\n
Something about the redneck pecking order turns the hallways of Rupshire High into a fist fest each spring. It begins as the school busses arrive. Redwings clomp across the blacktop, squishing chewed Copenhagen, cans of which ring back pockets. Left arms chokehold girlfriends\u2019 necks and noses nuzzle into hairspray-hardened bangs. They push. They shove. They sit backwards on benches in the cafeteria, joking about the skateboard fags, band fags, and all the other acid-washed homosexuals who dare walk past before the homeroom bell rings. They pick one from the crowd, decide\u2014\u201cThat fucker\u2019s gonna pay for hitting on my cousin on Saturday night.\u201d Word spreads like jock itch and by lunchtime rock hard fists hit faces with the dull thud of potatoes pounding sacks of flour. A squadron of coaches\u2014Phys. Ed. and history teachers\u2014mask their obvious joy at breaking up a fight. Today was no different, only the target was me, Nelson Hayes, friendless weakling.<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t even aware of the threat. I was so used to trudging through the hallways, hands thrust deep into my pockets, eyes glued to the floor keeping a running tab on the tiles beneath my feet. My problems began when I pushed up to the Coke machine and made accidental eye contact with Stacey Sedgewicke. She wore stonewashed jeans that hugged curves so tight I had to tap the brakes.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me,\u201d I said, looking down at her Reeboks.<\/p>\n
She glanced at me, exhaled a loud sigh\u2014the sort of sigh I\u2019m used to hearing from real girls at school, not the sigh I imagine they would make as they tremble under my touch in the back of the Cavalier, the sigh that would follow the first time we make love and she tells me she\u2019s sorry she never got to know me.\u00a0 No, it was that usual weary sigh, and after waiting another moment Stacey simply stepped from the machine and giggled away with her friends.<\/p>\n
I thought nothing of this exchange until third period when Candy Williams advised me to evacuate via the fire escape since Randy Boyles, tight end for the Rupshire Crusaders and Stacey\u2019s current boyfriend, planned to annihilate me. I wish I\u2019d heeded her advice instead of shrugging it off, as I wrote\u00a0we\u2019re just\u2026a Minor Threat<\/em>\u00a0along the white rubber toecaps of my Chuck Taylors.<\/p>\n No more than a minute after the bell rang did I feel the straps on my backpack pull tight as Randy yanked me into his fist. I was lying in a heap against the lockers, with a trickle of blood dribbling from my nose.<\/p>\n \u201cNew school rule,\u201d Randy said. \u201cNo faggot nerds can walk around without an escort.\u201d He squeezed his rough fingers around my collar and lifted me to my feet. A crowd had formed around us. \u201cAnother rule. No hitting on another man\u2019s girl.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t hit on Stacey.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t even get to say her name.\u201d He held me close to his mouth. Each word stunk like wet tobacco. \u201cAre you gonna apologize?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI thought you didn\u2019t hit on Stacey.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen why\u2019d you apologize, you chickenshit liar?\u201d<\/p>\n Randy cocked his fist behind his right ear. I squeezed my eyes tight.<\/p>\n \u201cBoyles.\u201d Finally, the voice of authority.<\/p>\n Randy released me into the lockers and I wiped the blood from my nose. Coach Bryant appeared behind Randy. His hulking shoulders held the rest of his overstuffed body to its tense, athletic form. As always, he was sweating. Salty droplets dripped from his mustache like rain from a busted gutter.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s going on here, Boyles?\u201d Coach asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNothing, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy was Hayes lying on the ground there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe didn\u2019t get enough sleep last night, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCut the crap,\u201d Coach said. \u201cHayes, you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d I hoped nobody could see the tears (of anger, I swear) that welled up in my eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cWas Boyles bothering you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n Coach turned to Randy. \u201cMess up like this during the season and you\u2019ll be running double time. Got me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, sir,\u201d Randy said.<\/p>\n \u201cBoyles,\u201d Coach Bryant said, \u201cif brains were dynamite, you wouldn\u2019t have enough to blow your nose.\u201d<\/p>\n I hadn\u2019t seen Jonas since Christmas break, and when he sauntered into Hardee\u2019s the next day dressed in khakis and a ripped Misfits t-shirt, I knew it was not out of some newfound fashion failure but just another example of his unnerving ability to cross-pollinate styles, never falling into a clique, always staying camouflaged. To the preppies, he was a rebellious loner. To the stoners he was a wannabe whose uncanny capacity to find primo weed made up for his trendiness. To me he was just a friend, my best and only friend unless you counted the freaks who worked with me at Hardee\u2019s, which I did not. I didn\u2019t care how Jonas dressed. I looked forward to hanging out with him whenever he came back from prep school.