The Mystical (Mr.Cool) Adventures of Patrick Swayzee

CHAPTER TWO: SWING SETS AND SUPER MAN

                     CHAPTER TWO: SWING SETS AND SUPERMAN

 The evening spun on at a stimulating pace. The topic of Toast’s 'girls' was restored and the room was buzzing with brainstorming. Patrick Swayzee of course was the first to make a suggestion.
 
'You'll have to start by giving them the cold-shoulder,' he said pompously ' if you want them to fall in love with you.' 

 'I don't. I just want to be friends with them.' insisted Toast for the thirteenth time.

Swayzee snickered. When Toast looked at him in utter confusion, Swayzee looked at The Twins for support. They both bore the same look of incomprehension. Swayzee's smile shifted into disbelief. 

 'You guys aren't serious?' he asked. The Twins looked at each other, then back at Swayzee. 

 ‘What?' they said in unison.

Swayzee gaped at them. When he spoke, there was a certain academic import in his voice. 
'Nobody wants to be just friends.' he explained. 'Nope, not even T-t-toast'.  
He immediately regretted his words. 

 Toast looked down, hurt by the joke on his speech impediment. 
 
'Come off it Swayz..' said Peanut-Butter.
Jelly rested an arm around Toast and looked at Swayzee with disdain.  

 'That was cold, man.' he said shaking his head.
Guilt slithered around in Swayzee’s gut like a snake.

'Hey Toasty, you know I didn't mean it.' he said apologetically.
Toast looked up. His eyes looked as though they'd been extracted from an abused puppy. Swayzee felt the guilt snake slither up his throat, strangling him. Toast's were the only feelings in the whole wide universe that Swayzee valued more than his own. 

'I'm sorry Toast, I'm really sorry. I know that was way not cool.'

  Toast just sighed. Swayzee felt the stone cold hand of guilt grip his heart with force. Toast slowly slipped into thought, as he often did when he felt forlorn. A blurry memory began to sharpen in his mind.

  First the grey sky, then the wind until it all materialised in front of him. The sound of the swings was a sombre one. The creaking sound mingled with the laughter of children.  Far off from the swings, a boy sat all alone eating the snack his mother had packed for him.  He watched the happy kids run by, playing hopscotch and catch. He still sat alone in silence. In envy. A little ways away some boys were pointing at him. They approached him, all smelling of sidewalk chalk and processed lunch meat. They didn't even stop when they reached him. The biggest just kicked him. He scrambled to his feet and backed away slowly. The biggest kid, pretty massive for an eight year old, grabbed the sullen boy by the shirt and threw him to the ground. The rest of them all guffawed.  The pavement crushed against his back; the sullen boy snivelled. The pale sun blinded him behind the grey clouds. Terror rose in him. When his eyes had found the bully's face, he saw that there was an indecent grimace stretching from ear to ear. Then the vulgar boy spoke:

'So b-b-oys,' He said looking around at his cronies. ‘W-wonder if stutter-face here is willing to s-say a few words.'
The mock in his voice was so theatrical, it seemed. They all laughed again. The sullen boy just crumpled into a fetal position. He was only six after all and it was his only defence to this kind of ridicule. 

'What kind of name is Toast anyway?' spat the kid.
He was quite literally the most hideous child imaginable. He looked like a bulldog. Toast's eyes began to water with anger. Despite what the other kids thought, he liked his name. It was unique. 

'-And this haircut. Did your mom do it? You look like a mushroom with legs.'  

There was more stupid laughter from the pigheaded third graders. Toast was too afraid of the consequences to open his mouth and stand up for himself, so he just hugged his knees to his chest and let the hot tears run down his face. He prepared himself for more of this abuse but it never came. He opened his eyes. Standing over him was a kid he’d never seen before. He was facing the bulldog-boy, glowing with defiance. 
 
'What do you think you're doing?' said the boy to the bulldog.
The bulldog didn't even get to answer before the skinny boy, with the curly brown locks, spoke again.

‘Leave him alone.' he said. 
 
'Step aside twiggy.' said the bulldog. The skinny boy showed no reaction to this. 
 
'Leave him alone. If you want him, you'll have to go through me first.'