The Endowed (Book 1): Mind Talkers

The Boy That Rose

Journal entry:

15th December 1993

Whack!

“Lunch money tird, hand it over.” I spat the blood that was lodged in my throat after Todd’s right hook left me on my backside, sprawled in a corner. He never usually punched me that hard. It was like he actually had reason to be such an arsehole today. His tone was impatient this time, as if I should’ve known the procedure by now. I guess, in a way, he was right.

“Ok ok…” I said in a mumble, wiping the blood from my lip. Reaching for the inside pocket of my jacket, I pulled out the two dollars my foster dad had given me, purely because he didn’t trust me with bringing back the change of one of the many twenty’s he had in his wallet. Simon, who was cornered off by the rest of Todd’s dickweed group, would’ve helped me out with a buck or two at lunch. But now that I was already being beaten up before school had started, well, truth be told, it had been a long time coming.

“What the hell is this towel head?! Two bucks!? The hell am I supposed to do with this?!” 

“It’s all I have. I didn’t get much—“

“God! I thought you’re people always…” and he stopped, looking at me in disgust. Then finished, “Tomorrow, you owe me five bucks! No excuses. And don’t make me find you!” He waved his arm to the rest of his ‘crew’ to follow as he turned away. Two of the bastards opened and spit inside Simon’s school bag, and threw it against the dumpster. They left him alone today for a change. Very ‘brave’ picking on the two scrawniest guys in school, isn’t it. 

Simon gathered his bag and slowly walked over to me. “How many times do I have to tell him I’m not Muslim,” I said, barely audible, as I hatefully watched them all walk away, chuckling mockingly. The racial slur from Todd’s mouth had me upset.  

I sat wiping off the dirt, frustrated and despondent. Simon just tilted his head, reached out a hand, and said, “You know that won’t make any difference. They think they way they want to.” I looked at him, knowing exactly how the rest of this day would go. I took his hand, and pulled myself up. I shouldered my bag, and we started on our way to school.  “And don’t worry about it,” Simon continued, “I’ll get you lunch. I remembered I found some extra stash in my locker yesterday. Must’ve been from the last time I hid it away.”

I felt even more guilt, but knew that I couldn’t refuse it, so I responded shamefully, “Thanks man.”

That afternoon, we stopped off at a convenient store on the way home from school, running an errand for Simon’s parents. “How’s your jaw?” asked Simon as he picked out a few items while we strolled along. I had been massaging it all day, avoiding the guidance counselors and teachers. I had enough to deal with; having them poke around asking millions of questions was tiring to even think about. They were never any help anyway. Nothing was ever done about the bullies.

I rubbed my jaw again and responded, “I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah,” he paused as he set more items in the shopping bag, “Oh, my mom invited you over for dinner tomorrow night. She’s making hotdogs.”

“Sounds good, but I got way too much home work man. Besides, Trevor and Kate’s been getting real mad lately with me coming home late. I’ll try my best though.”

“But we’ve been prepping the science lab for practicals. And you know what day it is tomorrow,” he said the latter with a smile.

I smiled and shrugged in response. It was Simon’s eighteenth birthday the next day, but my foster parents had been increasingly cranky lately, even though they weren’t picking me up from school. They believed that I was wasting my time with helping out at school when I had nothing to show for it. Clearly, they never paid attention to mine and Simon’s grades. We were always top of the class.