<\/p>\n \u201cTake a break,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I yelled to my manager on the back line. \u201cJojo! I\u2019m taking my break now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust clock out this time.\u201d Jojo had near lifetime service to Hardee\u2019s; born with a plastic straw in her mouth, she had been sucking at a peach milkshake ever since. She hauled her greasy-skinned carcass from the back room to cover me, her bleached blond-ossified bangs sprouting out over her navy blue visor. I whisked my visor around backwards and Jonas and I parked ourselves on the foul curb out back beside the dumpsters.<\/p>\n \u201cI heard about you at school yesterday,\u201d he said, holding a vial of bluish-green liquid.\u00a0 \u201cThree guesses.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cColored water.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLSD?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, but I can find some Purple Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI give up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMethylene blue mixed with phenolphthalein.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIn English?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIn English, the methylene blue will make you piss blue for a week and the phenolphthalein will give you the trots.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy would I want to piss blue?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot you, dilrod.\u201d Jonas smiled. \u201cThis is your liquid ticket to revenge against Randy Boyles. Your football player claims to bleed blue and gold, right? You think he\u2019d be so proud to piss the school colors, too?\u201d<\/p>\n I grabbed the vial and held it to the sunlight. \u201cHow do we get him to take it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey still rally at Hardee\u2019s for the Saturday night parties, don\u2019t they? When he pulls up, put a couple drops of this into his Coke and the rest writes itself.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019d you get it, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt pays to have a dad who\u2019s head of the chemistry department,\u201d Jonas said. \u201cCome by tonight and tell me how it goes. I\u2019m only here for the weekend, gotta ship back to Andover tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll see if I can get the car.\u201d My mom had appropriated my Honda hatchback after her car crapped out for the final time.\u00a0 Ever since then we\u2019d arranged an elaborate system of drop-offs and pick-ups\u2014me from school and Hardee\u2019s, her to and from the college. She was the administrative assistant in the chemistry department. She\u2019s the one who delivered updates on Jonas that she received from his proud father.<\/p>\n \u201cDo what you gotta do,\u201d Jonas said.\u00a0 \u201cAnd don\u2019t forget, just a couple drops\u2019ll do ya.\u201d He left in his parents\u2019 new white Subaru. I tossed the vial in the air and caught it, then slid it into my pocket, where it jangled against some change. Back behind the counter, I adjusted the drive-thru headset like the pro that I was and counted the hours before the town\u2019s Most Valuable Teenagers would arrive.<\/p>\n Every weekend was a rerun of the last. Deep fryers and the amber bubbles rolling up from processed potato sticks, Jojo cracking the whip.\u00a0 As usual we got bombed by seven o\u2019clock. No party began without a gathering in the Hardee\u2019s parking lot. Monster Trucks and Ford Rustangs lined the parking lot, revving their engines and pealing out, squeezing off air horns that played Dixie, the drivers unaware that West Virginia fought for the Union. Kids I saw every school day acted like they didn\u2019t know me, staring across that gulf between their car and the order window.<\/p>\n \u201cWelcome to Hardee’s, please wait.\u201d My mantra.<\/p>\n \u201cMay I take your order?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGimme two double cheeseburgers, Frisco burger, large fries, large Coke, and\u2014What do you want, baby?\u201d There was a pause. \u201cA burger and iced tea, unsweet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you,\u201d I said. \u201cPlease pull around.\u201d<\/p>\n I opened the window on the moment I was waiting for. Randy Boyles all over again, his baseball cap backwards so you could see all the zits congregated on his forehead. His lips pulled away from his teeth as he spoke. \u201cHook me up with an extra fries, Pussy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour total comes to eleven forty-eight.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGimme an extra fries or I\u2019ll beat your ass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEleven forty-eight,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cFries, faggot,\u201d he said, pressing eleven dollars into my hand.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd forty-eight cents.\u201d<\/p>\n He tossed two quarters at the window. They bounced on the asphalt outside. \u201cKeep the change.\u201d<\/p>\n I shut the window, pulled out the methowhatever blue, uncapped the vial and dribbled some of the mixture into the cup. A couple more drops, just in case. The chemicals disappeared under the fountain. Against my better judgment, I put an extra order of fries in the bag. I didn\u2019t want him coming back. Besides, my mind was swimming in visions of that Cro-Magnon fuck split down the middle. Even after the runs would pass, Boyles would have the Ti-D-Bowl in his bladder for a week.