OCTOBER 4, 2017

“Excuse me,” Alex mumbled, as he pushed his way through the crowd of milling students, “gotta … can you move? … thanks, I gotta …”

Cutting school on Monday had been fun – well, sort of, considering what a disaster his Matanto expedition had turned out to be. But it’d still been a day of not going to the collective hell that was Rumley Area High School, so that was still something. Cutting meant missing classes, though, and Alex knew he couldn’t afford to do that too much. Not with needing to keep up good grades, for both scholarship and college applications. Not if Alex wanted the slightest prayer of getting back in his dad’s good graces, or getting him to claim residency so Alex could go to Arizona State.

Far from Pennsylvania, and especially far for Rumley.

Mornings at Rumley High were a bitch. The old, creaky building was overcrowded, what with the west wing of the school being shut down because of asbestos and wiring issues, so locker space was at a premium. Classroom space was no better, either. Some freshman classes took place in trailers parked out on cinder blocks, between the softball fields and the auto shop buildings. So walking through the hallways between classes was akin at times to wandering through a mosh pit, with some occasional pushing and elbowing needed to get to classes before the bell rang. Unless you were popular. Then, crowds parted with ease.

Popularity was not a burden that Alex needed to bear, though. Not anymore.

Technically, Alex didn’t have class until second period. And Mrs. Myers – his homeroom teacher – always marked him as present, simply because up until this fall, that had been completely true. So while Alex didn’t particularly need to hurry, there was a little matter of a calculus quiz scheduled for second period. Much like the rest of the school, calculus was not his friends at the moment, so if Alex still harbored any dreams of getting a good math grade, some free period calc cramming was definitely needed. He had his textbook, which he’d pored over the night before, but he’d left his notebook in his locker the previous day, which had all the helpful things he really needed if he wanted to do well.

In and out, Alex thought, as he reached his locker. In and out, make this quick, get the fuck out of Dodge, please, please, please … He cursed silently as his fingers fumbled with the combination lock, moving too fast and overshooting the correct numbers. Come on, come on …

“Hey there, bitch,” a voice said from behind him. Some snickering accompanied those words, a familiar soundtrack to Alex’s life. “You’re taking up too much space. Hurry up, I need to get my shit.”

“Hey Ryan,” Alex replied, doing his best to sound indifferent. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” He didn’t turn his head, didn’t make eye contact. He knew better. He thought that if there was a God – and most days, lately, he didn’t – then one of the crueler jokes He’d chosen to play on Alex was giving him the last name McCardle, and giving the biggest troglodyte mouthbreather in school the last name of Mauser. So they could conveniently have lockers right fucking next to each other.

Just. Fucking. Great.

“Whstever,” Ryan said. “Probably slow because those pants are too tight. Maybe you need to start wearing skirts again, loosen things up, huh?”

More nervous, mocking laughter, all of it way too uncomfortably familiar. And the thing was, Alex knew that about two years ago, his own laughter would’ve been mixed into that sneering chorus. Two years ago, he would’ve been standing right between Rachel Ellis – who, once upon a time, had been his best friend – and Natalie Jenkins, Ryan’s blonde, perky cheerleader girlfriend. The three of them, the Three Amigas, self-proclaimed rulers of the freshman class. Or the Groupie Girls, if you weren’t on their good side.

“All done.” Alex slid his notebook into his backpack and zipped it up. “I’ll get out of your way.” He hitched the backpack over his shoulder and tucked his heavy calculus book under his arm. Still not looking up, he tried to scoot away from his locker – and Ryan, and all of his asshole friends – as fast as possible.

“Thanks,” Ryan pleasantly. “Queer.” His foot snaked out, tripping up Alex as he tried vainly to escape. Alex stumbled, but managed to keep himself from completely falling on his ass. Hopping up to his feet, Alex whirled around, glaring at Ryan, hating the cocky shit-eating grin spread across the big jock’s face. He wasn’t sure what he hated more, to be honest – that fucking grin, or the equally irritating smiles that Alex knew Natalie and Rachel and that other bitch Stacey were covering with their dainty little hands, not able to look directly at Alex. At least Ryan owned being a douche.

And he hated Drew, Marcus, Peter, and a slew of other spineless football douchebags hanging behind Ryan as well, chortling at everything their precious hero said. It amazed Alex that they didn’t throw their own feces at each other.

No. Wait. Scratch that. Actually, Alex knew what he really hated.

“Don’t call me that. Asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

Shit.

“I said don’t call me that. And I said asshole, too.” Louder and firmer this time, even as every single synapse in Alex’s cerebral cortex screamed BAD FUCKING IDEA ALEX, STOP STOP STOP DON’T POKE THE FUCKING BEAR, YOU IDIOT! But at times like these, Alex’s mouth never wanted to listen to his brain. Like, ever.

