1

He slid the magazine into place. He turned the cold, dark, gun around in his hands. Quick and easy, he thought. Or… should it be slow and painful? Like the way he was treated all his life… the fear of what the next day would bring… would he have money for lunch the next day? Or would they take it… they always took it…

“Don’t squeal on us kid; you’ll pay!”

He never did squeal. He didn’t want any more pain from them… but every day it seemed like he got more and more.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but tears poured out all the same. He sobbed and hugged his knees close to him. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them…

He got up and left the empty house, his father across country on a business trip, his mother in her office. They thought he was at school… he laughed. This was it. He was going to get them back for all they did to him. Payback’s a bitch, he thought. And today, they would all pay…

“Get outta the way, punk!” Three rather large boys pushed past Luke, knocking him to the hard, icy ground. He sat on the ground as everyone rushed past him, heading into the warm school. He stood up, careful not to slip on the ice, and walked slowly into the school.

He entered the room and sat in his usual seat, eyes following him, followed by snickers coming from the back of the room. The young teacher cleared his throat, glancing at the boys in the back of the room.

“When you’re finished, boys…” The smiles left their faces as they were stared down. “Now, any questions on last nights homework?” he asked. Luke looked around. No one moved. His gaze returned up front at his teacher.

“Um, can you go over number fourteen?” he asked quietly. The class snickered. Mr. Carson cleared his throat loudly, then turned to the board to explain the math problem. As his back was turned, Chris tour a page out of his math book, crumpled it into a ball, and chucked it across the room, flying into Luke’s head. The three boys snickered once more. Luke looked down at his desk as another was tossed and hit his back. The class laughed. Mr. Carson jerked around and looked at each student carefully.

When the class ended, students flooded out into the hall ways meeting up with their friends. Luke pushed his way through the crowd until he came to his locker. He blew a piece of his golden hair out of his face.

“Luke!” a voice shouted. Chris approached him with his side kicks, Ryan and Louie. “Growing out your hair, Luke? Gonna go emo?” They mockingly blew their hair out of their faces, laughing. Luke ignored them.

“Can’t defend yourself?” Chris shoved him into the locker and held him down. Ryan spat in his face and laughed. “Whatcha gonna do about that, nerd?”

“Yea, herd!” Louie followed along. Chris and Ryan glared at him. “Louie! Go get us some friggen lunch money!” Chris barked. “Yea man, sorry.” Louie scampered off and disappeared into the crowd.

“Speaking of lunch money, you owe us punk!” Ryan held out his hand. Luke reached into his pocket, trying rapidly to think of an excuse.

“Oops, guess I left it on the table. Sorry.”

Chris slammed him into the locker. “I know you got some, punk! Give it to me! Gotta gain weight for the wrestling match yanno.” Luke searched for a nearby teacher, but there was none. He sighed and handed Chris his two dollars.

“That’s what I like to see.” He gave Luke a light slap across the face and he and Ryan returned into the crowd in search of Louie. Luke looked at his feet. By this time, he had every speck of dirt memorized on his shoes, every scratch, every whole. He let out another sigh and shuffled his way to his next class.

Lunch came around just as it did every other day. He entered into the cafeteria alone as always. He started to head into the lunch line, but realized he not longer had his money. He made his way to an empty table and sat down. This table was always empty. The under side of it was a museum for used gum while the top of it screamed “fag”, “slut”, “bitch”, and the likes. He dug in his bag for his math book and attempted to do his homework, ignoring the occasional orange peels that flew by in poor attempts to hit him.

Mr. Carson walked in, in his usual manner. He held his head high, took long strides, and his arms never swung by his side. He stopped to chat with another teacher, Mr. Donnahue. They were usually lunch buddies. Luke had lots of time to notice these kinds of things. But today, Mr. Carson took a different route. Today, he gave a quick nod to Mr. Donnahue, and headed over to the table Luke sat at.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked Luke. Luke shrugged. “Not usually.”

“Well then, may I ask, do you mind if I sit with you?”

“You’re the teacher, can’t you sit where ever you want?”

