Ghost

0402

The punk-kid and I were starting to form a mutual pattern of ignoring each other at lunch (and yet not ignoring each other, at the same time).

 I pretended not to watch him as he ate, but it was hard to pull my eyes away. Every day he would slam his paper lunch bag down on the table, sometimes gaining a couple annoyed glances from near-sitting kids. He would proceed by pulling out a bag of Reese's Pieces, opening it with his teeth, giving no noticed to fly always spilling out onto the floor. And lastly, to wash down the sugar with more sugar, he would reach in for his can of Mountain Dew, pound it down, crack it open, and let the fizz spill over his lips and down his chin as he chugged it.

 One time when he'd caught me staring, he winked at me. It had made me so flustered I almost had to put my head down on the table to hide my ruddy cheeks.

 On Friday, he walked into my gym class with a teacher who introduced him to the coach as Randalf. I had to cough just to keep back my laughter.

 "Where is your gym uniform, Randalf?" the coach had asked.

 "Randy," he corrected in a voice so deep, it almost sounded guttural. 

 "Mr. Woodry," Coach decided instead. "Do you have your gym uniform?"

 "Nope."

 "Well, Mr. Woodry, we don't allow street clothes on our freshly waxed hardwood floors." he said street clothes as if the sight of Randy's cigarette burned shirt and mangled jeans was an offense to his eyes. Then again, so was stained socks and obesity, as I had learned over the week.

 He continued on with his lecture about the importance of wearing the proper, school regulated gym attire like he did the first day of school, and every following day when I came in without it.

 "Get your filthy crotch-kickers off my floor and go sit in the bleachers with the others." He pointed up to where I was sitting, the only other person not participating. I had been in a horrible case of luck when I'd picked out the gym class infested with all the sports fanatics and preps who liked the uniforms anyways.

 They were yellow. Yellow. 

 Randy came bolting up the stairs, seeming satisfied with his rebellious act of the day. I had peeled my eyes off of him the second he had turned in my direction, hoping my relief of no longer being the only outcast in the class had gone unnoticed.

 I jumped when he plopped down into the seat right next to me. I didn't know how to feel about anyone sitting that close to me, let alone a boy.

 We were quiet for a few moments, staring down at the hoard of babbling socialites in an almost comfortable silence. I tried to think up something to say. Something cool. Something that didn't say Hey. I like sniffing books and befriending dead people.

 He eventually leaned in, holding out a handful of orange and brown candies that had seemed to appear magically. 

 "Reese's?"