t know if we are still together or not. I don’t know if Brian is just angry because I embarrassed him with that outburst on the bus. Am I supposed to assume that because he’s ignoring me, we’re breaking up? I’ve been too afraid to call him to find out what’sgoing on. Maybe we all just need some time to ourselves.
‘I don’t know how to answer that one, Dad.’ It’s all I can say.
For the rest of the week and all through the weekend, there is no word from Perry. He doesn’t come to school, he won’t answer his door. I’ve been to his house five times – and he won’t return my two-dozen phone calls. Brian and all of my so-called new friends ignore me when they aren’t making fun of Perry to my face. I am so frustrated and depressed. I don’t think I have ever felt so alone.
It’s Monday and I am now so miserable that I don’t think I can make it through another day. I sit alone on the bus, ignored by Brian and his friends. When I get to my locker, I dig out the scrap paper with the combination number that I can never remember and open the door. Perry’s leather bomber jacket is hanging on the hook. I feel my heart skip a beat. Perry is here.
I turn to look down both ends of the hallway and through the mass of kids scurrying about. I can’t spot Perry. I shove my parka into the locker and grab the books I need and hurry off to my first class. Perry will be in that class.
I walk through the hall and down a set of stairs, mentally sorting out all the things that I am going to say and what order I will say them in. I think about what Perry might say and how he might respond to me. I have it all playing in my head. Everything is going to be alright.
As I walk towards my classroom, a swarm of kids comes flying down the hall. I have to throw myself up against the wall to avoid being knocked over. Strangely, they all seem to be running in the same direction, down the hall and towards the gym. I can’t imagine what’s going on. I don’t care. I’m still thinking about seeing Perry. At least if everyone else is distracted, Perry and I will be able to have some time alone to talk before class starts. But from somewhere I can hear a noise.Voices. Dozens of voices, chanting, cheering, jeering. Something is going on.
I start walking in the direction the voices are coming from. My pace quickens as I make out some of what is being said.
‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’
I drop my bag to the floor to sprint down the hall, towards the crowd, towards the noise. I slam hard up against the wall of bodies and push my way through to the front. It’s a struggle of elbows and shoving and cursing, but I get there.
I see a flurry of orange and white jackets – school soccer team jackets – punching, kicking, spitting, taunting. It’s Perry in the middle of it all. I jump forward and grab at sleeves, screaming for them to stop. One by one, I recognise each individual. I pull at them, screaming their names, pleading with them to leave Perry alone. One by one, they fall back and disappear into the crowd.
I drop to my knees, my hands hovering over the bruised and bleeding shell of my friend. I want to touch him, to
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