Transition (Rewrite)

Chapter 3: Dear Evan Baxter (Today is Not a Good Day)

I felt my hood jerk into my neck, causing me to crash hard onto the tile hall floor.

Mother fucker...

"I thought you had finally offed yourself, dyke."

"Nice to see you too, Evan," I groaned from my new home on the floor, staring up into the face of my tormentor.

The brunette sneered, kicking my shoulder lazily while maintaining a vice-like grip on my burgundy jacket hood. "You're already going to hell, so you might as well go there in style. You've got a lot of nerve to torch an entire building."

I removed my hoodie and managed to pick myself up off the ground. "I didn't start the fire, Evan. It wasn't-" I was cut off by a fist slamming into my bound chest, immediately knocking me to the ground and causing me to struggle for a breath.

"Here, let me help you beat those tits of yours into submission." He kicked me in the chest and then the stomach. Then he grabbed my backpack and poured my books, sketchbooks, and computer onto me. Tears had started to stream down my cheeks.

"Hey! Baxter!" A voice shouted, coming to my rescue once again. "Pick on someone your own damn size!" Alexander Samuel Young charged down the hall towards me and jumped between me and the bully. "Leave Andrew alone, asshole. I told you what would happen if I caught you wailing on him again!"

Evan stood up straight, stretching to his full height in the newcomer's face, still missing about four inches. "I don't see any 'Andrew' here. Only a scared little girl who's pretending she has a dick."

Alex's face hardened, every inch etched with calm fury that was on the brink of losing its calm. "You're about to lose your only warning, Baxter." Alex seemed to loom a couple inches higher over the aggressor than usual.

After a moment of silence between the two jocks before Evan threw my hoodie to the ground on top of me. "Dress up doesn't change what you are, faggot."

I tugged at my binder, readjusting it into a more comfortable position, watching as five feet and ten inches of shit in the form of a teenager stomped off. Alex offered his outstretched hand to me, his face flooding with concern as I groaned in pain as he lifted me up to my feet.

"That guy is a dick. Can we just agree that?" I grumbled, rubbing my chest where I was struck twice.

Alex pat me on the back gently, smiling. "There's a reason we never see him shirtless; it's so the foreskin won't flap over his head." That response caused me to snort, drawing more laughter from the both of us. Alex seldom spoke in that manner, so it made his comment not only humorous, but also surprising.

We joked back and forth as the two of us made our way to our next class. I tried not to notice the people giving me looks. Funny how trying not to notice something only makes you notice it more. Alex seemed to notice them, too, because his eyes darted to the sides every few seconds and he shifted his stance to take full advantage of his bulk.