Flipped // DNF

Chapter One

All I ever wanted was for George to leave me alone. It all began in the summer of 1957, before the start of second grade. For me, it was the beginning of what would be more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort. I had just moved into a new house with my father, mother, and older sister. My sister and mother were in the house, unpacking boxes, while my father and I were unloading the boxes off the moving truck we rented.

George lives across the street from our new house. He was sitting in his yard when we pulled into the driveway for the first time. With the women in the house, and the men in the truck, George unexpectedly ran over and climbed into the truck. He asked if we needed help. He was a rather scrawny looking boy. He was only seven, but so was I, and I didn't look like that. My father didn't want his help. He repeatedly told George that, but it didn't take long to realize this boy could not take a hint. Of any kind. My dad hinted for me to go inside, to leave him and George alone. I quickly jumped down from the truck and ran as fast as I could. He chased after me. I mean, nothing would stop him. I was about to tell him to get lost, when the weirdest thing happened. He grabbed my hand. I couldn't believe it. There I was, holding hands with this strange boy. How did I get into this mess? Thankfully, my mother walked outside. Finally, I did the only manly thing available when you're seven years old. I hid behind my mother.

However, my troubles were far from over. The minute I walked into Miss Puffy's classroom, it was clear, school would not be a sanctuary. George came running up to me giving me a long, uncomfortable hug. The kids in school were constantly nagging me about George, saying things like "Hey Clay. Where's your boyfriend?" I was branded for life. "Hey Clay. Why don't you ask him to marry you?" "Clay and George, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

My first year in town was a disaster. But the next eight weren't that much better. But finally, in the tenth grade, I took action. I hatched a plan. I asked out Rebecca. Nobody called her Rebecca, they called her Minx. There's not really a backstory behind it either, it just kind of stuck. But to fully appreciate the brilliance of this plan, you have to understand that George had always hated Minx. I never understood why. Minx was nice, friendly, and she had nice hair. The idea was that Minx would eat with me, maybe we'd walk around together, and hopefully, George would eventually lose interest.

One day, before lunch, Minx and I were walking down the halls together. I noticed George at his locker, so I quickly grabbed Minx's hand. He saw. And boy, did he look jealous.

Things were unfolding quite nicely, that is, until my supposed best friend, Nick, took an interest in Minx, himself. Loyalty gave way to desire and Nick, the turncoat, told Minx what I was up to. She didn't take it too well.

Word got back to George, and pretty soon, he started up with the goo-goo eyes again. Only this time, it was worse. He started sniffing me. That's right. Sniffing me. What was that all about? My only consolation was that next year would be different. Maybe we would be in different classes and it would finally be over.