For once, the guffaws coming from Ryan’s pack of buddies wasn’t too irritating to Alex. But if they bothered Ryan, he barely showed it. His eyes widened slightly at Alex’s retort, but that was all.

“I know, I know,” Ryan said amiably. “I forgot, can’t call you a queer anymore. Or even a girl, even though that’s what you are. I got three whole days of in-school suspension to think about what I’m supposed to call you, remember? That’s what Mrs. Woodward in the guidance office told me.” He leaned up against his own locker door, arms folded across his chest. “So how about faggot, is that better? You still like sucking dick, right?”

“Shut up,” Alex muttered. Natalie tittered loudly, but fell silent as she realized she was the only girl laughing. Rachel and Stacy just looked uncomfortably embarrassed. Ryan’s football buddies chuckled, too, but not quite as loud, and a lot more uneasily.

“Well, you did,” Ryan persisted, leaning in just a touch closer to Alex. “That’s what your old boyfriend Brody told me last year in football camp. Though I bet he liked it better when you were just a girl, and not some wack job chick pretending to be a guy.”

“Leave Brody out of this.” Alex squeezed the cover of his calc book, hard enough for his fingertips to make dents in its cover. “You don’t need to talk about him.”

“Why?” Ryan looked around, then back at his friends. “He’s not here to defend himself. Fuck, he ran away. That why he moved up to Edenbridge? He didn’t want everyone in school to think he was a fag, too?”

“Ryan, enough,” Natalie said. “Jesus. You don’t have to pour it on the miserable freak.” She put her hand on his shoulder, softly massaging him. “Leave her alone.”

Alex felt his face burning. Somehow, those last three words made him even madder than anything Ryan had ever aid.

Ryan brushed Natalie way. “It’s enough when I say it is,” he replied. “But I’m almost done anyway. Just need my books. Go, I’ll meet up with you later.”

Natalie looked like she was about to say something, but didn’t. Instead, she nodded, and disappeared into the receding sea of students heading to their morning classes. Rachel, Stacey, and the rest of the football Groupie Girls slid in tow behind her, like those little fish that rode along with sharks in the deep. Some of the football players sniggered and walked away, too … but not all of them. Not Drew, that skinny, slippery weasel. Not Hector, or Marcus. Or Shane, Shane the Train, half the size of a mountain and about as smart.

And not Ryan. Oh, definitely not Ryan. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well, good,” said Ryan. “Since the ladies aren’t here, I don’t have to pretend to be nice. Especially since you’re not one anymore, either.” He stepped up close to Alex, getting right in his face. Or over his face, to be technically accurate, as Ryan stood a full head taller than him.

Alex looked away, and tried stepping away again. Peter and Drew had moved behind him, though, blocking his way.

“Short hair and nerd specs doesn’t make you a guy, freak … look at me. I’m talking to you.” Ryan slapped Alex’s face – hard – knocking his thick-rimmed glasses off his face, sending them skittering to the floor. “Same with that flat chest of yours now. You tape it down or something? Shame, ‘cause I always wondered what it’d be like to suck on those pretty little titties—”

Alex swung the thick, heavy calculus book that he’d been holding and cracked it against the side of Ryan’s face. Harder. Ryan stumbled backwards, grunting as he fell right on his ass. The look of utter disbelief on his face – as well as the collective, dumbfound expressions on the faces of all his Neanderthal friends – gave Alex a momentary fuck yeah feeling of gleeful victory, making him feel like that righteous ass-kicking he was about to receive would be totally worth it.

When Ryan hopped right up to his feet, though, his big hands balled up into hamhock-sized fists … that feeling waned. Fast.

Alex ducked the first meaty punch from Ryan, and then immediately realized he’d made a huge mistake when he gave the ‘roided-up bully a nice shot in the ribs instead of Just. Fucking. Running. Still, Alex managed to sidestep another swing from Ryan, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. The swift, vicious kick that took out his legs from under him told him why.

He set you up, Alex though dizzily, as he hit the cold tile floor of the hallway, he knows how to fight, you don’t, holy shit, he’s really mad—

Another kick, right to Alex’s back, while he still prone in front of his locker. If Alex had any doubts that Ryan like to wear steel-toed shitkickers, those disappeared fast as he howled in pain.

“Al. Lex. And. Dra,” Ryan spat out each syllable with utter contempt, emphasizing the last of the four with another solid kick, again right in the lower back. “That is your name. That’s what I decided in detention.” Another kick. And another.

“Please … please, stop,” Alex begged, writhing on the floor. He hated the fact that he was begging, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what else to do. “I didn’t do anything to OW OW FUCK PLEASE FUCKING STOP!!!”

