When I step on the bus I smile, because right away, straight in front of me, I can see that Owen and I are wearing the exact same shirt. Light-blue polos, except, he has his collar popped and I don't, because, well, my brothers would never let me forget it. I drop into the seat next to Owen and Sammy, like I've done every year since we met in sixth grade.
Sammy's chirpin' before I even settle into my seat. "Jack, your hair is pretty flowtastic right now, not gonna lie." He smiles big. "And the shiner? Broads love a tough guy. I can only imagine the girls you'll have after you now, stud."
Sammy's crazy.
The three of us are best friends. We hangout together, and except for hockey, we pretty much do everything together. Sammy is pretty cool, pretty laid back, wicked smart. He's the one all the girls like. Owen, he's more quiet and had huge glasses. He's a gamer. He's all about Call of Duty, Halo, and Fantasy Football (in that order). Love the kid. We hang out at Owen's a lot because he had all the cool stuff at his house-a sixty-inch flst screen, a PlayStation, and an Xbox, a Ping-Pong table, and a pool table. Plus, when his mom throws us out for playing video games too long, Owen has a huge yard with a trampoline. And if we get bored, he lives right next to the elementary school with big grassy fields and a basketball court.
The first day of school is crazy. Everyone is pumped to see all the new kids, to see who's changed. As soon as we get off the bus, Sammy starts a running commentary on girls.
"Yo, bro," he says, elbowing me in the gut. "Total smoke show to your right."
I look over at Sassy Gaines.
Most guys in eight grade think Sassy is the prettiest girl at Thatcher. (Sammy: "She's hot. She's just so hot.") I've never said a word to her in my life. I'll tell you right now, I've got no game. I'm definitely a quiet guy. I am pretty shy when it comes to girls. I guess I'm just shy, period. I have absolutely no idea what to say to them or how to act. I wish I had some sort of instruction book. I wish I could walk right up to a girl and somehow know what to say. In a perfect world? I wouldn't even have to talk.
Sammy elbows me again.
"This is going to be the best year of my life!" he says, eyes wide, staring at this new girl, Aspen Bishop.
"Whatever, Sammy," I say.
"Yo, bro, do you see her?"
"Yeah," I say with a shrug. Sammy is such a ladies' man.
"Come on, man, she's mad hot! I'd marry her on the spot!" Sammy pushes me into Owen and we all bust out laughing. Kid's crazy.
At lunch, we always sit together. Me, Owen, Sammy, Demaryius, Trey, Dominic, and Brayden. We sit at the same table we sat at last year, on the far side of the cafeteria by the guidance office.
Trey is obsessed with the Red Sox.
"Did you see the Sox blow it last night?" he asks.
Brayden laughs, "Don't even get me started, man!"
"Yeah, dude," says Dom. "That bullpen is an absolute disaster."
Sammy jumps in, "Dude, I think I could go out there and do a better job closing games for the Sox right now."
"Then we'd really be in trouble," teases Trey.
We all love to mess with Sammy. He's just an easy target.
Everyone starts talking at the same time.
"The Pats are so sick, did you see the game last night?" (Brayden)
"Dude, the Pats are absolutely gonna kill it this year." (Demaryius)
"It's not even gonna be close. They're just unstoppable." (Owen)
"Hands down, best defensive line in the league. Not even debatable." (Me)
"I don't know, though, man. Buffalo's new QB looks like a gun!" (Trey)
"Nah, dude. He's overrated." (Dominic)
"Shut up, Dom. Dude's gonna be a legend!" (Trey)
"Yo!" Sammy raises his voice over all of us and awkwardly nods his head toward seventh graders walking by. "Two words: Sassy. Gaines. Smoke show!"
"That's four words, Sammy," says Owen.
We all bust out laughing.
Owen raises his hand. Like I said, love the kid. "You guys want to come over tomorrow night and have a Madden tourney?"
"Madden? No!" argues Trey. "Dutes, man!"
"Cool, Call Of Duty. Whatever. I can kill you all in that too." Owen smiles.
Sammy throws his hand up for a high five. "Yeeeaaah, buddy, I'm in," he says.
"I have to ask my mom," says Trey.
Owen turns to Dominic. "Dom?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Demaryius?"
"Definitely, I'm down."
"Brayden?"
"You know it."
"What about you, Jacko?"
"Absolutely, man. Sounds good."
To be completely honest, I'm kind of surprised at how much I'm not minding eighth grade. The only sort of bad thing so far is this kid Porter Gibson. The kid's just a loudmouth idiot. Owen and I are walking to Mr. Graves' class when Porter crashes into all eighty pounds of Owen, knocking his books to the floor and his glasses straight off his face.
I kneel down and get his stuff. "Dude," I tell Owen, "I'd really like to punch that kid in the face."
