Starlight Crashing Through the Room Part Two
I couldn’t stop thinking about Spoony as I wandered into the orchestra room and got my violin out. I felt bad for him. He was clearly way out of his depths and struggling to prove that he wasn’t, and the seniors picking on him certainly wasn’t helping. In fact, if I knew anything from reading Captain America, the more they tried to knock Spoony down, the quicker he would get back up.
My stand partner and best friend Marzgurl noticed my preoccupation. “What’s going on, Lovhaug?” she asked as she adjusted her bow.
“Nothing,” I sighed. “Just getting integrated into the wrestling team.”
She made a noise that somehow conveyed both sympathy and disgust at the same time. “I still can’t believe you signed up to grope sweaty guys while wearing spandex.”
I shrugged. “My dad said I had to do a sport this year and the cross country coach just laughed at me.”
“You could’ve done football or basketball or soccer…”
“I hate teamwork.”
“And he doesn’t count theater as a sport? It gets you out of the house the same way.”
“Not since I told him…you know. I think he thinks that it’s just a phase and doing something manly will change it.”
Marzgurl shook her head. “So rolling around with a bunch of over-muscled heartthrobs is supposed to make you less gay than hanging out with a bunch of attractive women?”
I grinned. “Well, that’s kind of subjective.”
She smacked me playfully with her bow.
“I meant the wrestlers being heartthrobs! Most of them are complete assholes!”
“Point still stands.”
“I know…”
“Did you at least find a lifting partner?”
“Yeah. New kid named Spoony.”
“Never met him. Is he cute?”
I considered the matter for a moment. “Yeah,” I finally said. “In a skinny Anime pretty-boy kind of way.”
“Ah,” she said. “So why’s he on a wrestling team?”
“Beats me.” I glanced at her. “I’m gonna invite him to eat lunch with us if you don’t mind.”
“Fine by me,” she said. “We have an open seat at the table…that is, if the twins don’t mind.”
“Doubt they will,” I said.
Before we could say any more, Mrs. Swan ordered us all to shut up and check our tuning.
*
The rest of the morning passed without incident. I trudged through my first four classes and managed not to get into fights with my teachers (which, for me, is an incredible feat). When fifth period came, I headed to algebra, easily my least favorite subject.
Spoony glanced up and kind of half-smiled at me, which I took as an invitation to sit next to him. Mr. Rey didn’t care where we sat as long as we got our work done and I didn’t really have any friends in that class, so I was glad to take the desk.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he said back. “Anything exciting happen in the last four hours?”
“Does anything exciting ever happen in school?”
“Fire drills.”
“You’d know if one of those had happened.”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“I know.”
“Get the homework done?”
“Some of it. Don’t understand most of it.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“How the process works.”
“It’s easy!”
“For you, maybe. I’m no good with numbers. I’m better with words.”
Spoony shrugged again. “I’m the opposite. I like having one concrete answer for everything.”
“I hate that. It oversimplifies everything while it’s really getting harder.”
He laughed. “You are good with words.”
“I try.”
The class started and I was too focused on trying to understand the FOIL method to say any more until the last ten minutes of class, when Mr. Rey allowed us to work on our homework together or alone.
Of course, this method usually devolved into socializing, but no one really cared unless they were super-interested in algebra and everyone like that was in the advanced class.
I tried to work, but the more problems I attempted, the less sense they made.
“I can’t understand any of this,” I muttered.
“Here,” Spoony said, setting down his pencil. “Let me show you.”
He leaned over and started explaining the problem step by step. It made a little more sense coming from him, and by the time the bell rang, I had a slightly better understanding of the process.
As we got up to leave, I glanced at Spoony. “Wanna have lunch with me and my friends? I mean, I’ve seen you sitting alone and…”
“Sure,” he said. “Long as they aren’t wrestlers.”
“They aren’t,” I assured him. “They’re actors.”
“Sounds okay,” he said, and we headed down to the cafeteria.
