So here we are again. It is another year of waiting after school for our favorite yellow school bus (Lucky #57) to transport us home from Barnaby Middle School. Tom, Gavin, Henry, Nicholas Dixon, and I are standing beside the gymnasium on the hot asphalt parking lot that’s called the blacktop. There’s no shade around. Some of the teachers on bus patrol are carrying open umbrellas. Not because there’s rain in the afternoon forecast but because the sun is scorching. The new 1996 school year started last week, and we’re 8th graders now.
“Mrs. Johnson is so hot,” says Tom.
“Are you going to the football game?” asks Gavin, “we’re playing Patton, and they suck this year.”
“You know I’m the kicker again this year,” Henry reminds us again.
“Hey, get off the grass!” Nicholas Dixon yells at some 6th grader.
You should listen to these guys talk. I swear we had the same conversations yesterday. I don’t really want to talk about these things again. They seem unimportant. I don’t care about Mrs. Johnson, Barnaby Middle athletics, or all the field goals Henry claims he’ll make this season.
Right now, I’m hoping Marvel Comics mailed this month’s X-Force to my house. My comics typically arrive around the middle of the month.
These are the recurring topics since 7th grade. Not always my favorite, but there’s only a little else to do on the blacktop. So I tell them I prefer Miss Sanders over Johnson, ask them to save me a seat in the football bleachers, and wish Henry good luck at Thursday’s game. Whatever!
I do think we actually like each other: the guys and me. We may just like each other enough most of the time. We don’t really know anyone else. We’re friends because we all grew up in the Timbers subdivision together, except for Nicholas Dixon. Nicholas lives down the highway in the Pinnacles with the more popular kids.
He REALLY wants to be one, a popular kid, that is. But they don’t want him, probably because he’s kind of a jerk. I reckon this is because of his continuous hurtful remarks and intentionally intimidating behavior. He must feel like he needs to act this way to become well-liked. Or Nicholas was just born a nasty asshat.
He’s definitely more of the reason none of the guys know I’m into comic books and Star Trek The Next Generation. Instead, they think I’m more into the Panthers and The Simpsons, which I enjoy but less than comics. I don’t want to give them ammunition to use against me, especially him. Being known for those things would be catastrophic to my 8th-grade year.
“You’re crazy, Dennis. Mrs. Johnson is way better looking than Miss Sanders,” Tom counters.
“We’ll save you a seat,” Gavin promises, “I’m going to get there right after the bell to get a front-row seat close to the cheerleaders.”
“Thanks, Dennis. Coach says if I kick like I did last year, then I’m sure to make the high school varsity football team as a freshman,” Henry boasts.
“Didn’t you hear me, 6th grader? I said stay off the grass,” Nicholas Dixon shouts again. Everyone laughs except for me. Like they always do. He loves it! They’re just nourishing his obnoxiousness. We’re 8th graders now.
We all watch the lower classman scurry across the lawn to the other side of the parking lot. “That was brilliant,” Henry comments. Tom and Gavin echo something similar. I don’t say anything. After the moment passes, no one seems to notice the 6th grader walking up to another guy in our grade and then pointing in our direction. Oh no! They’re heading up here, the 6th grader Nicholas yelled at and the popular Jake Frank.
“Hey, Dixon! Why do you feel like it’s okay to yell at my little cousin? Something about getting off the grass,” Jake interrogates my friend.
“Sorry, Jake. I didn’t realize that was your brother. I mean your cousin,” Nicholas mumbles.
“How about you leave my cousin alone,” Jake demands, “I don’t want you or anyone else picking on him. Okay, Dixon.” Nicholas Dixon shrugs and nods his head in a yes motion. For the first time, he doesn’t have anything to say. We don’t have anything to say.
Jake sends his cousin away, and before he leaves, he asks to speak to me alone. We step away from the group and onto the grass. The same grass that Jake’s cousin walked through when Nicholas yelled at him. I know the guys are watching us. When I returned, everyone except for Nicholas Dixon asked me about that. They all seem jealous. Why I don’t know. Especially with what just happened. I lie to them. Tell them that it was about Jake’s cousin or something. I can’t reveal what we really talked about.
Nicholas is especially quiet on the school bus ride home. He just got humiliated by one of the popular kids he admires. I feel sorry for him right now. A form of sympathy, I suppose. He may be less of a jerk after this. Doubtful! The irony in all of this is that I’ve been hanging out with Jake since the 6th grade. One of the guys, Nicholas, would ditch us in a millisecond to hang out with him. He invited me to play tabletop games again this weekend. None of the guys know. Maybe I’ll tell him one day. The popular kids don’t know Jake is into these games. Perhaps I’ll tell all the guys one day when we’re no longer 8th graders waiting on the bus.
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