Chapter #77Dumb Kids by: Seuzz   "Hey Andrew! Your mom says--!" You pull up short as you walk into your best friend's bedroom. "Oh. Hey, Stephanie."
Stephanie McLean smiles back at you. She might not be the greatest beauty in the world--she's too young to wear makeup, and her complexion is splotchy--but she has long, soft hair and wide eyes, and a smile that-- Your guts turn to Jell-O and slide into your cock, swelling it inside the vast folds of your trousers. She's sitting at the computer, real close to Andrew, who smirks lightly back at you.
You jump onto his unmade bed. "You look nice, Stephanie. Are those your church clothes?"
"Some people just like to dress nice," Andrew shoots back.
Yeah, right. Andrew is in jeans and a black hoodie, his dark hair bristling out from under his ball cap. Unlike yours, it's turned brim forward. "So what are you guys doing?" you ask.
"Just goofing off on the computer," Andrew says.
You crane your neck to see. With Stephanie here, it's too much to hope it's porn, and it isn't. Just Wikipedia. "Why are you wasting your time on that crap?"
"We're reading about stuff," Stephanie says, and snuggles up closer to Andrew. "Reading together. Don't you like to read about stuff, Casey?"
"He doesn't know how to read," Andrew retorts.
You tense all over. Just because the fucker gets straight A's without even trying, while you have to bust your ass just to-- Okay, you don't actually bust your ass at all, you hate doing homework, but even if you tried super hard you know you couldn't get better than B's. But that's no reason he has to say shit about you. "Nah, it's just boring. Come on, let's go over to a park or something, kick a ball around."
But they ignore you, and murmur to each other, and Andrew clicks on the mouse, sending the browser to another Wikipedia page.
You sigh deeply and look around. Andrew's got all those academic ribbons and trophies, from spelling bees and science fairs and writing contests--Oh God, how he bragged on that last one, his most recent win--and even a few sports trophies from when he was on the soccer team last year. He's bigger than you, taller and a little stronger. Oh, you could take him in a fight, because you know how to fight and he doesn't. But you let him win when you do tussle, because--
Well, fuck it, because he'd get pissed if he didn't win. Fucker's so used to having everything go his way.
You bounce a little on the bed, but they still sit with their backs to you. "Is that all you guys are going to-- Oh, alright." You scramble over to join them, but there are only two chairs, so you try sitting on the edge of the desk. Andrew pushes you off with a glare. "Why don't you let me in," you whine.
"Because you'd be bored. Why don't you go find Michael?"
"Oh, Stivale," you snort derisively. "I'll see him tomorrow."
"You'll see us tomorrow, too."
"Oh hey, did I tell you about all those free comic books I got yesterday?"
"What? Oh, comic books," Andrew says dismissively, but he does look over at you.
"Yeah! There was this drawing at King Kong Komics, for a hundred dollars worth of free comics--"
"You got a hundred dollars of free comics?" Andrew gapes.
"Yeah!" You bounce on your feet. "They're back at my place, and if you come over you can--"
"What did you get? You can bring 'em to school tomorrow."
"What's wrong with now?"
"We're busy." Andrew turns back to the computer, and snuggles up to Stephanie.
A hot flare shoots up inside you. Hardly realizing what you're doing, you grab the cap off Andrew's head. He whirls. You laugh, loudly and desperately, and dodge for the door as he jumps up. "Got your-- Oh, crap!" You run from the room, sprinting hard, as he thunders after you. You get to the front door, but he's on you before you can get it open. "Okay okay, you-- Ow!" He grasps your wrist and wrenches it back, and pulls his cap from you. But he doesn't let go of your hand. He twists it further.
Boiling anger explodes in you, and you punch him back. But you're hitting with your wrong hand, and his hoodie is soft and thick, and he just steps back from your blow, releasing you. You charge, but he dodges, and grabs your own cap. "You stupid-- Give it back!"
But he holds it above his head. "Tomorrow," he jeers. "At school."
"Give it back or I'll--!"
"Fine." He tosses it at your feet. "If you're going to be a baby about it."
