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He just keeps on smiling while I simmer.
I don’t even know the rules of the game we are playing but apparently he’s proud of himself for winning.
I turn and stroll into the building as if he isn’t shadowing my footsteps.
Ms. Carmody is right in the middle of a sentence when we walk through the classroom door. She frowns, obviously thinking we’ve been off somewhere together and up to no good. But instead of telling us to go to the office and get a pass she sighs and motions that we ought to take our seats.
“And one of the prevailing themes of Great Expectations is of course the timeless class struggle that still resonates today.”
I copy down the words ‘Class Struggle’ in my spiral notebook but I’m not really paying much attention to the content of the lecture.
I’m too busy fighting all my own worst instincts as they beg to turn around and stare at a guy I can’t stand.
Ben
A definite perk of Black Mountain Academy is the lunch menu.
At Devil Valley High it was necessary to sprint down to a grubby cafeteria that always smelled like sweaty feet and snag a wedge of gummy reheated pizza before they ran out. But here at BMA the cafeteria has a salad bar and a stir fry station. There is sushi and charbroiled hamburgers. Instead of hard picnic benches attached to chipped laminate tables we get to sit on decent furniture that isn’t covered with obscene graffiti. If you can’t find anything to your liking there are also some off-campus options but my scholarship includes a daily trip to the cafeteria so cafeteria food it is. Since no one in my house enjoys cooking it’s always the best meal I get every day.
I’m making short work of a plate full of hamburgers while trying to tune out the obnoxious din of people cackling and squealing and yelling and flirting. I hate crowds and generally I try to stay out of the way on the far end of the jock quadrant of the cafeteria where the football bruisers are mixed in with the hockey tough guys and those of us baseball slobs who don’t have much to do in the off season. Mike Huntington stops by long enough to steal one of my burgers. He’s a teammate and buddy but lately he’s all about the new girl, Violet, and I don’t see him around as much.
“Asshole,” I accuse.
His answer is a grin followed by a middle finger.
Two seconds after Mike’s departure Kent Dresher drops into the seat across from mine. He’s got nothing on his plate but a gigantic steak that looks practically bloody.
I bite down on a burnt French fry. “Dresher, where the hell did you get a steak?”
He rips off a hunk of meat. “I can get whatever the fuck I want, Beltran.”
Kent eats, sleeps and breathes hockey, a sport I’ve never had much use for. But we pal around often these days because we both have no appetite for bullshit and because I appreciate that good manners are not required in his presence. Damn if I can explain how he’s involved with classy, high achieving Trina Jackson. At first glance those two seem as compatible as oil and water but they’ve been together for some crazy amount of time. Two years, I think. There are many days when Kent spends lunch with her and the two of them sit at a center table and drool all over each other, one of the few long term happy couples at BMA. Today Trina is nowhere in sight.
I kick at him under the table. “I don’t see your girl around today.”
He grunts and tears off another section of steak. The meat appears to be about as rare as meat can get and still be fit for human consumption. “She’s off fucking with some newspaper shit.”
“Trina writes for the Bulletin?”
“Yeah. Looks good on the transcript or something.” He waves a fork. “Kind of a pain that she’s got to deal with that weird ass head case who’s in charge.”
I don’t ask him to explain. Everyone knows Camden Galway is the editor-in-chief of the Bulletin.
Kent is scowling now. “Let me tell you something. The other night Trina’s giving me an epic hummer when she gets like eight texts in a row and she’s like hold on, Camden needs to know where I’m at on the article about the new football bleachers.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Just what you want to fucking deal with when you’re getting some head. But Trina said Camden wouldn’t quit with the text assault until she got an answer. I’d be willing to pay someone to blow that girl’s mind so she’d quit harassing my girlfriend about bleachers every five fucking minutes.”
Todd Bellinger is sitting a few feet to my right and he decides to take a break from measuring his biceps to get involved in the conversation. He was booted off the football team last month for shitty grades but I’ve heard he’s a pussy about taking hits so I’m sure it’s no loss to the team. He’s all in my face now and his breath smells like dirty socks. “You guys talking about Camden Galway?”
Instead of answering, Kent shovels an oversized mound of meat in his mouth and glares in another direction. I’ve heard him refer to Todd as a limp cheesedick.
I’m not a member of Todd’s fan club either but I kind of want to hear what he has to say about Camden. “So what?”
Todd licks his razor thin lips. “So her favorite way to take cock is through the back door.”
His declaration is met with silence.
He begins to whine. “For real, you guys. She does. Ask me how I know.”
I drag a French fry through a ketchup puddle and say nothing. Todd’s a bullshitter in the first degree and I wouldn’t believe him if he told me the sky was up. Kent always has ears for a good fuck story but even he rolls his eyes.
