A Beautiful Mess

Second: He's A Mean Kid

The Second: He's A Mean Kid

I turned seven.  The age where fairies were real, rainbows were fascinating, Santa gave presents and mermaids were friends.

       “My name is Saydie Warman.” 

       I stood in front of the class.  First day of school.  Everybody stared and waited.  Mrs. Morris, my English teacher that seemed to be five months pregnant, nodded and was expecting for more.

       Eyes rolled around the nameless faces. 

       “My dad is a professional swimmer and my mom works at a café.” I continued.

       A few started to clap little by little.  Mrs. Morris had given me an “is-that-all?” face.  I nervously nodded.

       “Thank you, Saydie. Now who wants a turn?”

       I got back to my seat. 

       A boy raised his hand, too eager to recite.  As he made his way to the front, I noticed a familiar figure.  From the moment he faced in front, I knew who he was.  His dark hair shown it all.

       “Hi. My name is Ethan Runwell.”

       That was the very first time I heard his name.  I never knew.  He did live next door but I never went out to know.  How could he be here sitting in the same room as I am?  I still wouldn’t forget the day when he purposely spilled that sticky chocolate drink on me.  He had to pay.  I mean, the stain wouldn’t leave the dress.  I knew that it wouldn’t fit me anymore but I still loved it.  It was a gift from my Grandma before we left which became my most valuable possession.

       “Anything else you want to share us?” Mrs. Morris rubbed her belly and everybody could tell that she was beginning to feel bored.

       “When I grow up I want to be a famous swimmer.”

       “Fantastic!” she sounded relieved, “Anyone else?”

       He spotted me as he went back to his seat.  I ignored him, pretending I didn’t know him but it didn’t become a hard situation anyway since I got distracted easily when this girl beside me handed me a half eaten caramel fudge. 

       Recess was on.  It was like war in the play ground.  It was my first time seeing so many kids my age being wildly aggressive.  They climbed fences, poked each other, stole each one’s food and yanked each other’s hair.  Did our parents even know where they’re dropping their kids off?  I’d rather spend my recess in a public zoo than trying so hard to stand still without someone bumping me.

       In out of nowhere, a finger tapped my shoulder.  It was impossible, I thought.  Because there was no way you could do that here without them hitting you first.

       I turned around and tried to fix my eyes on Ethan.  What?  I wanted to say.  But instead, I gave him my meanest look that I had been working out in case of bad kids that I might possibly ran in to.  I know it wasn’t much, but I know that sooner I would get there.      

       “Take your hands out.”

       He had this mysterious smile showing on his face.  He had his left hand curved and his right hand covered on top of it.  When you’re seven, you’d probably do anything.  So I did what he asked me to do and stretched my hands out.

       “Now close your eyes.” He demanded.

       So I did.  Once I shut my eyes, I felt a gooey slimy thing sliding its way through my fingers.  I hope it was a slug.  As weird as it may sound but honestly, I had been looking for one since my dad let Andrew and I watch a documentary film about slugs.  I was grossed out at first but when I knew how harmless but dangerous they could be, my interest in them grew.  So I gave a shot to ask Ethan.

       “Is it a slug?”

       “No.”

       I could sense that he shook his head when he said ‘No’.

       I couldn’t guess anymore since I didn’t know any living thing that was as slimy as that.  So I finally gave up.  I opened my eyes.  Only when I realized I was wrong.  It wasn’t a grass hopper at all.  Worse.

       I screamed.  I tumbled.  I ran.  Then cried.

       It was a lizard.