"I can brush it off." Owen shrugs.
But I can tell he's rattled. I hand Owen back his glasses. Porter keeps at it in science. The kid is always being obnoxious in class, always needs attention, always needs someone to be laughing at him. The guy's a joke. Right away he causes problems.
Owen and I are sharing the desk in the front row. "Since there's so much talking," Mr. Graves announces, "we're going to switch seats. So everyone, let's have the girls stand first. And we're going to count off, girl, boy."
Porter kicks the back of my chair. "Hey, Jack," he whispers, "girls first!"
I'm no going to lie.
I'm heated.
I sit there for the rest of the class and seriously consider jumping over the desk and punching him in the face.
In the hallway after sixth period, Owen tries to talk me down.
"He's not worth it, Jack," he tells me. "Don't let him get to you."
And look, I'll tell you the truth. I'm not big on fighting. I mean, sure, I fight my brothers all the time. But as far as fighting at school?
No.
My dad would kill me.
I stop to get a drink at the water fountain, and when I turn around and see Porter coming at me in slow motion.
I'm not ready.
"Watch where your going," he says, slamming into me.
Porter steps tight up to me. Eyeball to eyeball. I can smell fish sticks on his breath. He starts poppin' off.
"You're such a pretty boy, Malloy. Think a little highly of yourself, don't you? Think you're better?"
"Get out of my face, bro," I answer. I turn. I swear, I turn and begin to walk away, but Porter pushes me again. This time a little bit harder.
"Don't be such a girl," he says.
I shake my head and start to walk away again. But then he gives me another shove, this time hitting me in the back if my shoulders. I turn around and look right at him.
"What?" he asks. "You gonna call your mommy and cry?"
"Step back, dude," I warn him.
"When you call your mom, bro, tell her to stop texting me," he says with a laugh.
That's it.
I drop my backpack.
"You got the biggest mouth, dude. You want to go right now?" I say. Out of the corner of my eye I see a crowd forming, and I can hear them cheering.
"Fight him! Get 'em, Jack!"
"You wanna go?" I repeat.
"What?" Porter looks scared now. "I was just playin'..."
I don't have an off switch.
"Let's go right now," I grab him by his backpack strap, pull him in, and connect with a right cross. One punch. Porter slams backward into the locker and starts flailing his arms. I'm looking to strike again. I'm looking to knock him out. I pull back my arm and throw a right uppercut that connects with his jaw. He's getting desperate to end the fight. He lunges at me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and tries to take me down, tackling me,but instead he smokes my head against the brick wall.
I feel my nose crack.
Then blood trickling down my chin.
I just roll him and get on top. I drive him into the floor. I don't stop. He's on his back, full throttle trying to get up. I pin him down with my knee, hook one arm around his neck, and pound him with shots. I'm landing some big punches, just blazin' him, until I feel somebody's hand yank me back off him.
"Boy's, this is over!" It's Mr. Graves.
For the first time I noticed how many people are watching. It's like the entire eighth grade is standing there in a circle around us, staring.
"Okay, people, show's over. Go to class!" says Mr. Graves. Then he turns to me, "Jack, go to the nurse."
I stand there for a second.
My heart is pounding.
I can taste blood.
"Go!" Mr. Graves repeats, sounding mad.
Somehow a wad of paper towel emerges, and Owen hands it me with a giant grin on his face. Before I leave, I glance at Porter, still in a heap on the floor, his lip busted. You think you're gonna knock me out? Not going to happen.
I watch him for a second and make sure to catch his eye. Then? I shake my head and toss him a smile.
On my way to the nurses office, my heart is beating like crazy ridiculous. I can't calm down. My body is shaking and my hand is throbbing. By now there's a crowd following me down the stairs. Everyone's hyped.
"Beast mode, bro!" (Brayden)
"Yeeaah, boyyyy! Dominate!" (Trey)
"You're an assassin, Jacko!" (Dominic)
Sammy throws his arm around my shoulders. "You're an absolute stud! You rocked him, dude. Ground and pound! You had some big shots, man. He felt it!"
By the time I reach the door to the nurses office, it's just me and Owen in the empty hallway. He hands over my backpack, while I try to keep the blood-soaked paper towel on my nose.
"You're still coming to my house tomorrow night, right?" he asks me.
"Well, I-" I start, and reality sort of sets in. "I'll probably be grounded. I mean, my dad-"
"Oh, man, bro." Owen looks a little worried. "Your dad is going to lose it!"
"Yeah, so...," I start, but it's hard to talk with the blood and my nose.
"Well, call me when you find out, man."
"Yeah, I will," I answer.
"Jacko?"
I glance back.
Owen flashes me the biggest smile.
"Thanks for shutting him up," he says.