Villain-y

Chapter 2: Andy ~ My Coccyx is Bruised (And I'm Thoroughly Screwed)

I was sitting in study hall, my last class on the last day of my senior year at Warren High. The teacher, Mr. White, hadn't even bothered to stick around until the class period ended. He had conveniently been "called away for an emergency meeting," but due to the not-so-subtle scent of cannabis that followed him everywhere, we were all pretty sure that he was getting high at the local park. I seem to recall a regulation regarding smoking within one hundred feet of a school, but somehow I doubt that Mr. White concerned himself with anything as trivial as the law.
I was just minding my own business, trying to ignore the heathenish shouts and incessant squeaking of chairs, absentmindedly sketching a picture of Adriana Ramirez (a classmate who I believed to be the embodiment of perfection), when I was hit on the back of the head by a paper airplane.
Now, under normal circumstances, I would have just re-folded the paper so that it had better aerodynamics and thrown it back at the head of the most likely perpetrator. It wouldn't have been the first time; I lived for the mopey look it always put on his face. But the disturbance brought me back to reality long enough for me to realize that I was sketching a strikingly realistic depiction of the goddess – sorry, girl – who was sitting directly in front of me. I subsequently leapt out of my seat and, simultaneously, slammed my spiral shut. This would have been only mildly embarrassing had it not been for the banana peel.
Yeah, I know, what are the odds of there actually being a banana peel just lying around on the floor of a classroom, waiting for someone to slip on it? Clearly I'm just embellishing a little to get laughs, right?
          Wrong. You see, there was this fellow in my grade, Chad, who I'm still not entirely convinced isn't a monkey pretending to be a human (you know, for the health care benefits). His diet consisted almost entirely of bananas, and since he was a pretty big guy, he had a pretty big diet. That meant a lot of bananas, and thus, a lot of banana peels.
Now, any mildly normal person in Chad's position would just throw their ridiculous amount of banana peels in the trash. But not Chad. No, Chad had some kind of aversion to effort, which in turn led to a habit of leaving banana peels behind wherever he went. On multiple occasions, I caught him oh so slyly placing them on the ground, as if no one would notice. I would then wonder what I did in a past life to deserve spending my first eighteen years trapped with these barbarians.
Unfortunately for me, it seemed too late to change my karma, and the aforementioned banana peel was lying right where my feet landed. I then proceeded to slip and fall backwards in the typical hilarious-for-everyone-but-the-victim way, crashing onto the tile floor and severely bruising my coccyx. The room erupted into barbarous laughter.
As I lay on the cold floor pondering my fate, I heard the skid of a chair being moved, followed by light footsteps moving around the front of my desk. Then a pair of bright pink converse alerted me to the fact that someone was standing directly in front of me. I felt my heart beat faster in my chest.
"Are you okay?" I heard a small voice inquire. It was Adriana, clearly suppressing a giggle, but she still sounded genuinely concerned.
"Only slightly worse than usual," I responded. I saw a flash of nail polish that somehow looked like crashing waves (I will never cease to be amazed by the magic girls can work with nail polish) as Adriana offered me her hand, and I took it. Her hands felt small and soft at first, but she had a surprisingly strong grip. She pulled me up. Then I was standing, and I found myself staring directly into the deepest, kindest brown eyes I'd ever seen.
"Um, thanks," I muttered.
"No problem," Adriana replied with a shy smile, pushing a curl of dark brown hair behind her ear. I smiled back, no doubt blushing like I'd just downed a whole bottle of hot sauce.
          Our awkward staring contest was interrupted by a gruff voice. "What're you grinning about? Did you get a concussion from your little fall?"
A couple of guys snickered. Oh, great, I thought. Frank saw. Of course.
"No, actually, people get concussions from head injuries, not butt injuries. But I can understand why you wouldn't know the difference, seeing as you always seem to have your head in your ass."
There was a successive "Oooooooooooo" throughout the classroom, which only added to Frank's already apparent, albeit unwarranted, anger. So mission accomplished, I suppose.
Frank stood up from his desk near the back of the classroom, shoving his chair - which seemed almost comically small compared to him - into the desk behind him with a bang. The desk's occupant had been drooling on what appeared to be his summer reading assignment (he was already working on that? Really?) and sat up with a jolt, glancing around and, upon seeing me, smiling awkwardly. I shook my head with a smile. Leave it to Angel to distract our classmates from my humiliating failures at functioning like a normal human being. Frankly, I still haven't quite forgiven myself for the cliche that is slipping on a banana peel. Regardless, Angel wiping the drool from his chin didn't divert anyone's attention for long.
