Knockout Boys

Chapter 2: The Rebel Without A Cause

"Huh wuff schoo, Wocky?" asked my Dad while munching on a Big Mac, one hand gripping the steering wheel.

"Great, Dad. Best day ever." I poked my chicken nuggets. My right sleeve was still blood stained, but I rolled it up. The last thing I wanted was my Dad to think I was some lame sissy punching bag. Though, knowing him, he'd probably assume I won the fight.

"Make any friends?" Dad was the type to ignore anything upsetting, so it wasn't hard to make him I was fine. Like an ostrich, he hid from his problems.

"Oh, yeah. Lots," I said distractedly. I thought about those ice blue eyes. Could we be allies? He hadn't done anything to hurt me... yet.

Dad winked at me. "Any cute girls?" My Dad knew I was gay. Everyone did, thanks to Paul's big mouth. Dad never believed it, I guess. I sighed, visualizing an ostrich dunking its head in the sand.

"Nope, still gay," I muttered.

"You should join a book club. You could meet smart girls like you." Dunk. "There's bound to be some girl attracted to you," he joked.

"Wow. Thanks, Dad." We drove in silence for a while, listening to some crappy country radio station and Dad's chewing. I nibbled on a French fry. "How's Paul?" he asked suddenly. I blinked. Leave it to Dad to be so thick.

"Evil, as usual."

"I don't get you boys. Seems just yesterday you were happy as clams. Playing in a sandbox." He shook his head. "Are you jealous of his girlfriend?"

"I," my voice caught in my throat. Maybe the Ostrich was more perceptive than I gave him credit. "Look, Dad," I said seriously. "Paul joined the Dark Side. Don't talk about him anymore. He's dead to me."

"Good Lord, son. You're in high school, not the Death Star."

I laughed uneasily. I don't think Dad understood it was basically the same thing.

***

Day Two in Hell began mildly enough, with toast and jam and a goodbye kiss from my mom. Once I stepped out of the car, my stomach turned and I wished I'd skipped breakfast. Some of the jocks from my math class were grinning evilly. I froze in place, taking shallow breaths, so it was a while before I realized they weren't plotting my demise. Instead, they were watching the Rebel Without a Cause kick someone's stomach in.

"Say that again, shithead," the Rebel growled, stepping on his victim's chest. I swallowed. Well, I guess there went a possible ally. I inched away from the fight ring that was forming around the fight.

"Stop, please!" gasped the boy on the ground. "I didn't mean it!" I felt a twinge in my heart. I knew exactly how it felt to be kicked when I was down in front of a crowd. Already, people were taking pictures, placing bets and passing cash. I looked around for teachers, the Principal, anyone. That's when I saw her, my math teacher. She was walking quickly to the school building, pretending not to notice a kid get beat to a pulp.

Somehow I found myself pushing through the crowd to the middle of the ring. "Let him go," I said, without a shake in my voice. I surprised myself sometimes. I told my parents I wasn't suicidal, yet here I was, courting death.

The Rebel Without A Cause shot me a glare. "Stay out of this, kid."

"I'm not a kid!" My fists were balled up. What was wrong with me? Did I trust he wouldn't hurt me just because he didn't yesterday? Maybe. I bet on it. "I said let him go."

"You're a little shit," bully sneered, stepping off of his victim. His angular features were cold and cruel. "You tiny scrawny frosh. There is something wrong with your head."