Ryan wasn’t listening. He’d leaned down instead to slap the back of Alex’s head, then punch him between the shoulder blades. And the scary thing was, Ryan was taking his sweet time doing it. The bastard was enjoying it, the sick fuck, and Alex didn’t know how to stop him, or even slow him down.

Alex wondered where the teachers of the school were. Where any adults were, actually. The hallway had mostly cleared out, leaving just Ryan, his closest friends, and Alex. And one or two kids still drifting down to their classes, still gawking at the beatdown. Apart from that, no one. Deserted, like a haunted house. Or summer camp.

Alex wondered if this was what it would be like to die.

“Please …”

“Ah, shut up.” Another savage kick. Alex coughed up a spatter of red, and closed his eyes.

Why isn’t anyone coming?

He knew the answer, of course. It was the same reason no teachers ever came when he got stuffed in a garbage can outside the lunchroom, or when he’d gotten his ass kicked by Marcus and Pete right in front of the school, right under the waving American flag. Ryan had already said the answer.

Freak.

And for the teachers and faculty of Rumley High, it was way easier to ignore something they didn’t understand than to actually do something about it.

Alex knew that for a cold, hard fact. No doubt in his mind.

“Remember, don’t cry,” Ryan admonished. “Don’t be a pussy, even though you have one. If you’re really a guy, then take it like a man.” He took a step back, making sure to wind up good before giving Alex one last kick, that one right under the right armpit. Alex barely moved, instead just making a loud HWORK!!!ing sound as he tried hard not to throw up. Considering that something super gross was dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, Alex guessed that he hadn’t succeeded.

“Fuck, man,” Alex heard Drew say nervously, “who pissed in your cereal this morning? You … oh man, Ryan, this is fucked …” He heard the skinny wide receiver mumble something else, but he couldn’t quite make out what it was, and frankly, he didn’t care much either. He was too busy trying to breathe, and figuring out if his ribs were cracked. Or his spine, which throbbed in sheer agony.

“Relax, Drew,” Ryan said. “Just making a point. She’ll be fine.” He crouched down next to Alex, patting him gently on the head. “Don’t feel bad. Could’ve been worse.” His eyes still closed, Alex heard a low, guttural gargling sound … and then felt something warm and wet splatter onto his cheek. “I would’ve kicked you in the nuts, if you had any. And that really hurts, just so you know. Stupid bitch.”

Lots of sneakers, squeaking against the hallway floor, growing fainter with every step. And laughter. Oh yes, the laughter, nervous as most of it was. That hurt way more than the kicks. And the slow, unhurried cadence of the steps. Not in a hurry to leave the scene of their carnage. Why would they be? They weren’t getting in trouble. They were the kids everyone understood. They were normal. They weren’t freaks. They weren’t getting notes from their teachers with supportive words about phases and acting out, or suggesting good psychiatrists, or offering their sincere prayers.

Nobody was coming to help. Not today.

Not ever.

Not in Rumley.

Alex finally opened his eyes. The hallways were empty and silent, though he didn’t expect they would be for long. The teacher’s lounge was just a few doors down, and Alex expected one of them would be coming out soon, heading to sneak a cigarette by the dumpster outside. Wincing, Alex pulled himself up, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in his side. He didn’t want a teacher jonesing for a smoke to see him, not like this. Or any other living soul in the school, either. Attending calculus was a lost cause, quiz or no quiz. Too many questions.

Instead, Alex dragged himself over to the stairwell, leaning hard on the railing as he walked down with shaky steps. He somehow made his way from there to the exits by the gym, still limping along, discarding his heavy backpack by the doors … and somehow, when he got outside, he found the strength to run up the low sloping hill to the soccer fields, then up another hill to the football field, his feet moving faster and faster with every step, ignoring the pain, ignoring the humiliation that hurt way more. Ducking under the chains and locks holding the gates together, Alex stumbled behind the equipment shed and sat down along the wall, facing away from the school where not a soul in the world could see him …

… and wept. Sobbed, actually. He buried his head in his knees, rocking back and forth, hating Ryan, hating all of Ryan’s asshole friends, especially the ones that used to be his friends, too. But most of all, he hated – loathed – himself.

Why does everyone think I want to be like this? he thought. Like I have a choice. If I could choose, I’d be the way I was. Normal. Sort of popular. Not a fucking freak. And a total liar. He wiped tears out of his eyes, staring hatefully up at the sky. Instead, I try to be honest, and be the person I really am. And I get turned into a leper.

Thanks for nothing, God.

Alex patted the bottom of his book bag, fingertips tracing along the hard outline of the nine millimeter handgun resting inside it. He’s not worth it, he thought uneasily. Just to protect yourself, that’s all it’s for.

But his hand stayed on that cold, comforting outline a long, long time.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four