Cheated by Patrick Jones

right.”
    â€œVery interesting, Mick, I look forward to reading your paper,” Mrs. Kirby said. I stood there for a moment before sitting down, wondering if Terri would deliver the message to Nicole. But she just looked bored and her eyes were like a vacuum pulling every single soul out of the room. Only I was left, feeling totally alone in the world. Mrs. Kirby saw me maybe for the first time as a bright and engaged student, but as I caught a glimpse of myself in Terri’s soul-sucking stare, I saw something different. I wasn’t Mick Salisbury, I wasn’t even Pool Boy or 151. In her eyes and those of Nicole, I was a pathetic, lonely, and hopeless figure; I was a scarecrow.
    Do you have a nickname?
    I guess you could say that Mick is a nickname, but that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about nicknames like 151 or Pool Boy, tags Brody stuck on me. I don’t mind 151, although I don’t really like that other people in school know about it. It’s funny, in junior high, you wanted everyone to think you were cool enough and old enough to get drunk, but now, it’s not something you share, it’s something you do. Pool Boy I don’t like because it is kind of a put-down name, but Brody’s the only one who uses it, so I guess that’s okay. Worst nickname I ever heard was one this kid back in seventh grade, Robert Smith, had. I didn’t really know him well, most people didn’t. He was one of those kids who just shows up at school every day, nothing special about him. One day in history class, we’re taking a test about Indian tribes. It’s really quiet in the room, and he farts really loud. Everybody heard it. Somebody asked, “Who did that?” Brody, who was sitting right next to him, points at Robert Smith and says, “It was Chief Brown Cloud.” Everybody laughed, maybe even the teacher. Smith looked like he wanted to die right then, and for the rest of the school year everybody called him Chief Brown Cloud, even me. I knew it was mean, but he just seemed so hopeless that it was easy to do because he couldn’t do anything about it. He transferred schools at the end of the year. Thinking about him now, what strikes me is this: in one second, his life changed forever. It wasn’t something he did on purpose, just an accident. But from that moment, his life spunin a different direction. Every day you live through exactly 86,400 seconds, but a stupid mistake or accident or bad judgment in just one of those seconds can change every other second of every minute of every day for the rest of your life. And it can happen to anyone: it doesn’t matter if you’re the president of the United States, Chief Brown Cloud, Mick Salisbury, Brody Warren, Aaron Bishop, or the Scarecrow
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Seventh Period
    Looking down from the rocking bleachers filled with Dragon pride, I couldn’t care less as the cheerleaders proclaimed, “We’ve got spirit, yes we do, we’ve got spirit, how about you?” The football players ran out onto the gym floor while the band played the school song. I wished I could slip on my jPod to drown them out, but instead I waved for Brody to join me in the last row of the bleachers closest to the front door. I hated pep rallies, but I didn’t mind missing my seventh period computer class where Mr. Scott insisted on teaching us things we all already knew.
    â€œDude, what’s up?” I asked, and then tensed for Brody’s hard backslap greeting.
    â€œNothing,” Brody said. He looked glum and kept his hands at his sides.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I asked.
    Brody just stared at his beat-up boots. “Kirby nailed me for cheating!”
    â€œShit!”
    â€œDon’t worry, man, I didn’t rat you out,” Brody said as he jammed his finger into my chest. “I’m gonna blow her tires or something.”
    â€œDude, don’t make it worse,” I said, but I wanted to