<\/p>\n I opened the window and handed over the drink. Randy attached his lips immediately and took a long slug. I waited for a response.<\/p>\n \u201cYou put in those extra fries, fairy?\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cIf brains was dynamite,\u201d Randy said, \u201cyou wouldn\u2019t have shit for dynamite.\u201d<\/p>\n Randy peeled off and after that the vial of chemicals burned a hole in my pocket for the rest of the rush, begging to go to good use.\u00a0 As the party crowds lapped at the Hardee\u2019s window every football player, redneck, and bubble-brained buttwipe who complained about the service got a dollop of justice. At 9:47 the final drop drained from the vial, and I was only thirteen minutes from finishing the most satisfying shift of my life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Jonas\u2019s family lived in the middle of Bum-Fuck-Egypt, West Virginia. To get there you drive through a dried-up hamlet of abandoned coal company shacks, and hang a left at the scattering of aluminum-sided mobile homes. This sliver of heaven was where Jonas spent his vacations and the rare weekend, away from the cut lawns and brick buildings of Andover, Massachusetts. When I got there the lights in the main house were already out. Jonas\u2019s parents had turned the family house into a love shack in his absence, so they let him stay in the guesthouse, a hobbit-hole carved into the hillside next to Locust Pond. I tromped through a couple hundred yards of fresh-cut grass, soaking through the duct tape on my Chucks and staining the rubber a wet, dirty green.<\/p>\n \u201cTake off your shoes, man,\u201d Jonas said. \u201cThis ain\u2019t your house.\u201d<\/p>\n My socks left moist ovals on the cold tile.<\/p>\n \u201cSocks, too.\u201d<\/p>\n I sat on a knobby wooden stool at a long counter he called the breakfast nook. From the refrigerator he took a glass pitcher filled with an electric blue liquid.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cRomulan Ale.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe shit Worf drinks?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWorf\u2019s a Klingon, idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhatever.\u201d<\/p>\n He poured the Romulan Ale into two highball glasses and plunked tiny spheres of ice into each. He slammed the glass and licked the blue bubbles from his lip. I sniffed the drink and tried not to recoil from the quick bite of alcohol. Slowly I tipped the glass until the sweet nip of Romulan Ale touched my tongue.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, poseur, take a real swig.\u201d<\/p>\n I swallowed. Iceburn.<\/p>\n \u201cTickles, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s in that shit?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBlue Curacao, Bacardi, and Everclear.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEverclear?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGrain fucking alcohol,\u201d Jonas said. \u201cDrink enough and you\u2019ll go blind.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo going blind.\u201d I raised my glass.<\/p>\n \u201cSet up the chess board,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n We chatted and played chess, and by the second game the conversation turned inevitably to ritualized schoolboy pageants of sex and violence.<\/p>\n \u201cYou still play soccer?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t like team sports,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cIt builds character,\u201d Jonas said, moving his rooks along the same file. \u201cI\u2019m captain of the lacrosse team and the top scoring attackman in Phillips Academy history.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a career builder.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo you get laid yet?\u201d Jonas asked.<\/p>\n \u201cYou haven\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCourse I have.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGretchen Forsythe.\u201d Jonas pushed his king-side pawn. \u201cWe studied calculus together. If you could even call it studying. I basically did her homework for her. Night before the final she wanted some extra help, so I snuck her into my room.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGo on, liar,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n Jonas made a giant production out of preparing his next move. He wobbled the queen on her axis before sliding her to take my second bishop. He continued as if it was an afterthought. \u201cOne thing led to another. Next thing I know her clothes are off, and we\u2019re doing it. Right there on my bed. I was praying the whole time my roommate wouldn\u2019t come home early.\u201d<\/p>\n Fuck him, I thought. But even if it was a fantasy, I couldn\u2019t help but imagine it was me and not Jonas starring in it.\u00a0 Beneath a bookshelf lined in leather-bound volumes I unbutton Gretchen\u2019s blouse. Her blue eyes blink, shy, but not reluctant. She turns off the reading lamp, knocks the calculus textbook to the floor, takes quick breaths as she lays back, placing my hand over her beating heart, over the gold locket she wears round her neck, the full moon\u2019s light over Andover glimmering through a dusting of snowflakes.<\/p>\n Fuck, I thought, maybe it was true.<\/p>\n \u201cCheckmate. Loser sets up.\u201d Jonas drained his drink.