"Oh gross! It’s Kayden!" Kristen Peters cried out as I went to sit next to her on the lunch bench. She jumped out of her seat and bolted to the other side of the lunch area. Her friends followed, snickering. I didn’t realize I had sat next to her, which I knew better than to do, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy looking to make sure none of the guys were around because they always love to bother me when I’m eating.
As Kristen and her friends bolted across the lunch area, my face turned hot and I blushed. I was embarrassed which is weird because this is a daily occurrence nowadays. No matter how many times someone does this to me in a day, it never fails to make me feel horrible.
Kristen was one of the cheerleaders on our Jr. High basketball team. She wasn’t very good but she was pretty and she had a lot of girlfriends who were afraid of her, so when she did anything, the rest of the girls would follow. Kristen was one of “Them”: the group of kids currently making my life miserable, for reasons I’m still not sure of yet.
Her and the guys do this to me all day long. They whisper when I walk by, sometimes laughing and pointing. Sometimes they try and stick stuff in my hair when I am sitting in class. Some days they throw random things at my head when I walk by. A couple times the guys have cornered me in the boy’s bathroom and held my arms behind my back and taken turns punching me in the stomach or putting my head in the toilet. That’s the worst! The bathrooms are so gross! It’s because of this I only go to the bathroom in the locker room because Coach Johnson is there and the guys are too afraid of Coach to do anything to me in front of him. On the days they aren’t whispering as I walk by, they are calling out things like, "Hey Kayden, how is your baby penis?", which is a creepy thing to ask because, one, they have never seen me naked before ever (nor will they) and two, who asks about another boy's penis? Are they really that interested?
As much as I want to come back with some type of witty rhetoric, I know that in the end my words will be used against me, so I stay silent.
That is how it has been since I got to this school…and I hate it more and more.
I used to have friends at my old school. Tons of them. It was great. I felt loved and popular, like I was something. Then I came to this school, Rosemont Jr. High, and my life has been pure hell. Some days are worse than others, but most are the same: The Jerks say mean things, others laugh, people stare, I go home and cry to myself. I never let others see my hate or agony, but I know it permeates through the air...that awkwardness of me just sitting there, taking it. Some day I fear I might snap and hurt someone, just to make them stop. I want them to be afraid of me more than I am afraid of them. I want to rip one of them apart just so they can feel the same hurt I have been feeling for the past two years.
"Hey Dicktard," Marcos Toscano’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Marcos was the jerk behind all of the bullying. He was the one who started picking on me the first few weeks I got here. It was hard enough adjusting to junior high, let alone dealing with him. I clearly remember the first day he started in on me. My neighbor Sally Jenson and I were sitting having lunch together in the lunch area outside. It was a crisp autumn day and we were making jokes about something when Marcos walked up to us.
"Hey, shithead!" he called out, startling both Sally and me because it was a name we had never heard, let alone been called. My heart was beating in my throat at that moment. Sally and I exchanged glances.
“Yeah, shit head, I'm talking to you!” he continued. I could feel eyes on us from the other kids around us. "You’re sitting in my seat, you turd!"
Sally and I exchanged glances again, this time out of confusion. What was he talking about, “his seat”? Sally and I have been sitting in this same spot for weeks.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"I told you, that's my seat, now move!"
Sally and I weren’t sure if we should laugh or walk away slowly. Marcos’ approach was so out of the blue it was bizarre.
"Hey, me and Sally sit here every single day, so I am not sure what you are talking about"
"I said move!" Mario yelled and he grabbed my shirt and pushed me off the bench. Sally tried to get up, but Mario sat down next to her and said, "You're fine. You can stay here. It's him!” He said leaning away from Sally and pointing at me as I sat on the ground, confused. “This is my seat! Don't sit here again!” He growled.
I stood up and said, "Hey! I don’t care, I was here first!" But little did I realize the power in numbers Marcos had over me. At that moment his two friends appeared, as if summoned by sheer will. Sally and I looked at each other and then at the two guys as Marcos stood up.
