Lasagna

James Carver

Upon further review, a pink Vineyard Vines button down shirt and blue pastel shorts was not the correct outfit to wear to my first day of Junior year at Mid Wood High in Brooklyn, New York.

"You look like a god damned My Little Pony," the large, brooding boy says to me, taking a bite out of an unassuming Macintosh apple before laughing, spitting the juice all over my cleanly shaven face. I wonder if he always eats his apples this enthusiastically, or rather, he has chosen to do so for my sake.

I also wonder if he accosts all the new kids in this way, with the apples. I do hope not.

He looks around the hallway as if waiting for an audience. A boy pops out of a classroom. Cue: The audience. "There's Mike. Hey, Mike!" 

Mike has good judgment. He stops dead in his tracks and marches towards my verbal assailant like his life depends on it. "Hey. Mike. Don't he look like one of those My Little Ponies?" Mike, clearly shaken up about being addressed by Large Brooding Apple Boy, nods hesitantly. Like my attacker, Mike is wearing a basketball jersey and skinny jeans. I realize I should have done more research.

"Yeah..." Mike pauses to give me a nervous once over. I hope this is all he is going to say, but alas: "Or one of them Barbie princesses."

Hunt or be hunted. Can't blame you, Mike.

Large Boy likes Mike's attitude. He laughs Macintosh apple in my face some more.

"Barbie Princess! Fucking Barbie Princess!"

He bursts off into laughter again, giving Mike the perfect opportunity to bolt soundlessly and leave me alone with Satan's son.

Large Apple Eating Boy stops laughing. His eyes stare into mine. He begins gnashing his teeth at me like a Golden Retriever, except without the blonde hair and the general friendliness. Then, his stare lands on my open locker. His eyes light up.

I send a prayer to Satan. Not today, Satan. Not today.

Apparently, today, in fact, is the day. Large Boy shoves the Macintosh in his mouth, gripping onto it with his Retriever canines so both of his hands are free to shove my frail little body into the metal cabin of death behind us. He slams the door of my locker shut, then proceeds to pound the door with his fist for good measure. I jump, the top of my head slamming against the metal ceiling.

Large Boy hears this, and his stupid Macintosh spitting laughter rings in my ears until he is too far down the hallway for me to hear him.

I close my eyes. Of course, it is after school hours now, so the chances of someone finding me here are slimmer than my mom on one of her Tea detoxes. Her teatox, if you will. To put it lightly, my luck is well, shit. With a capital S.

Here. I'll prove it to you with a carefully organized list:

Reasons why James Carver's Luck Is Shit:

1. He was born with only one testicle

2. He ate his twin in the womb

3. He is an only child (see number 2)

4. His dad left his mom when he found out James and John were on the way. (Now, just James. Again, see number 2.)

5. The first day he got his iPhone the screen shattered and he can't afford to replace it (not as dramatic, but still classic.)

6. He tried playing football once. He broke his femur on the first day of practice.

7. He's shattered 4 mirrors in his life, which means 28 years of bad luck. Don't even ask him how he's managed to break 4 mirrors.