I led him over to the very last table in the room, where a group of chattering people had already started setting down their bags and treys. I put my backpack down on one of the stools and nodded to Spoony to take the one next to mine.
“Hey, Linkara, who’s your friend?”
I looked up at the group. “This is Spoony,” I said. “He’s my lifting partner. Spoony, that’s Critic, president of the drama club; his sister Chick, the vice president; her friend Nella; and my friend Marzgurl.”
Critic studied Spoony carefully, then nodded. “Let me guess-your parents made you.”
“Yeah,” Spoony said. No one had to ask what Critic was talking about.
“Well, then, you should be fine,” Critic said. The others immediately agreed and that was the end of it.
As we did our best to choke down whatever the cafeteria was serving that day, Critic started lecturing, which was his usual activity at lunch time. “It’s too bad you got stuck in athletics, Linkara,” he said. “We really could’ve used you in The Importance of Being Ernest.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But I did look at the cast list yesterday and they should be fine.”
“I know, but can you blame me? My first directing experience and I have to work with the chipmunk who worships the ground I walk on!”
“I thought that’s why you picked him,” Chick said.
“Well…maybe,” Critic admitted. “But only because my best freshie got stuck in athletics!”
“Thanks, Critic,” I muttered. “Believe me, if I had my way, I’d be in your show over wrestling any day.”
“Hey, don’t give up!” Nella said. “There’ll be another show after the wrestling season ends!”
“Provided you don’t morph into a jock,” Marzgurl added.
“No chance of that,” I assured her. “I don’t’ have the right level of jerkishness.”
“That’s not a word,” Chick pointed out.
“Whatever. Point still stands.”
“But doesn’t hanging around assholes too long eventually turn you into one?” Critic asked. “Cause I can’t think of any other way for it to happen.”
“Some people are just born that way,” Spoony said.
“Well, yeah,” Critic said. “But I know a lot of people who used to be really nice until they started playing sports and hanging around with assholes.”
“Which makes no sense,” I said. “Athletics are supposed to make you stronger and a good team player, but the big, strong seniors always pick on the smaller people just to make us feel small even though that just proves they’re cowards. And they make us feel like we have to push back when we really should be encouraged and helped.”
“Yeah, well, the system is fucked,” Critic said. “If you’d become a jock five years ago, they’d treat you like a little brother. As it is, they fuck with you so that you have to keep pushing until you’re just like them. Superheroes don’t exist, Linkara. You don’t turn into Captain America because little guys can’t become big without stepping on all the other little people.”
“Why?” I asked. “Because being nice makes you weak?”
“Pretty much,” Critic said.
“Then I don’t want to get stronger,” I declared.
Marzgurl rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad I’m a girl,” she muttered.
I slumped down and pretended to focus on my lunch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spoony looking at me, his face unreadable.
*
The rest of the day was just as dull as the morning, but it was still with a certain amount of reluctance that I put my books in my backpack and trudged down to the locker room.
Spoony caught up with me halfway there. “You ready for this?” he asked dully.
“Not at all,” I said. “Do you know any actual wrestling moves?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then,” I sighed as we got into the locker room. “This should be fun.”
We changed quickly, once again avoiding eye contact with everyone else. A few remarks were thrown our way, mostly of the “pussy fag” variety, but I was too used to that to care and Spoony was too stubborn to give them a reaction.
Once we got on the floor, everyone was far too busy for any hazing. Three laps, followed by ten minutes of stretches, and then we were put into pairs to start learning actual moves.
I was paired with a junior boy who I remembered as being part of Evans’s posse the day before, though he had hung near the back and stayed quiet. But he hadn’t intervened or objected, so he was still guilty in my mind.
He didn’t say anything to me, so I didn’t talk to him. We simply concentrated on our tasks. He was much better at it than I was, taking me down on every try. Coach Ogreski shouted at me to try harder, but even trying my hardest, I was neither fast enough nor strong enough to do better.