"I don’t care if you were here first!" He growled again. “This is my table, now leave before I sock you in the mouth!" I went to approach him but Sally pulled on my arm for me to go with her. And it was that moment when my new-found fate would take place. I would now become the most hated kid in school. For no reason other than sitting at a table I sat at with Sally for weeks. It will never make sense to me. Ever.
"Hey, Dicktard, I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts again as he and his two goons approached my lunch table.
"Shit!" I thought to myself. Am I in his seat? Is there any part of this stupid school that he doesn't ruthlessly claim as his own? I hate this guy. I absolutely pure hate him.
“What’s up, Gay-tard?” Marcos called out as he and his two friends headed towards my table.
I cringed at the sound of Marcos’ voice.
It was early spring and we were finally able to sit outside and eat lunch at the lunch tables. The sun was warm, but the air was still cool. The trees in the lunch area were budding, the flowers still in their cocoon, just waiting for it to get warm enough to open. I was sitting by myself at this point since Kristen and her friends left.
Marcos’ voice was like nails on a chalkboard to me. He approached my table. Kids at the other tables in the designated lunch area started to take notice.
“Hey! Gay-tard! I was talking to you!” Marcos said louder as he crawled onto the bench beside me, his friends joining on either side of us. My face grew hot as they started leaning in to my lunch and grabbing tater tots for themselves. The other kids kept watching.
“So, Gay-tard. What’s going on?” His breath was hot and smelled like sweat socks against my face. It made me want to gag.
I’m not sure why it is that 8th graders forget that there are toothbrushes and deodorant out there. Marcos most specifically. His dark thick hair was always a little too greasy. It was long, just a little past the lobes of his ears, a deep dark black which would compliment his olive skin if it wasn’t constantly broken-out from not showering enough. He wasn’t ugly, rather, a good-looking Italian boy, but he didn’t follow through with hygiene and soap which was a waste of what he was blessed with. His eyes were a dark green, almost brown.
He caught me looking at him.
“Hey! Gay-boy! What are you looking at?!” He said, leaning back as if I had made some kind of advance towards him. I blushed, as if I had done something wrong. The other kids looked over at us again. My face grew even hotter. He was starting to get on my last nerve.
Marcos did this every single day. Every day. And it wasn’t always the same. Sometimes he would just walk by and smack the back of my head. Some days he would trip me as I walked past with a tray. Some times him and his friends would throw grapes or raisins as I sat alone and ate. I have been getting both used to it and tired of it, but I also know there is no way to stop it. Teachers never catch him and if I tattle on him it will only make matters worse. The only thing I can do is take it.
And that infuriates me.
“I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts and shoved my plate a little. The gelatinous goo that was supposed to resemble gravy jiggled, my tater tots rolled into the ketchup. I just stared at the plate. The jiggling, rolling plate. Even my food was being pushed around. Even my damn food was being bullied!
All of a sudden something inside me snapped. I could feel it in the back of my head as Marcos and his friends started pushing me, asking me why I was so gay and what I was going to do about it. I just sat there for a moment, stiffening as I began to clench every muscle in my body, trying to hold back all the anger and fury brewing inside me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my body began to shake and I could feel a cold sweat beading down my brow. My fists slowly balled and I could feel my short nails digging into my palms. They want me to do something about it? Then fine! I’ll do something about it!
I reached for my tray, picked it up and turned around on the bench, bringing my feet out from under the table, as if I were going to leave. This made the boys stop for a moment as they looked at each other laughing. I looked over to Marcos whose mouth was open in a hearty laugh.
In that moment I took the tray I had in my hands and I smashed it into his face, pushing with both hands and all of my body weight. This shoved them both back, tipping the bench, the tray hitting the ground and bouncing; the plate of thick mashed potatoes still stuck to Marcos’s face as all three of them fell to the ground in a heap.
