Life Is Funny by E. R. Frank

They’re extra pissed because I guess Sam used to stay by himself and have all those girls, only now, since I sit with Sam at lunch, the girls are all over me, too. I know they’re not there for me, really, but it’s sort of fun. I stay quiet, to make sure I don’t look like a jerk and to watch how Sam handles things. Mostly he’s pretty cool to everybody. He never joins in with one girl trashing another. He never treats one better than the other. I wonder if he’ll let it slip that he’s going to try to be a model. That he has some interview coming up at his mother’s friend’s agency. I bet girls love that kind of thing. But Sam keeps his mouth shut. I guess he has all the attention he needs from them.
    â€œWhat do you think of that redhead with the contact lenses?” I ask him one day, near the last week of school. We’re walking to his dad’s shop.
    â€œShe’s okay,” he goes.
    I think she’s hot. I’d ask her out, only I’m too shy, and I don’t want a girlfriend anyway, because if she bugged me, I’m worried about what I’d do. So I just jerk off thinking about her instead. It always starts off with me asking what color her eyes really are, and then she takes out her contact lenses, and then she goes, As long as I’m taking things off . . . and she steps out of her jeans, and then . . .
    â€œShe’s totally into you,” I say. “I bet she’d go all the way with you.”
    â€œAll the way?” he says. He’s always making fun of how I talk. “That means ‘fuck,’ right?”
    â€œShut up,” I tell him.
    â€œOkay, for real. Forget her. There’s someone else I like,” he says.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThis Indian girl. She sits at that corner table during lunch.”
    â€œOne of those veil girls?”
    â€œShe doesn’t wear a veil.”
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    â€œHer name is Sonia.”
    â€œThat eighth grader?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHow do you even know her?”
    â€œWe had some art elective together once. She’s smart. Real smart. She’s fine, too,” he tells me. “You ever get a really good look at her?”
    â€œThose girls don’t go out with people,” I remind him.
    â€œYeah,” he says, like he figured it out a long time ago. “I know.”
    We turn the corner into the shop, and Sam’s dad knocks on Sam’s head with his knuckles. “Nos llegaron dos nuevas,” he goes. “Todo carrocería. ¿Los quieres?”
    â€œHe’s got some new cars in,” Sam tells me. “All body work. You want to help out or something?”
    His dad unfists his hand from that knuckle rap and puts his palm flat on top of Sam’s head and just keeps it there. They’re both raising their eyebrows at me, and for the first time they kind of look alike.
    Suddenly I can see them knocking on our door to tell us the Jag is ready. I can see my mom opening the door, thinking it’s my dad who forgot his key. They stare at her banged-up face and get a good look before she ducks away.
    Your car’s ready, Sam would say to me.
    Very good car, his dad would say.
    Thanks, I’d go, trying to close the door fast.
    Was that your mom? Sam would ask.
    Yeah, I’d say, wondering how to get them out of there.
    Who did that to her?
    Nobody, I’d tell them.
    His father would say something to Sam in Spanish. Then his father would put his hand flat on top of my head. It would feel heavy and warm.
    You call us if it happens again, Sam would say. Or call the police.
    What are you talking about? I’d go. She just hit the dashboard when my father crashed the Jag.
    You should call the police, Sam would say.
    It’s not that simple, I’d tell him, thinking about my father in jail and both my parents hating me forever.
    â€œDrew?” Sam’s going. “You want to hang