Of course, no matter how badly I was doing, Spoony was doing even worse. The boy he was paired with wasn’t much bigger than him, but had a lot more experience. I admit that part of my own failure came from keeping an eye on him. I couldn’t help it. I worried about him too much, out of instinct to protect anyone smaller than me.
By the time practice finished, I was sore and tired and all I wanted was to go home and pass out. But I had to survive the locker room first.
I managed to get in unmolested and shower quickly, but the moment I stepped out again, I could hear the seniors shouting insults.
“Didja see this pussy out there?” Evans sneered. “Couldn’t even break a grip!”
“Surprised the stupid little fag didn’t start crying,” Brewer agreed.
Spoony was simply staring at the floor, not moving or responding. I could see the anger in his face and knew that he was about ten seconds away from punching one of the seniors, which could only end in his body being thrown off the roof.
I moved toward them. “Give it a rest,” I snapped, grabbing my street clothes form my locker. If nothing else, they could focus on me long enough for Spoony to calm down.
“What’s the matter, homo?” Brew asked, turning toward me. “Gotta save your pretty princess?”
I smirked and pulled my jeans on. “No,” I answered. “I just think your homophobic slurs might have a tinge of self-hate in them.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, but as soon as they did, I found myself pinned by my wrists to the bank of lockers. “What’d you say, faggot?” Brewer growled.
I didn’t flinch. “I said that you’re projecting your own insecurities onto us because you lack the personal strength to handle them in a mature fashion.”
I closed my eyes and sure enough, a fist connected with my jaw a second later. I half-expected more, but Brewer merely leaned in closer.
“That was a warning, punk,” he said. “But you better learn to keep your mouth shut. Got it?”
I nodded and he let go. I stayed against the wall, listening as the seniors moved away.
As soon as they were gone, Spoony got up and came over to me. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my jaw a little. “And it was totally worth it.”
Spoony shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with my plan.”
“What, keep quiet and hope they get bored?”
“Gotta work eventually.”
“Maybe.” I finished dressing quickly and grabbed my bag. “Come on. We should go before they decide they want to be annoying some more.”
We left the locker room and went toward the doors to wait for our rides. “You don’t have to take this,” Spoony said.
“No,” I agreed. “But neither do you.”
Previous | Next
My stand partner and best friend Marzgurl noticed my preoccupation. “What’s going on, Lovhaug?” she asked as she adjusted her bow.
“Nothing,” I sighed. “Just getting integrated into the wrestling team.”
She made a noise that somehow conveyed both sympathy and disgust at the same time. “I still can’t believe you signed up to grope sweaty guys while wearing spandex.”
I shrugged. “My dad said I had to do a sport this year and the cross country coach just laughed at me.”
“You could’ve done football or basketball or soccer…”
“I hate teamwork.”
“And he doesn’t count theater as a sport? It gets you out of the house the same way.”
“Not since I told him…you know. I think he thinks that it’s just a phase and doing something manly will change it.”
Marzgurl shook her head. “So rolling around with a bunch of over-muscled heartthrobs is supposed to make you less gay than hanging out with a bunch of attractive women?”
I grinned. “Well, that’s kind of subjective.”
She smacked me playfully with her bow.
“I meant the wrestlers being heartthrobs! Most of them are complete assholes!”
“Point still stands.”
“I know…”
“Did you at least find a lifting partner?”
“Yeah. New kid named Spoony.”
“Never met him. Is he cute?”
I considered the matter for a moment. “Yeah,” I finally said. “In a skinny Anime pretty-boy kind of way.”
“Ah,” she said. “So why’s he on a wrestling team?”
“Beats me.” I glanced at her. “I’m gonna invite him to eat lunch with us if you don’t mind.”
“Fine by me,” she said. “We have an open seat at the table…that is, if the twins don’t mind.”
“Doubt they will,” I said.
Before we could say any more, Mrs. Swan ordered us all to shut up and check our tuning.
*
The rest of the morning passed without incident. I trudged through my first four classes and managed not to get into fights with my teachers (which, for me, is an incredible feat). When fifth period came, I headed to algebra, easily my least favorite subject.
