“I love the library,” said Tina.
“I mean the real library, not the school one,” I said, in case she thought I was inviting her to the Ryan Junior High library for our first date.
“I’d have to ask my dad,” she said.
“Okay.”
“He’s very over-protective. He might say no.”
“Well, if he says no, we’ll…I don’t know. Something.”
“I’ll let you know what he said on Monday.”
If she let me know on Monday, we’d be making plans for the following weekend, which meant that there might be a non-R-rated, non-boxing movie playing. But I’d stick with the library idea, since she hadn’t immediately pointed at me and let out a braying laugh.
We both stood there for a moment.
“I should get on my bus,” Tina said.
“Yeah, yeah, me too. Nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you.” She smiled and got on her bus.
Holy shit. I’d asked a girl out, and she’d said yes (with a disclaimer). I hadn’t seen that coming, after the way this week started.
I walked away from the bus and heard some snickers. I glanced over and saw Ed Loreen, bully supreme, standing with a couple of his sycophantic friends, Burt and Josh. Ed had gone to a different elementary school, so I hadn’t made his acquaintance until last year. He was tall and about as muscular as a fourteen-year-old gets. I’d witnessed him picking on several other kids, but because we didn’t share any classes, he’d generally left me alone.
“Did you just ask her out?” Ed asked.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know fat fucks like you were allowed to do that.” He placed a cupped hand to his ear. “I think I hear her puking on the bus right now.” Burt and Josh laughed hysterically. Ed mimed the way Tina was probably puking, and their laughter intensified.
I had been raised with the idea that a bully was only seeking attention, so the best thing you could do was ignore him. But, again, I’d faced off against Mr. Martin and not been decapitated.
If I could do that, and I could ask out a girl I’d just met, I could kick Ed Loreen’s ass. Right now.
11
Ed and his dipshit buddies looked confused as I walked over to them. They weren’t used to this sort of thing.
In a perfect narrative, I would have laid him out with one punch, a solid haymaker to the jaw. As he lay on the ground, unmoving but probably not dead, the other students would have begun a slow clap that intensified until the entire school, faculty included, was cheering my victory.
In an alternate narrative, Ed would have punched me in the face as soon as I strode up to him. My legs would collapse beneath me, and I’d lay on the ground, tears of shame stinging my cheeks as I learned a harsh lesson about overconfidence.
What actually happened is that the fight played out like most fights do in real life: an embarrassing spectacle to behold. More of an awkward shoving match, with few punches thrown and none of them landing particularly well. Oh, everybody outside of the school immediately began watching, but we really weren’t doing much to give the audience a good show. I said “You want some? Huh?” once and Ed said it twice. He scratched my arm and I accidentally stepped on his foot while we were bumbling around, but there wasn’t much else in the way of injuries.
“Break it up! Break it up!” a teacher shouted, making his way through the crowd of kids who’d circled around us. He tugged Ed out of the way and the “fight” was over.
“Not even one week?” Principal Taylor asked. “You couldn’t keep it together for one single week?”
“He called me a fat eff-blank-blank-blank,” I said. We were alone in his office. Ed sat right outside, awaiting his turn in the hot seat.
“He called you a what?”
“A fat, you know.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
I was not dumb enough to say, “A fat fuck, Principal Taylor! He called me a fat fuck!” “He used the F-word when he was calling me fat,” I explained. That sounded very tattletale-ish. I wasn’t trying to get Ed in trouble for his use of salty language; I was trying to justify why I’d attacked him.
“The F-word.”
“You know what the F-word is, right?” I asked.
“Yes, Mr. Black, I do. Why did he call you that?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer this. Because I was obese? This was long before anybody would wag their finger at you for “fat-shaming.” Making fun of somebody’s weight was considered totally within the bounds of fair play.
I didn’t think I should say, “Because he’s a dick.”
I shrugged.
Principal Taylor rubbed his forehead as if suffering from an excruciating migraine. I didn’t doubt that he had a headache, but the gesture did seem calculated to show me how much dismay I was bringing into his life. “I don’t want to give anybody detention the first week. That starts things off on a bad note. I’m going to bring Ed in here, and you two are going to shake hands, and if you can do me that tiny little favor, we’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Thanks.”
“Get up and open the door, will you?”
I stood up and opened the door. Principal Taylor called for Ed to come into his office. Ed walked through the doorway.
“I want you two to shake hands and apologize to each other,” Principal Taylor said. “No further punishment. If I see either of you in my office again, it will be a very different outcome. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” said Ed.
“So do it. Shake hands. Apologize.”
Ed and I shook hands.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Go home and enjoy your weekend,” Principal Taylor told us. Ed and I left.
I walked ahead of him.