Before the tray had even hit the ground I was already running away from the lunch area that was nestled in between two enclosed hallways and a classroom. I ran as fast as my small skinny legs could carry me, heading past the basketball courts and to the playing field. I could hear the kid’s laughter behind me and Marcos’s curses and his two goons trying to help him out as he called for my death. I mustered the strength to run faster, my heart beating in my throat. As my shoes hit the grass, I realized that at the end of the large playing field was a large chain-linked fence. I could hear Marcos and his friends’ feet on pavement as they scrambled after me.
I ran faster.
As the fence came closer, all of a sudden something landed far in front of me, as if it were thrown at me. As I ran past it, I saw that it was a sandwich.
“A sandwich?” I thought to myself. “What in the…” all of a sudden an orange flew past my head and landed closer to the fence. They were throwing food at me!
As I ran to the fence I took a large leap, but I jumped too soon and didn’t end up as high on the fence as I had hoped. I scrambled up, as quickly as I could when an apple whizzed past my ear, hit the fence and splattered; apple pieces and juices hitting my face and shoulder. My heart skipped as I paused a moment, seeing the apple wedged into the metal diamond. Had that hit my head it probably would have knocked me out cold.
All of a sudden something soft and thick hit the back of my head with a thud and then there was an explosion of lettuce, cheeses and mayonnaise, which began to drip down my shirt. A plastic cup of open pudding bounced off the chain links and splattered me in the face.
They were getting closer.
I climbed quicker.
As small carrots, a soft banana, a couple more sandwiches and a can of soda pelted me from behind, I finally reached the top of the fence. I reached up and got both my hands on the top bar and started to pull myself up when I suddenly got real heavy. I pulled up harder, just to feel myself being pulled down in the opposite direction. I looked down and there was Marcos, one of his hands wrapped around my ankle. I tried to kick him off, but his other hand grabbed on to it as well. I tried for one last final pull, with all of my strength, but at that same moment Marcos pulled on me with all his weight and I lost my grip. I fell off the fence, my back crashing into his face, both of us hitting the hard grass with a strange “thunk”.
Marcos pushed me off and I landed on my stomach. At that moment I looked up and half of the school was already swarming, some with hands full of food, Marcos’s goons leading the pack with arms full of whatever they could steal off of tables and out of the garbage I’m sure. As they approached they continued to lob food at me. Marcos stood up, kicked me in the ribs and grabbed an apple from a kid and threw it at my back. It hit, but not as hard as I had thought it would. My long-sleeved, button up, plaid shirt now resembled a modern piece of art as kids continued to pelt me with food stuffs. I just lay there as grapes rolled into my pants, my hair sticking to my forehead from soda, and my hands covered in the gelatinous gooey gravy.
I put my head down and took it. I could feel different objects bounce off my head and back. Some kids didn’t have good aim from where they stood in the back and ended up missing me all together or hitting my legs. I looked up for a moment and caught a glimpse of Sally Jenson looking at me with her pitiful honey brown eyes. She didn’t stop them, but she also didn’t join in. She just stood there…it looked like she might cry. I thought I might too.
“Mr. Johnson is coming!” Someone in the far back cried out. I could hear feet shuffling in the grass as they scattered like cockroaches. I looked up and parting the sea of kids was Mr. Johnson, a tall, well-built black man with stunning looks and a voice that would scare the paint off walls. He was Rosemont Jr. high’s basketball coach and History teacher. Most of the kids called him Mr. J, but when he was storming towards you like a bull, you ducked and cowered and responded with a mousy “yessir”, looking at nothing more than your feet as you compared them to his large feet, which were always in nice, clean penny-loafers.
I could hear Mr. Johnson telling kids to “scat” and to “get back to the yard” and kids started running, silent in their fear. Marcos had long since left after he kicked me in the ribs, leaving no evidence of his presence except a lingering ache in my side. I laid my head back in the dirt, laying my cheek down as I watched Mr. Johnson’s nice shoes as they approached me quickly. I could have gotten up, which I would have done normally, quickly and ready to “yessir” him. Instead I just lay there in a pathetic heap, covered and surrounded with food. A sad pile of food and boy. I imagined all the mothers who so caringly packed their child’s lunch, unaware that a sad, pathetic boy would be lying in it later.
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