Spoony glanced up and kind of half-smiled at me, which I took as an invitation to sit next to him. Mr. Rey didn’t care where we sat as long as we got our work done and I didn’t really have any friends in that class, so I was glad to take the desk.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he said back. “Anything exciting happen in the last four hours?”
“Does anything exciting ever happen in school?”
“Fire drills.”
“You’d know if one of those had happened.”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“I know.”
“Get the homework done?”
“Some of it. Don’t understand most of it.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“How the process works.”
“It’s easy!”
“For you, maybe. I’m no good with numbers. I’m better with words.”
Spoony shrugged again. “I’m the opposite. I like having one concrete answer for everything.”
“I hate that. It oversimplifies everything while it’s really getting harder.”
He laughed. “You are good with words.”
“I try.”
The class started and I was too focused on trying to understand the FOIL method to say any more until the last ten minutes of class, when Mr. Rey allowed us to work on our homework together or alone.
Of course, this method usually devolved into socializing, but no one really cared unless they were super-interested in algebra and everyone like that was in the advanced class.
I tried to work, but the more problems I attempted, the less sense they made.
“I can’t understand any of this,” I muttered.
“Here,” Spoony said, setting down his pencil. “Let me show you.”
He leaned over and started explaining the problem step by step. It made a little more sense coming from him, and by the time the bell rang, I had a slightly better understanding of the process.
As we got up to leave, I glanced at Spoony. “Wanna have lunch with me and my friends? I mean, I’ve seen you sitting alone and…”
“Sure,” he said. “Long as they aren’t wrestlers.”
“They aren’t,” I assured him. “They’re actors.”
“Sounds okay,” he said, and we headed down to the cafeteria.
I led him over to the very last table in the room, where a group of chattering people had already started setting down their bags and treys. I put my backpack down on one of the stools and nodded to Spoony to take the one next to mine.
“Hey, Linkara, who’s your friend?”
I looked up at the group. “This is Spoony,” I said. “He’s my lifting partner. Spoony, that’s Critic, president of the drama club; his sister Chick, the vice president; her friend Nella; and my friend Marzgurl.”
Critic studied Spoony carefully, then nodded. “Let me guess-your parents made you.”
“Yeah,” Spoony said. No one had to ask what Critic was talking about.
“Well, then, you should be fine,” Critic said. The others immediately agreed and that was the end of it.
As we did our best to choke down whatever the cafeteria was serving that day, Critic started lecturing, which was his usual activity at lunch time. “It’s too bad you got stuck in athletics, Linkara,” he said. “We really could’ve used you in The Importance of Being Ernest.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But I did look at the cast list yesterday and they should be fine.”
“I know, but can you blame me? My first directing experience and I have to work with the chipmunk who worships the ground I walk on!”
“I thought that’s why you picked him,” Chick said.
“Well…maybe,” Critic admitted. “But only because my best freshie got stuck in athletics!”
“Thanks, Critic,” I muttered. “Believe me, if I had my way, I’d be in your show over wrestling any day.”
“Hey, don’t give up!” Nella said. “There’ll be another show after the wrestling season ends!”
“Provided you don’t morph into a jock,” Marzgurl added.
“No chance of that,” I assured her. “I don’t’ have the right level of jerkishness.”
“That’s not a word,” Chick pointed out.
“Whatever. Point still stands.”
“But doesn’t hanging around assholes too long eventually turn you into one?” Critic asked. “Cause I can’t think of any other way for it to happen.”
“Some people are just born that way,” Spoony said.
“Well, yeah,” Critic said. “But I know a lot of people who used to be really nice until they started playing sports and hanging around with assholes.”
“Which makes no sense,” I said. “Athletics are supposed to make you stronger and a good team player, but the big, strong seniors always pick on the smaller people just to make us feel small even though that just proves they’re cowards. And they make us feel like we have to push back when we really should be encouraged and helped.”
