The Boy Who Fell (COMPLETE)

Sticks and Stones

After football practice, it was always a mad race to the shower rooms where limited shower stalls meant you had to wait your turn if you didn't snag one at once. I always made it a point to stay near the fringes when football practice was winding down, so I could hit the showers first. That day was no exception; I was almost done dressing up by the time Royson Mercado and his gang of meatheads from the karate team swaggered in. 

Royson was a junior like me, but didn't really know him well. I didn't have much classes with him, but his reputation for being a chauvinistic prick preceded him. That, plus the fact that  his loud voice carried through the locker room, broadcasting his porn viewing preferences, fapping habits, and his opinions about the girls in our class.

"Yeah, I'd tap that. Saw her in a swimsuit at the village clubhouse once." Royson sniggered about some poor girl. "You wouldn't think it when she's in uniform, but in a swimsuit? I only wish it were more revealing, but hey, the image has been burned in my mind, ready to be summoned whenever the banana needs some buffing." As if he weren't being obvious enough, he had to make a jerking action before winking twice at his flunkies.

I looked up from tying my shoelaces to roll my eyes at Luke. He smirked back at me, silently agreeing that Royson was a scumbag. 

"Good thing we have Washday Tuesdays, right?" Flunkie #1 remarked. On the first Tuesday of every month, like today, we were allowed to go to school in street clothes. Not that one day each month was sufficient for real washdays.

"Yeah, I saw her on the bleachers. That purple shirt clings to just the right places," Flunkie #2 said, cutting a lewd hourglass figure with his hands through the air. It was met with the resounding agreement of Royson and the rest of the flunkies.

"Uh, Ben?" There was a frown on Luke's face. "What color shirt is Sam wearing?"

"Hell yeah, she looks hot wearing that." Royson's lecherous voice rang loud and clear, confirming Luke's suspicions. "But you know what would be hotter on Samantha Coronel? Me."

Royson didn't know what hit him. He was stockier and the more experienced fighter, but I had the element of surprise on my side. I got two punches in before Royson could even react. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Hidalgo?" Royson asked before lunging at me. We landed a few more blows on each other before our respective teammates could pull us apart.

"Take back what you said about Sam, you asshole!" I shouted, still struggling to get free. 

"Why should I?" Royson snapped. "Like she's your girlfriend? Shut it with playing boyfriend, Hidalgo. I heard her tell one of her friends she doesn't have one. I guess you're just chopped liver," he sniggered. I wanted to punch Royson's face so badly, but for what? For telling the truth?

"Fuck you, Mercado!" I snarled. "If I get my hands on you again---"

"Coach is heading this way," one of the seniors interrupted. 

Luke sprung into action. "You two, break it up, unless you both want to get suspended." He dragged me out the locker room's back exit, while Royson's team mates pulled him to the other direction. He was one of the team's karate stars, so they knew they couldn't risk getting him suspended. That, and he wasn't any worse for wear. I, on the other hand, needed medical assistance. 

Some knight errant I turned out to be.

• • • • •

"For what it's worth, I think it was pretty cool of you to defend your girlfriend's honor like that," Marge said as she took the seat beside me, handing me a cold compress for my eye. Marge Altamirano was one of the strikers from the girls' football team. Despite being a senior, she didn't mind hanging out with me and Luke whenever the boys' team had joint activities with the girls' team. She was also quick to help out whenever we had scrapes like this, which was often. As long as it wasn't anything serious, the school nurse would just lend us the infirmary key since our practice time coincides with the meetings of the club she mentored.

"She's not my girlfriend," I muttered under my breath. Damn that Luke. He was actually able to brief Marge about what happened in the locker room while they were taking me to the infirmary. And he was just as quick to leave me alone with her, presumably to check up on the scene of the crime we just left.

"What was that?" Marge asked, preoccupied with applying disinfectant to the wounds on my face. And salt to the wounds on my spirit.

"I said, she's not my girlfriend," I repeated, louder this time. It pained me to admit it, but it was true. It was true and it freaking hurt worse than falling off a tree and breaking my arm. 

"Really?" The disbelief was dripping from Marge's voice. She held the disinfectant soaked cotton ball mere inches from my face, trying to read my expression. "But you're always together---"

"We're just friends," I interrupted. 

"Well, I think it was still brave of you, girlfriend or not. It's a miracle Royson didn't kill you," she continued, dabbing more disinfectant on my face, giving my pale skin a jaundiced hue. I was red and orange all over, and most likely, purple too, come tomorrow.

Sitting there with bruises on my face, earned from defending a girl who was not my girlfriend made me realize how pathetic I truly was. I had been hanging around Sam for months now, in an ambiguous non-relationship, too much of a coward to set the record straight. Tomorrow, I will, I kept promising myself, but it was so much easier to enjoy her company than to risk everything, so I just kept pushing it back. 

"There you are, Sam!" Luke's cheery voice echoed from the corridor. "Been looking for you everywhere." He entered the infirmary, pulling a reluctant Sam behind him. "Look who I found outside the infirmary," he added, pushing Sam towards us. "Ben got in a fight with Royson Mercado. Know him? From the karate club?" Luke actually sounded like he was proud of me. But then, I'm probably mistaken. How could he be proud of me for acting like a hotheaded idiot?

Upon seeing me, Sam's face contorted into something weird, like she swallowed something sour that she wanted to spit out. Like she was disgusted. It wasn't a surprise. I saw myself in one of the infirmary mirrors earlier. I looked like a smashed piñata. 

"Are you okay, Ben?" she asked, stepping closer to where we were seated, but not close enough to help. 

"Here," Marge offered the canister of cotton swabs and bottle of disinfectant to Sam. "Want to take over?"

"No, it's all right." Sam waved Marge's hands away. "You're doing a great job already. I just wanted to check on Ben since someone mentioned seeing him on his way here." She smiled a big, friendly, sincere smile at Marge. Some people might've found the scene between Marge and me incriminating, us sitting so close, with heads bent together. But not Sam. There was no sign of jealousy in her smile. It was like she didn't care at all. It hurt. I would've given anything to see her jealous over me.

"I should probably just wait by the bleachers," Sam said. "See you later, Ben. Later, Luke."

As I stared at Sam's retreating back, my earlier words rang in my ears. She's not my girlfriend. She's not my girlfriend. She's not my girlfriend.