Wicked Hungry

“What do you mean?”

As freaked as I am, it’s still nice to see the smile wiped off of his face.

Somehow I doubt that Gary Frumberg will intentionally piss me off again. Ever.

“You played some fricking trick on me. And now you’re smiling at me like nothing happened. What are you playing at, Stanley?”

“Nothing,” I say honestly. “I’m not playing at anything.”

“I’m going to find Coach,” Frumberg says.

He stumbles out of the room as I start getting dressed.

Suddenly all I can think of is that my mother can’t know. She’d go crazy.

But who am I to talk? This is all crazy.

Behind me boys are whispering. There are kids all around me now in the locker room, but no one is talking to me. But then my buddy Enrique is there next to me.

“Man, Stanley, you are a beast,” he says. “You totally freaked Frumberg out.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice trembling just a little.

“You okay?”

I don’t know how to respond.

“I mean,” he says, “you got yourself back under control?”

“Yeah,” I say, calmer now, pulling on a clean shirt. “I guess so.”

“Good,” he says. “Because Coach is on his way.”

“Is he mad?” I ask. “Am I in trouble?”

He shrugs. “I picked up your teeth,” he whispers so low that only I can hear. “I don’t think anyone saw them.”

The coach walks in.

“What happened, Hoff? What did you to do Frumberg?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing happened,” I lie.

Nothing you would believe, anyhow.

“Why did you come in here, then?”

“Gary tripped me, and I fell down and my nose started bleeding. My lips too. It was all over my shorts and shirt. So I came in here to wash up. He must have got freaked out by all the blood.”

The coach just kind of stares at me.

“How come you’re not bleeding now, then?” he asks.

“You know, Coach,” I say, “that’s a very interesting question.”

Coach blinks once, twice.