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n What seemed like hours later I found myself alone on the carpet, the chess pieces scattered around me and the carpet dotted with blue spots.\u00a0 Lying there I started thinking for some reason about the first time Jonas and I ever hung out.\u00a0 I am ten and Jonas eleven; he\u2019s still living in that forest green Victorian on College Avenue. His parents are watching\u00a0The Crucible\u00a0<\/em>at the college, so we have the run of the house and get a little rowdy. Following a couple games of hallway soccer we make Lego fortresses and play Blockade. Simple rules: taking turns, you launch a golf ball at the other\u2019s Legos. Last fortress left standing wins. I have a lucky throw, blowing Jonas\u2019s fortress apart. He gets me in a headlock and then, pinning me on the ground, puts his feet on my shoulders and pulls my wrists with all his might. Only the key turning in the front door saves my shoulders from dislocation.<\/p>\n When I finally stood, I found a glass full of Romulan Ale on the table amidst the rest of the chess pieces. I gulped at the drink, and I threw open the creaking screen door. The air outside was damp and chilly; the moon shone like a flashlight bulb. Jonas stood by the pond tossing rocks, each splash turning the moon\u2019s reflection into wider rings of rippling blueblack.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you okay now?\u201d Jonas said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t even remember, do you?\u00a0 You were going nuts.\u00a0 You were punching walls and yelling at Randy Boyles. You took a swing at\u00a0me<\/em>, you maniac.\u00a0 I had to take you down.\u00a0 I had to, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAt you?\u201d I asked. \u201cI don\u2019t even\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry about it,\u201d Jonas said. \u201cI know you got it rough these days. By the way, I\u2019ll need that vial back.\u201d<\/p>\n I dug in my pocket and pressed it into his hand.<\/p>\n \u201cEmpty?\u201d He managed a sly smile. \u201cHow much did you give him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbout fifteen drops.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFifteen? That\u2019s enough to kill a wooly mammoth.\u201d Jonas squinted. \u201cThere must\u2019ve been two hundred drops in there. What happened to the rest?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDosed every jock, hoop, redneck, and douchebag dumb enough to hit the drive-thru.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cScore.\u201d He slapped me a high five. \u201cThe sewers\u2019ll be blue tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cImagine the line for the bathroom,\u201d I said. \u201cI bet they\u2019re all crapping their pants right now, staining those tighty-whities a royal blue.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGlad you showed some backbone,\u201d Jonas said. \u201cWhat are you going to do when I\u2019m no longer around to rescue you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRescue me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou learned a valuable lesson tonight, you gloopy bastard. It\u2019s just like Alex told the Droogs\u2014some get knifed and others do the knifing. You either stand at the top of the stack or you sink to the bottom.\u201d\u00a0 He looked past me up the lawn, to the main house with the lights out in all the windows. \u201cTake my dad,\u201d he said. \u201cHe worked hard and now he runs the whole department. Nobody tells him what to do, no one hassles him, and he\u2019s the one calling the shots.\u201d Jonas hurled a rock into the middle of the pond.\u00a0 \u201cSo, she\u2019s like duct tape. Is that what you\u2019re saying?\u201d<\/p>\n Tiny waves lapped back on the shore. There were some crickets chirping and the cattails stood still.<\/p>\n \u201cLook,\u201d Jonas said. \u201cNo insult, but secretaries are expendable. I\u2019m just saying it\u2019s the boss that has to take action and get the job done. And if I hadn\u2019t have given you that vial, you\u2019d still be cowering from Randy Boyles, and he\u2019d still be punching you instead of you punching the walls.\u201d<\/p>\n Jonas walked back to the house, to start cleaning up my mess, he said. I was still shoeless and waded into the water up to my shins. I plucked a cattail at the base of its stem and whacked at the other reeds until they toppled into the pond. Most lessons are ones you already know: if you\u2019re not the hammer, you\u2019re a nail.<\/p>\n That morning the sunlight raked my eyelashes back. One bewildered moment later I realized I was laying on a futon in the sunroom, under a wall of windows. Jonas frowned as he vacuumed.\u00a0 Then he got down with a rag and worked at the blue stain on the carpet.<\/p>\n \u201cYou sure did a number last night,\u201d he said. \u201cCommander of the Grain<\/em>, that\u2019s what you called yourself. You probably had six shots before you went and wrecked the place Rambo-style.\u201d<\/p>\n I rubbed my right hand. A yellow-rimmed bruise had come up and red cracks cut through the skin on my knuckles.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat time is it?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShit. I gotta get the car back to my mom, so she can get to work.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChill. It\u2019s Sunday; and its spring break at the college.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s got to work during breaks. She said she has to catch up on things.