3. Newt

Have you ever seen someone swatted? Not struck in anger or patted in amusement, but literally swatted like a fly?

I’m in the hallway and still don’t believe what I just saw.

It’s Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Harrington High feel a little more energetic than usual. I think it’s because everybody knows they’re about to be let out, to have a nice two-day break. The thought of being away from this school is promising, but what kind of weekend awaits me is a whole other issue.

I’m pondering this as I see a pack of four guys walk up behind a small kid. They’re wearing smiles on their ugly faces. One of them takes the palm of his hand and bats it across the kid’s head, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

They just keep walking by.

Meanwhile, I stop.

And then I resume walking, toward the four big guys, toward the kid now picking up the pieces to his glasses.

As I’m about to help the kid, the swatter turns and blocks my way.

“Got a problem?”

Man, is this kid ugly. A big meaty face with large pork chops for cheeks stares me down. His eyes look like something in a frying pan; his forehead is dotted with sweat; his AC/DC T-shirt is far too much of a cliché.

“That explains it,” I say, moving past him and bending over to help the kid.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, a strong hand that pulls me back.

“Why don’t you just leave now?”

Something in me just, I don’t know … ignites. Or explodes.

“You know what I think?” I say.

“I don’t care what you think.”

“I think that if I was born with such a homely face, I’d probably go around hitting people too.”

The guy blinks several times, as if he’s trying to compute what I just said.

I probably should try to figure it out myself, but instead my mouth keeps rambling. “What’s the point? There are four of you. And do you even know him?”

“That’s Newt,” says a tall, skinny kid in the background. The rest of them laugh.

I turn and really see Newt for the first time. Something on his face startles me—did that cut on his cheek just happen? Then I realize that it’s not a cut. It’s a long, deep, bright red scar.

“Hey. I’m Chris.”

“You’re the new kid,” says the big sweaty guy, hovering in my face.

“Are you the school bully? I’ve been waiting for one to pop up.”

“Man, you don’t even want to begin to mess with me.”

“No, to be honest, I don’t. Because you’re bigger than me and sure, you could probably beat me up. But I can run faster than you because it looks like you’ve been wolfing down a little too much fast food.”

Turns out Newt isn’t the only one red faced. This guy is beet red.

There’s probably a fifty-fifty chance I get decked, but for some reason, the big red-faced guy plays it cool.

It’s about the guys behind him, about saving face.

Plus, I’m new. For all he knows, I’m a cage-fighting champion. He doesn’t know that I’ve been in two fights in my life, and both of those I lost. Bad.

I help Newt to his feet. He’s going to need a new pair of glasses.

Newt looks about ten, he’s nerdy, and I can’t help but feel sorry for him.

I can’t stand bullies. I can stand a lot of things in life, but not people that pick on the helpless. Sad to say, Newt really fits that category.

Red-faced Ugly Boy still glares at me. “I’m going to tell you this one time and one time only: You come across my path again and I’ll kill you.”

“Fine. Let’s make an agreement. I see you, and I walk the other way. I’ll avoid you like the plague. But only if you don’t go around acting like some hideous high school stereotype.”

There the blinking goes again. I can see his brain not computing.

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, good,” I say. “I am too.”

“You have no idea where you are or who I am, do you?”

“Well, let’s see. This is the backside of nowhere. So yes, I have an idea of where I am. And you’re what crawled out of that backside.”

This does it. The big guy lunges at me.

At that moment Mr. Meiners, my history teacher, walks past and breaks up the one-sided fight. He ends up taking a fist alongside his face before settling the guy down.

“Gus, you get out of here. Now! Boys, break’s over.”

Mr. Meiners has fire in his eyes and his voice. It looks as though he and Gus have butted heads before.

Gus looks at me and grits his teeth and starts walking away.

Where is he going? Is he just walking away after hitting a teacher?

And is his name really Gus? I mean, come on.

The other boys leave me with Mr. Meiners and a paralyzed Newt.

“Newt, you okay?” the teacher asks. “What happened?”

“Yes, sure, I’m fine.” Newt has a high-pitched voice that doesn’t fit his obstinate tone.

“They were picking on him,” I say.

“I’m fine,” Newt says again. “Really fine.”

“Look, Chris. You don’t want to get involved with Gus.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“No, I mean you don’t want to get involved with him, okay? I’m serious.” Mr. Meiners sighs and rubs his bearded jaw. “He’s got a pretty good right hook.”

“Who is he? Where I come from, kids don’t get away with slugging their teachers.”

“Yeah, well, that’s where you come from. Gus isn’t the one I’m afraid of.”

I wait for more, but more doesn’t come.

“You seem like a good kid,” Mr. Meiners says. “Guys like Gus aren’t.”

I nod.

“Be careful, okay? You too, Newt.”

Mr. Meiners walks away.

I’m left with the short kid with the scar on his cheek.

“So is this a regular thing? Gus giving you a hard time?”

“He means it,” Newt says, looking at me with strange, wandering eyes. “About Gus.”

“What about Gus?”

“It’s his father.”

“And who is his father?” I ask.

“Ichor Staunch.”

It sounds like ick and cur put together.

“Ichor what? Is that even a name?”

“He owns most of the town.”

“Does that include the teachers?”

“You don’t want to mess with him.” Newt is playing with his glasses.

“His last name sounds like Stench. Kinda fitting, huh?”

“I guess I should thank you, but I don’t want to thank you for being stupid.”

I look at Newt. “What year are you?”

“I’m a sophomore. I know I look younger.”

“Why was I being stupid?”

“Because if you’re going to mess with someone, you should first know who you’re messing with.”

“I’ve seen a hundred guys like Stenchy-boy before.”

“No, you haven’t. Not like Gus.”

“I’ll avoid him, no problem.”

“Good. Because as much as I’d like to return the favor, I don’t believe there’s anything I—or anybody—could do for you.”

With that ominous little warning, Newt walks away.

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head.

And as I start to walk to my class, I see a figure in the doorway.

Jocelyn.

For a moment I stop, seeing the look on her face.

“Hi,” I say.

Lame.

She looks at me and smiles, as if she’s about to say something. But then she walks away.

I’m left there in the hallway, stumped, confused, but feeling like something just happened here.

I just can’t really explain what.