"Hey!" Frank shouted. "What are you looking at?"
And leave it to Frank, of course, to make everything about him.
He was a pretty large guy, about 6'6'', with arms about as beefy as they come. Disgustingly, I'd heard a few girls describe him as "hot" (ugh, I gagged just remembering that), but they must have had a thing for guys who resembled oxen. He did have these piercing green eyes which could maybe, if you squinted hard enough, tilted your head, and spun in a circle twenty times, be considered pretty. They reminded me of vomit.
"You think you're so clever? At least I'm not the one who just tripped on a fucking banana peel," Frank retorted. Truly, his was one of the brightest minds of our generation.
I bent over and picked up the slippery yellow death trap. "Tripped? On this old thing? Nah, Peely here was just showing me his new home, which just so happens to be the floor."
I knew I was practically begging to be made fun of, but at this point in my life I'd decided that sarcastically responding to taunts was more entertaining than trying to run away or letting people walk all over me.
"So now you're friends with banana peels? Well, I guess it's not much of a step down."
Frank glanced at Alex, my best (and only) friend, who was sitting at the desk to my left. If Alex were anyone but Alex, I would've been upset with her for not having backed me up already. But Alex wasn't great with social situations involving more than one or two other people. Her talking when the whole class was listening? About as likely as me getting that pet lion.
Alex shifted uneasily. I decided to change the subject.
"Are you insinuating that Mr. Peely is not a good friend?"
I moved the peel next to my ear.
"What's that, Mr. Peely? You'd like to have a word with this talking gorilla?"
I took a step towards Frank and dangled the banana peel invitingly.
Frank looked at me like I was crazy, which I probably was.
"I'm not talking to a banana peel."
"Well, now, that's no way to speak to Mr. Peely. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable speaking with him if you met in a place you're both more comfortable with, where you'd be surrounded by your brethren. I suggest the local zoo."
Frank paused, glaring at me in a confused sort of way that I could only assume meant he had missed the joke by a few miles.
"Is that a threat?"
I hadn't intended my comment as a threat, obviously, and I'm still not entirely sure how he took it as one, but I decided to roll with it.
"It's more of a dare, actually. Tonight, after the zoo closes, you should take Mr. Peely here," I dangled the banana peel in the air, "To the monkey exhibit, where you can have a nice chat with him. Unless, of course, this proposition frightens you?"
Any common idiot would've responded with something like, "No, I'm not really in the mood to break into a zoo." But Frank was no common idiot. He was a very special one.
He glared at me for a minute. I could practically see the gears turning in that beefy head of his.
"I'll do it," he said finally,
"If you do it first."
Somehow, I had not anticipated that response. I didn't like being caught off guard.
"Okay... What are you suggesting, exactly?"
"Just what you said. You go to the zoo after it's closed tonight and get into the monkey exhibit. Send me a video of you in the exhibit, and I'll go in too. Or does my 'preposition' frighten you?"
I sighed at his miserably failed attempt to mock me, and then I began to assess my options.
Naturally, I realized that breaking into the monkey exhibit was a terrible idea that would probably get me arrested, attacked by marsupials, infected with a terrifying disease, or all of the above. But I had a weakness for dares. If someone told me to do something I knew I shouldn't do, I would almost definitely do it. I loved challenges. The higher the stakes, the better. Luckily for me, my relatively secluded life meant that I didn't often run into people who told me to do things that were especially risky. But Frank just had, and I'd punch myself in the face before I'd let that fucker know I was scared.
"Sounds like a lovely plan. I'll see you in the monkey exhibit around 11 pm."
Frank's jaw dropped so far I began to wonder whether he'd ever be able to close his mouth again, which he rarely did anyway. He recovered a small amount of composure, though, and muttered, "Uh, okay, I guess I'll give you my phone number."
Frank tore a slip of paper out of a purple spiral on a nearby desk (Angel, the spiral's owner, looked annoyed, but for whatever reason, most people found He Whose Existence is a Shame intimidating). He snatched a pen from the desk, scribbled down his number, wadded up the paper, and threw it at my hand. Lacking in coordination as I was, I'd barely moved before the wad hit my palm and proceeded to fall to the ground. I nonchalantly picked it up and slipped it into my pocket for future reference.
The bell rang, as if perfectly timed to the end of my study hall exploits. While I gathered my things, I noticed the paper airplane that had started this mess lying on the floor next to my desk. Out of curiosity, I picked it up and unfolded it. A single word was scrawled across the paper in Frank's unmistakable bulky hand-writing:

LOSER

Yep, definitely one of the brightest minds of our generation.