James McLyle’s Fantastic Pink Underwear

I am so totally pissed right now. Like, seriously, you have no idea how far the piss-ness extends. It is an infinite expanse of rage. It’s like an anger savannah, with roaming herds of piss-angry zebra, or something.

Let me explain to you the situation.

I was walking down the hallway at school, just minding my own business, all by myself, when this asshole comes barreling down the hallway and runs right into me. So, of course, I wipe out. And my shit goes flying everywhere. And I’m about to yell at the fucker, right, and he just keeps on going! Doesn’t even look back.

But that’s not even the bad part. Even though I have to officially scramble around for my loose papers like a retard, it is nothing compared to what I see next: hundreds of little green bean-like candies, scattered all over the floor. My sour apple Tic-Tacs. All gone. Just like that. Everywhere, all over the floor, where nasty ugly people feet walk every day.

If I wasn’t wearing eyeliner, and if I wasn’t a tough manly sort of guy, I would totally be weeping at this moment.

And then – get this – a teacher shows up. It wouldn’t be so bad if, you know, I wasn’t twenty-some minutes late to third period. As it is, she sees me kneeling all stupid in the middle of the hallway with my books all over, and instead of saying something reasonable like, “Hey, kid, your shit is all over the floor, do you need help?” she goes, “You’re late, McLyle.”

No shit.

“Uh,” I say. I am the master of eloquence.

“What is your excuse?”

This is my cue to launch into self-defense mode. “Okay, check this out, okay? I was getting to class like a good little child, and this jackoff just runs me over! No joke. And all of my Tic-Tacs are gone.”

“Is that what this mess is?” She doesn’t sound sympathetic. That’s not a good sign.

“Totally.” I dig around in my back and pull out the empty Tic-Tac case. I shake it at her. What makes me really sick is that it doesn’t rattle. There is nothing left.

“Do you have a pass?”

What is with these questions? Does she not see my lack of Tic-Tacs?

Lack of Tic-Tac. It rhymes.

“No,” I say.

“You’ll need to go to the office and get one.” And then she leaves me!

I hate her. I hate her right down to her ugly Wal-Mart brand beige heels. They don’t even match her ugly little pleather purse. What a hippy.

Wow, that wasn’t gay at all.

I sit there for a little while longer. Some chick walks by and gives me this weird look. Yeah, bitch, I dropped my books.

I feel really hardcore right now. I’m not sure what to do. I could go simpering down the office and make up some lame excuse about how I was sexually assaulted in the gym by Hector while I was showering… or I could just skip. Class is only, like, another twenty minutes anyway. Nothing in Biology is that interesting. Not even animal sex. No, it’s not.

I get out my phone and start for my locker. Maybe Dianne will come chill with me. She gives less of a damn about class than Kris does. If I asked Kris to skip, he would pitch a fit. And then call the police. No, seriously, it’s happened.

My mouth feels empty. I have no Tic-Tacs. Is my life so meaningless?

In a couple seconds, Dianne texts me back. “Can’t, I’m taking a test.”

Whatever. Since when did she care about tests? Like, never.

So, I leave. I plod around on school grounds a while before I catch sight of the school officer, and he catches sight of me, and he fixes me with this look like I will be in serious trouble if I circle the block one more time.

I don’t have a car. I am awesome like that.

So I cross the street, to McDonalds. Yes, those corporate bastards are getting smart. They figured out that planting a fast-food chain right next to a school makes good profits. It also makes for a lot of vandalism. Somebody somewhere has a giant glowing “M” in their house. They must be so proud.

Eventually, the bell rings for A Lunch. The school farts out a few hundred students. I sit on the curb and wait for my friends. Oh, my God, I want a Tic-Tac.

Oh, there’s Dianne. She looks tired. And there’s Kris. He looks peppy. Which is usually the opposite of how things work. The dynamics of lunch today are going to be so fucked up.

“Hey, Jamie,” says Dianne when she reaches me.

“Hi, James,” says Kris. “Guess what day it is?”

“Fucking Tuesday,” I say. I hate Tuesdays more than I hate Mondays. At least on Mondays, you get to say hello to everyone again.

“No. Well, yes, but no.”

“I want some chicken nuggets,” I whine. “And I spilled all my Tic-Tacs.”

“Oh, poor baby!” Dianne gives me a hug. She understands.

I pout at Kris. He isn’t impressed. He’s still smiling, though. Whatever.

“Guess what day it is,” he repeats, like I’m stupid and forgot already.

“Uh, damn, I don’t know.”

For a minute, Kris looks really upset. Which is hilarious. Like I would forget. I laugh in his face. I’m such a great friend.

“Are you serious? Ha ha ha! You seriously looked so fooled! Whatever, happy birthday, you fucking loser. Birthday on a Tuesday. You suck.”

Kris doesn’t take it personally. That’s what’s cool about him. He’s a pretty cool guy. It’s not easy to get him angry. “Thank you,” he gloats.

He’s seventeen. It’s kind of funny because all the rest of us have been seventeen since the beginning of the year.

“I wonder if they give you a toy or something for your birthday,” Dianne comments, pushing her way through the crowd to McDonalds. I stay on the curb. I don’t like crowds.

Kris sits next to me. Dianne always gets our food. It’s more efficient that way.

“So,” he says. He looks at me pointedly, pushing his glasses back up. I hate his glasses. They’re so ugly. And Kris actually has some pretty cool eyes, all blue and stuff.

“I didn’t get a present for you, so fuck off.”

“You weren’t in gym today.”

“I was late.”

“Why?”

I don’t answer. One of my shoelaces is coming undone, and so I fix it.

“James.”

“I don’t know, stuff happened. And I was busy, and you know.”

I know he doesn’t like to hear about what happens at home. I know he cares, but he just doesn’t want to hear about it. It’s like, I hate to see how disappointed he gets. Not at me, necessarily. Sometimes he does, at me. But most of the time it’s just this sad look, and I don’t like that look.

“Your dad?”

I stare at the sky. Some clouds are coming in. It will probably rain. I can feel Kris staring at me, and I purse my lips. “Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He is really just a glutton for punishment, isn’t he?

“No.”

“Okay.” And finally, he drops it. After a little bit, he says quietly, “Did you really not get me a present?”

Now I can’t help but smile. “I don’t have any money, you dick. You know that. What do you want?”

“I don’t know. A hug, or something.”

“You’re such a faggot.”

“Shut up!” He’s blushing. God dammit.

“I’m just kidding.”

“Not funny, asshole.”

“Oh, whatever, you call me a fag all of the time.”

“Cause it’s true!”

“It is fucking not, I will kick your ass –”

“Taa daa!” It’s Dianne. She has happy meals. My life is complete again, except for the fact that I have no Tic-Tacs.

Everything tastes kid of dull without the sour apple tang.

Dianne got Kris a stuffed bear and a $25 iTunes card. What a showoff.

I really hope Kris doesn’t expect an actual hug from me. He’s not going to get one.

-- to be continued

Notes: This is my first chaptered story in a long time, and I really hope it's up to par. Any comments are extremely encouraging. I'll try and update this frequently, and thanks so much for reading! I'm so amped!