"You're such a--!" You catch yourself in time, for his mother will be nearby. You glare at him, tears of fury stinging your eyes. "Just go back to Stephanie!" He gloats at you. You scoop your cap up.
And he grabs you. You try twisting away, but he holds you tight, and puts his mouth to your ear. "Deanna likes you," he whispers.
You freeze. He releases you, to gloat down at you some more. "Yeah, she likes you," he repeats. "Maybe if you cleaned up a little, she'd--" He grins, and his eyes glint.
"I don't care," you snap, and jam your cap on your head. "I'll see you tomorrow." The door bangs into your foot as you pull it open, and you tumble rather than walk outside. You slam it behind you and stalk back to your bike.
* * * * *
"Why is Andrew so stupid?" you yell at Michael Stivale, and throw the ball to him.
"Andrew's not stupid," he calls back. "He's the smartest guy in our school." He throws the ball back.
It smacks firmly in your glove. (Robert Prescott's glove. Your old glove, which you gave him a year ago.) "No, he's stupid. Him and Stephanie, I mean." You hurl the ball hard.
Michael has to dive to catch it. It's cold outside, but he's dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, showing hairy legs and muscles. People think he's in high school. Only a year ago, he was as small and hairless as Casey. He laughs. "You sayin' Stephanie makes him stupid?"
"He's stupid if he--" You sniff back the snot that the cold air has made run. "She's always at his place."
"She likes him."
"Duh!" You catch the ball again, but finger it a bit before returning it. "Does Deanna like me?"
"Deanna Miller?"
"I guess."
"Don't you know?"
Your chest tightens. Deanna isn't like Stephanie, she hasn't got big boobs and a soft face. She's small and perky, just a little girl, basically. It's humiliating that Andrew gets a girl like Stephanie, and you're stuck with a girl who still wears frilly little clothes and likes to put ribbons in her hair. Except that you're not stuck with her because-- "Well, does she?"
"I don't know. What makes you think she does?"
"I don't know," you mutter back, and toss the ball. Stupid Andrew was probably just fucking with you.
"So who cares? Do you?" He laughs.
"No." You twinge all over. You don't care about Deanna and whether she likes you, you hope she doesn't, because then you wouldn't have to think about whether--
All your mental machinery seizes up, but you still expertly catch the ball. "What about you? Are there any girls that you--?"
"Nah, I don't care. You care, though. I can tell!"
You grimace as you throw the ball back. It's so hard thinking about all this, it makes you so confused, it's like there's a dog and a cat inside you, chasing and fighting each other when you think about-- "I wanna go home now," you say, and gesture that he should keep the ball.
Michael shrugs, but trots up. "You still got homework?"
"Yeah."
"Call me with the answers when you get them."
* * * * *
So you call Jeff Mielke when you get home. He squirms and argues, but you press him mercilessly, and he finally gives up the answers on the math and English assignments. You snicker over them, and then get angry. No wonder Casey still isn't doing well in his classes, you fume. Not with Jeff feeding him lots of bad answers mixed in with the good. Fucker is sneakier than he looks. You correct many of the mistakes--though you leave enough in to make things look plausible--and pass them along to Michael. Then you flop on the bed, your cap covering your face.
You're a dumbass, Sennik, you think to yourself. Even your friends think you're a dumbass, which is how come Andrew is always pushing you around and why Michael lets you bully the answers out of losers like Mielke for him while keeping his own hands clean.
Yeah, and I'll show them, he shouts back. We'll show them, with that book.
Shut up. You're not even here. I could get rid of you. I could. I could tell Bob that I changed my mind about using you. Andrew is smart and he's also mean, except he's mean in the classroom instead of in the halls and gym. He'd also make a good "candidate" for what Bob wants.
Except you don't know what he wants, and he's already said that Casey is perfect. Yeah, make me good, Casey pleads.
You don't deserve it. You deserve to be a victim. You already are one. You've got this great house and nice parents and your brother-- You twinge. Your brother is awesome and doesn't deserve to have a little prick like you--
I'm not a prick, he cries. It's just so hard!
You feel the hot tears on your cheek. I know. I remember the eighth grade too. But you're not going to be better if I'm running your life. I've got a feeling I'm going to fuck it up really hard.  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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