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, take your pants then.\u201d\u00a0 Jonas threw a soaked pair of Levi\u2019s onto my chest. \u201cYou puked on yourself, you retard. And I\u2019m gonna want those khakis when I come back this summer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI gotta take a piss first,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Jonas chuckled. \u201cIt\u2019ll be blue for a week.\u201d<\/p>\n The mood at school that Monday was more dejected than normal. It felt like the day after a big loss: defeated sighs and a shared humiliation. All the popular kids seemed worn out, as if the pipe-cleaning effects of the methylene blue and phenolphthalein had done to their youthful metabolism what weekends of binge drinking could not. Jonas had left town by then but I\u2019m not sure where he went. I\u2019d found a folded up letter in the pocket of his pants and read it again at the urinal between fifth and sixth period.<\/p>\n Jonas,<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Hey you coal-mining hick! Life here fucking sucks as usual. These jet-setting snobs and now I got no down-to-earth motherfucker to laugh at ’em with. I can\u2019t wait to graduate and get out. One more year of this shit, then Brown here I come.<\/em> \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 –Trevor<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0p.s. When am I gonna get that C-note I lent you?<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n I unzipped, stood at the urinal, and wondered who was getting knifed and who was doing the knifing up at Andover. My mom later told me that the office gossip held that Jonas had been sent on to some Prep School down south. Jonas never said another word about his education until he gloated about getting accepted to Columbia.<\/p>\n Randy Boyles walked into the restroom and took the urinal beside me. I crumpled the letter and put it in my pocket. My muscles tightened so I couldn\u2019t pee.<\/p>\n \u201cGoddamn Nattie Lite,\u201d Boyles said over the rush of urine. \u201cGoddamn Nattie Lite, man. We all drank that tainted brew.\u201d He flushed and zipped. \u201cHayes,\u201d he said, \u201cif you ever fucking grow a pair, you better drink Budweiser.\u201d<\/p>\n Boyles left and I sighed. He had moved on. Never again would I be his target. It could\u2019ve been the peace offering of French fries at Hardee\u2019s, or maybe a less fortunate kid came between him and his girlfriend. Maybe the bout of blue piss knocked some vinegar out of him. Whatever the reason, I never found out why the attention waned, why one minute I was archenemy number one and the next minute I was nothing, not even a blip on the Nerdar, not even important enough for the random noogie or locker cross-check. I felt a tinge of regret that I was a nobody again. But at least I hadn\u2019t been nothing. In my revenge I\u2019d become the source of a rumor that hardened into Rupshire High School myth\u2014the cause of slack sales for Natural Lite that eventually drove the beer off the market in the town of Rupshire\u2014the firmly held belief that \u201cNattie Lite ain\u2019t worth the fight. Makes ya poo, turns piss blue.\u201d<\/p>\n I unclenched my kegel muscles and let slip a triumphant blue piss.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “No more than a minute after the bell rang did I feel the straps on my backpack pull tight as Randy yanked me into his fist<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":5128,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[90,92,89,91],"class_list":["post-868","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-bullying","tag-drinking","tag-high-school","tag-revenge","writer-william-haas"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=868"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17582,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868\/revisions\/17582"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5128"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=868"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=868"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=868"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n\u201cWhat about my mom?\u201d I asked. \u201cShe keeps the place running. Without her the chemistry department would fall apart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n
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\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 So I\u2019m keeping tabs on Gretchen like you asked and yeah, she\u2019s telling everybody she never went to your room, never even talked to you. She\u2019s saying you copied off her calc exam too. Everyone thinks that\u2019s why you were 86\u2019d. But don\u2019t worry about that lying broad. At least you don\u2019t have to see her trunkass again.<\/em>
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 By the way, the new Lacrosse manager we got is some pussy named\u2014get this\u2014Erving. Erv the Perv. No doubt he gets off washing those jock straps. But I guess that\u2019s just another thing you should be happy you don\u2019t have to do anymore.<\/em>
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 How\u2019s that comp I made you? Whenever I feel like shit (like every day in this hellhole) I throw on Dinosaur Jr.\u2019s \u201cFreak Scene\u201d and totally rock out. Bradley can\u2019t stand it, I turn it up so loud.\u00a0<\/em>
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Let me know where you end up going next.<\/em><\/p>\n