The Lost Boys Imagines and Preferences (Book 2)

Moxie - Part 1

My English teacher, Mr. Williams, rubs a hand over his military buzz cut. There's sweat beading at his hairline, and he puffs out his ruddy cheeks. He looks like a drunk porcupine.
The drunk part may be true. Even if it is before lunch on a Tuesday.

"Let's discuss the symbolism in line 12 of the poem," he announces, and I pick up my pen so I can copy exactly what he says when he tells ya what the gold light behind the blue curtains really means. He wants to discuss the symbolism, but that's not true. When we have our unit test, he'll expect us to write down what he told us in class word for word.

I blink and try to stay awake. Half the kids are messing with their phones, grinning faintly into their groins. I can sense my brain liquefying.

"Y/N, what are your thoughts?" Mr. Williams asks me. Of course.

"Well," I say, folding in on myself and staring at the Xeroxed copy of the poem on my desk. "Uh...." my cheeks turn scarlet. Why does he always have to call on me? Why not mess with one of the groin grinners? At least I'm pretending to pay attention.

"Star?" He calls on the new girl, Star Moxie, who's had her hand up since he asked the question. He stares at her blankly and waits.

"Well," Star starts, and you can tell she's excited to get going, even sitting up a little straighter in her chair, "if you think about the reference the speaker is making in line 8, what I'm wondering is if the light doesn't indicate, a, um, what would you call it....like a shift in the speaker's understanding of..."

There's a cough that interrupts her from the back of the room. "-Make me a sandwich."

And there's a collection of snickers and laughs, like a smattering of applause.

I don't have to turn around to know it's Paul Wilson being an asshole, cheered on by his douchebag wrestling friends.

Star takes in a sharp breath. "Wait, what did you say?"

"I said," Paul begins. Make....me....a...sandwich."

Conversation ceased as Mr. Williams assigned homework that wouldn't actually ever be graded in that class. "-they are the ones who ruined it. I don't understand why you're punishing all of us."

"Star, did I or did I not just announce to the class that you should begin the grammar exercises on page 25 and 26 of the textbook?" Mr. Williams spits.

"Yes, but..." Star begins.

"No, stop." Williams interrupts. "Stop talking. You can add page 27 to your assignment."

Paul and his friends collapse into laughter, and Star sits there, stunned, her eyes widening as she stares at Mr. Williams. Like no teacher has ever talked to her like that in her life.

The bell rings and Star packs up her stuff like nothing ever happened.

We sit there talking about classes and random gossip, and as I take a bite out of my Apple I see Star Moxie at a table with a few other lone wolves who regularly join forces in an effort to appear less lonely. Her table is surrounded by the jock table and the popular table and the stoner table and every-other-variety-of-East-Waterport-kid table. Star's table is the most depressing. She's not talking to anyone, just jamming a plastic fork into some supremely sad-looking pasta dish sitting inside of a beat-up Tupperware container.

I think about going over to invite her to sit with us, but then I think about the fact that Paul and his dumb-ass friends are sitting smack in the center of the cafeteria, hooting it up, looking for any chance to pelt one of us with more of their lady-hating garbage. And Star Moxje has to be a prime target given what just happened in class.
So I don't invite her to sit with us.

Maybe I'm not so nice after all.