How to Raise an Assassin

CHAPTER 11: ASHTON CALLS ME THE B-WORD

Ash had the audacity to pretend that he didn't kidnap me yesterday to join a gang. He brushed over the incident by talking about the White Sox's opening day in a couple of weeks.

"My father is going to throw out the first pitch," Ash bragged. "I bet it'll be a strike."

I tried to play keep-away with him, but as Auntie advised, he was joined to me at the hip. The only time I was able to socially distance myself from him was when I went to the bathroom to pee and the locker room to change for gym. Even then, he camped outside like a creep.

"What took you so long to get changed?" Ash asked once I left the locker room and headed out to the sports fields.

I sighed, trying to contain my frustration. Luckily, the gym teacher blew the whistle, drowning out the series of curse words I had mouthed out for Ash.

We made our way to the instructor, where we began with a fifteen-minute warm up. Jumping-jacks, leg raises, sit-ups, some laps around the track field. Then we divided into two groups for the last 45 minutes. One group was to play a game of soccer, while the other was supposed to murder, I mean hit, each other in a friendly game of dodgeball.

You don't understand how excited I was that the gym instructor, Mr. Jacobs, put Ash and I on separate teams. However, I was not excited when he compared us to a pair of lovebirds in the spring.

After promptly retching my morning eggs and toast, I took to the other side of the football field. The 50-yard line was the DMZ. If we passed it, we were disqualified. Get too close to it and you risk getting shot, I mean smacked, with a rubber ball coming at you with intense speed. And don't be fooled, some of these seventh graders in my class could throw rockets.

I should know, because I was one of them.

Many people in my class didn't like to have me in their school groups. They hated when I sat next to them at the cafeteria, thinking I had somehow poisoned their food with my presence. They disliked being partnered up with me on school projects, as if I would somehow sabotage them. But, the one thing they definitely enjoyed having me on was their sports team; because for once, pushing me to the other side was not in their best interests.

Normally, a game of dodgeball with me involved ended pretty quickly with many people on the other team heading to the nurse's office for a bag of ice to put on their leg or forehead. My team would largely remain unscathed, with few members being slaughtered, I mean booted out.

But this was the first time they had a gang member on their team too.

Ashton had a smile on his face as he stared at me and winked. I couldn't wait to erase that smile with a nice rubber ball to his face.

Mr. Jacobs in his red and white tracksuit with the school's logo of stars and diplomas pined across his chest, raised his hand and announced the rules. "You get hit, you're out. You catch the ball, a teammate on the sideline can come in and the thrower is out. Cross this line, and you're out. Any questions?"

No questions. We stood at the forty-yard line as the chilly morning sun shined upon us. Mr. Jacobs blew his whistle and I rushed towards the 50-yard line. I grabbed two of the four balls and launched both of them at two incoming students who collapsed like towers. The balls rolled back to our side. I picked one up and found myself using it as a shield to deflect an attack by a classmate who suddenly looked like he saw the grim reaper staring him down after failing to assassinate him.

Let's just say, his face needed an ice bag for attempting to get me out.

Meanwhile, I saw a couple of balls whizz by me and two of my teammates were knocked out like bowling pins. I turned to see the source of the chaos and spotted Ash whipping his hair and shooting me finger-guns in my direction.