“I can, but if I’m interrupting anything here –“ An orange peel flew in front of his face. He spun around. A group of boys tuned their backs quickly. Mr. Carson walked over to them.

“What’s the matter? Is it my tie?” he asked, checking his tie carefully. The boys said nothing. “Is there any reason you’re throwing orange peels across the cafeteria?” They remained silent. “Usually orange peels don’t get up and throw themselves across the cafeteria.” A short, plump boy laughed. Noticing no one else was laughing, he stared down at his food in silence. Mr. Carson picked up a peeled orange and squeezed the juice all over the table and over the heads of the boys.

“Oops. Shouldn’t be squeezing oranges over each other. Clean it up. Now! And if I see any more orange peels fly across the room, you all get to spend this Friday night on a date with me.” He turned and marched back toward Luke where he then sat down to begin to eat.

“Don’t eat school lunch?” he asked. Luke shrugged. “It probably really isn’t that good for you. Who knows what’s in this.” He held up his spoon full of soup, examining it, as if expecting to find something out of the ordinary in it. He shrugged and continued to eat.

“Are you understanding the math problems I gave for homework?” he asked, watching Luke jot numbers here and there.

“Yes. I realized my mistake on number fourteen from earlier. I mixed up the two numbers here,” he explained to Mr. Carson what he did wrong. Mr. Carson nodded.

“I’m impressed. You’re quite good at this. You really should think about joining the Honor Society. If you do real well, you could qualify for a scholarship.” Luke shrugged.

The rest of the day went by in its usual way. Classes with the usual snickers and glares. Teachers with their usual lectures. Luke listened to the ticking of the clock, drowning out the class. Tick…tick…tick… He watched as the second hand slowly circled the clock once, twice, thee times. Finally, the end of the day bell rang and students bolted out of their seats into the halls, gathering their things, and then running outside to their buses trying to get out of the rain.

Luke took his time to his locker, then out the front doors of the school, and watched as the buses made their ways out of the school parking lot and onto the road. The rain beat down on his head, plastering his hair against his face. He looked down at his feet and began his walk home.

Cars sped by, some purposely going through puddles. The dirty water splashed in his face and on his clothes. He continued along down the road without paying much attention, almost passing by his street. He got the mail out of the mail box and looked through. Bills, bills, and ads. He walked up the wet driveway and looked into the sky, watching as the rain turned into wet snow. He stuck out his tongue and caught a wet snowflake which melted instantly.

He continued into the house, dropping his wet things on the floor, and headed to the cookie jar where he took out three chocolate chip cookies. He then made his way to his bedroom and changed into dry clothes. He sat on his bed, watching the snow fall out the window, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

He awoke to his mother calling him. He ventured out of his room and into the kitchen to greet her, only to receive scolds.

“Luke! Why are you’re wet things on my floor?” she asked, angry.

“Sorry,” he replied quietly. He picked up his things and brought them to his room where he the returned to his bed.

Moments later, there was a knock on his door. “Luke?” came his mother’s soft voice. When he didn’t answer, she opened the door slightly. Seeing her son laying on his bed, she assumed he was asleep. She walked in and picked up some dirty clothes on the floor. She then sat down on the edge of his bed and played with his hair. Luke turned over.

“You’re hair is getting long. I think it’s time for a cut, don’t you think?”

“I like it long,” he said. She looked at him with her soft eyes.

“How was school today?” she asked. He shrugged. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” He shrugged again.

“What did you do today?” Shrug. She sighed. “Why don’t you talk to me bout your day anymore? You always had stories for me when you were younger.”

Everyone was friends with everyone in those days, he thought.

“I don’t know. School is school. It doesn’t get as exciting any more.”

Just a living night mare.

His mother nodded. “Well, you don’t have much longer. Just hang in there.”

The rest of the night consisted of spaghetti and meat balls, a phone call from his father, and an episode of Lost. He then headed to his bed room where he got himself ready for bed. He curled up under his blankets, pulling them over his shoulder. He listened as the snow turned back into rain and pattered softly against the roof of the house. His eyes slowly became heavy and eventually they closed, and he drifted into sleep.