“Yeah, well, the system is fucked,” Critic said. “If you’d become a jock five years ago, they’d treat you like a little brother. As it is, they fuck with you so that you have to keep pushing until you’re just like them. Superheroes don’t exist, Linkara. You don’t turn into Captain America because little guys can’t become big without stepping on all the other little people.”
“Why?” I asked. “Because being nice makes you weak?”
“Pretty much,” Critic said.
“Then I don’t want to get stronger,” I declared.
Marzgurl rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad I’m a girl,” she muttered.
I slumped down and pretended to focus on my lunch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spoony looking at me, his face unreadable.
*
The rest of the day was just as dull as the morning, but it was still with a certain amount of reluctance that I put my books in my backpack and trudged down to the locker room.
Spoony caught up with me halfway there. “You ready for this?” he asked dully.
“Not at all,” I said. “Do you know any actual wrestling moves?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then,” I sighed as we got into the locker room. “This should be fun.”
We changed quickly, once again avoiding eye contact with everyone else. A few remarks were thrown our way, mostly of the “pussy fag” variety, but I was too used to that to care and Spoony was too stubborn to give them a reaction.
Once we got on the floor, everyone was far too busy for any hazing. Three laps, followed by ten minutes of stretches, and then we were put into pairs to start learning actual moves.
I was paired with a junior boy who I remembered as being part of Evans’s posse the day before, though he had hung near the back and stayed quiet. But he hadn’t intervened or objected, so he was still guilty in my mind.
He didn’t say anything to me, so I didn’t talk to him. We simply concentrated on our tasks. He was much better at it than I was, taking me down on every try. Coach Ogreski shouted at me to try harder, but even trying my hardest, I was neither fast enough nor strong enough to do better.
Of course, no matter how badly I was doing, Spoony was doing even worse. The boy he was paired with wasn’t much bigger than him, but had a lot more experience. I admit that part of my own failure came from keeping an eye on him. I couldn’t help it. I worried about him too much, out of instinct to protect anyone smaller than me.
By the time practice finished, I was sore and tired and all I wanted was to go home and pass out. But I had to survive the locker room first.
I managed to get in unmolested and shower quickly, but the moment I stepped out again, I could hear the seniors shouting insults.
“Didja see this pussy out there?” Evans sneered. “Couldn’t even break a grip!”
“Surprised the stupid little fag didn’t start crying,” Brewer agreed.
Spoony was simply staring at the floor, not moving or responding. I could see the anger in his face and knew that he was about ten seconds away from punching one of the seniors, which could only end in his body being thrown off the roof.
I moved toward them. “Give it a rest,” I snapped, grabbing my street clothes form my locker. If nothing else, they could focus on me long enough for Spoony to calm down.
“What’s the matter, homo?” Brew asked, turning toward me. “Gotta save your pretty princess?”
I smirked and pulled my jeans on. “No,” I answered. “I just think your homophobic slurs might have a tinge of self-hate in them.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, but as soon as they did, I found myself pinned by my wrists to the bank of lockers. “What’d you say, faggot?” Brewer growled.
I didn’t flinch. “I said that you’re projecting your own insecurities onto us because you lack the personal strength to handle them in a mature fashion.”
I closed my eyes and sure enough, a fist connected with my jaw a second later. I half-expected more, but Brewer merely leaned in closer.
“That was a warning, punk,” he said. “But you better learn to keep your mouth shut. Got it?”
I nodded and he let go. I stayed against the wall, listening as the seniors moved away.
As soon as they were gone, Spoony got up and came over to me. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my jaw a little. “And it was totally worth it.”
Spoony shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with my plan.”
“What, keep quiet and hope they get bored?”
“Gotta work eventually.”
“Maybe.” I finished dressing quickly and grabbed my bag. “Come on. We should go before they decide they want to be annoying some more.”
We left the locker room and went toward the doors to wait for our rides. “You don’t have to take this,” Spoony said.
“No,” I agreed. “But neither do you.”
Previous | Next