Hoyt, in his smooth, unbothered fashion, simply smiles. “I am really gonna love this year. Two classes together?” Hoyt chuckles to himself, shakes his head, then pats me firmly on the shoulder as he passes by. “You’re gonna be my study buddy in English. With you, my man, my Tobes, I am gonna ace that class.”
And out the door the trio goes. Julio gives me a onceover on his way by, snorts dumbly, then moves on.
I stare after them, annoyed. There isn’t anything I can do but bear the childish antagonizing. There’s an alarming shortage of adults who’d do anything effective against the big football stars of Spruce High, and I’ve never been one to tattle. In Texas, football is the religion, and I’m convinced even Coach Strong is too blinded by that face-paint-wearing, bleacher-filling, hotdog-guzzling fact to notice his number-one players are a bunch of arrogant tools.
I glance back toward my locker for some reason, perhaps just to see if I remembered to shut it in my hurry to leave.
That’s when I find Vann standing there, dressed, his dark eyes trained on me with that same, ill-fitting scowl on his face. He saw the whole interaction.
Great. Even the new guy sees what a loser I am at this school.
So much for first impressions and starting over and all that.
PE begins with a warm-up of pushups and crunches lined up in rows, during which I keep hearing Benji snickering somewhere. No, Coach Larry doesn’t silence him. Then we are made to jog a few laps around the gym. While I jog at a more leisurely pace with the rest of the class, Hoyt and his buddies show off by running twice as fast, passing everyone as they fly. Every time he runs past me, Hoyt gives my somewhat exposed, tight-gym-short-clad ass (thanks to my small shirt barely covering it) a smack. “Lap one!” he calls out, inspiring laughs from his buddies. And “Lap two!” as he comes around again with another happy swat on my ass. The third time he passes me, he stops to give my butt a rapid drumming of his hands like they’re a pair of bongos and doesn’t stop until I swat him away with a “Cut that out, Nowak!” That only sends him off running in a fit of laughter, Benji’s tearful cackling filling the gymnasium and echoing off the ceiling.
When we’re sent to the locker room to change, I’m thrusting off my clothes with more anger than I intend, threads popping on my stupid, too-small shirt. Once I’m changed back into my trusty Tetris shirt and black shorts, I slam shut my locker and barely take note of Vann sitting on the bench pulling on his boots. I give him one short look, debate whether to greet him, then decide I’m too angry about the stupid jocks to care about anything else.
I just want my day to end.
The bell rings, sending me to the cafeteria for a much-needed lunch period. The tables fill up fast, and even after being one of the first in the lunch line to get my flimsy tray of chicken strips, mashed potatoes, veggies, and a buttered bread roll, I find myself facing a room full of people I have no desire to socialize with. The entire table of theatre people I used to sit with last year have graduated. The table has now been claimed by a bunch of choir kids I don’t know, who are already well into their meals.
That’s when I spot a green-haired wonder cheerily waving at me from across the room.
Oh. I sort of forgot about Kelsey.
I cut across the noisy cafeteria, dodging a distracted pair of guys who nearly knock my tray over as they pass by, and make my way to the end of a table that Kelsey has claimed. She is, herself, a strange new addition to Spruce, having moved here about a year ago, sometime during the summer. Upon much closer inspection, I realize she’s washed most of the green out of her hair from the summer, but it’s left her messy blonde strands tinted somewhat, like a shiny metal that’s been oxidized by exposure. She’s a thick-boned, busty girl with a cheery-yet-devilish expression on her face. Always looking like she just came from wrestling down an alligator somewhere, she wears a ripped tank top and dusty jeans, and her arms are covered in rainbow bangles.
“Dude, all the cool people graduated last year!” she gripes the second I join her at the table.
I sink my teeth into my bread roll. “Tell me ‘bout it.”
“Do you like your classes? Do they suck like mine? I have Ms. Jones for third period history, which is super cool, but then I go to Ms. Bean for English right after who despises me. Are you gonna eat all your strips?” She takes one anyway. Then, chewing on it, she asks, “Hey, have you seen the new guy?”