Time Lifts the Light

"Indigo!" D.B. sang, suddenly appearing at my locker.
I started, clutching my heart and dropping my book on the floor in fright. "Holy -Daniel! God, don't do that!"
"There's no need to call me God," he quipped, stooping to pick up the book. "Catcher in the Rye, huh?"

He placed it in my opened backpack for me and then proceeded to lean casually against the locker next to mine, watching me pack away binders with a bemused expression. The next time I looked up, he'd put his black ear-flap hat on his head. He pulled the bill down over his eyes and tried his best to look moody.

"What are you doing, idiot?" I asked quietly, smiling to myself as I closed my locker and slung my backpack over my shoulder.
"Pencey was full of crooks," he quoted in a schmaltzy New Yorker accent. "Quite a few guys came from these wealthy families, but it was full of crooks anyway. The more expensive a school is, the more crooks it has - I'm not kidding...(1)"
"Oh, don't start," I sighed. "It's the end of the day, I don't - "

"Hawkins."

D.B.'s head made a hollow crunching sound against the locker next to mine. His hat was knocked off as the metal tab on the front of the locker was pressed into his cheek. I stifled a gasp and stepped back involuntarily.

Travis Geller was standing behind D.B. in all of his Abercrombie and Fitch glory, his gelled hair spiked into perfection and his maroon hoodie stained with sweat from that afternoon's football practice. His dull grin spread to his deceptively warm brown eyes.

"Think fast," he said ironically, apparently thinking that he'd just pulled an incredibly clever prank.

Daniel seemed shocked. He slowly pulled away from the locker, tenderly feeling his cheek. He turned to me, as if to make sure I had seen the attack, to make sure that it had really happened. A dull red mark was visible just below his right eye.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" D.B. blanched, rounding on Travis.
"Saying hello."
"I think a wave would have sufficed, Geller," he grumbled, effectively keeping his cool. "A nice pat on the back."

Travis seemed to deflate, slightly put out that D.B. was not rising to the fight, and he settled for half-heartedly kicking D.B.'s hat across the hall. Scowling, I walked over to get it. When I came back, there was a girl approaching Travis, her eyes locked curiously on D.B.

"Gus says the beers are getting warm," she told him, still not looking away from Daniel.

I slipped the hat to D.B., who refused to stop glaring at Travis as he shoved it into his back pocket. I recognized the girl who had approached Travis as Deidra Barnheart, a brunette who abusively crimped her hair every day. She was tall and thin and would have been quite pretty if she didn't habitually smear eyeliner into the corners of her eyes, making her look severe and squinty.

"Hey, I know you!" she murmured, raising an eyebrow at D.B.
"Do you?" he countered, mirroring her and raising his scarred eyebrow.
"Yeah... What's your name again?" she asked as Travis began looking impatient.
"The Doctor(2)," he muttered.
"Huh?" she asked.
"Nothing."

I managed to turn my snort of laughter into a cough, ignoring D.B.'s whispered, "Shut up, you."

"It's Daniel, isn't it?"
"D.B.," he corrected moodily.
"Oh, hang on," Deidra gasped, taking her phone out. "Travis, Erin just texted me. The car's waiting."
"Yeah, I'll be right down," he said.
"Do you wanna come party with us, D.B.?" she asked, pointedly not looking at me.

Deidra flicked her hair over her shoulder and traced a small pattern of circles on Travis' arm. Something about the way she was looking at D.B. - a mixture of hopefulness and confidence - made me blink in surprise.

He's got girls crawling all over him...

I shook my head, trying to get rid of Kim's words. She was right. She was absolutely right... and it made me feel horrible. Jealous and sad and even a little angry.

"No thanks," Daniel replied in mock politeness. "I have some rotting garbage to pick through. But, you know, if it wasn't for that, I'd be all over - uh - partying with you."
Travis looked furious, Deidra amused. "Too bad, cutie."

D.B. scowled and shot me a pained look. My heart fluttered - at least he wasn't enjoying the attention. Travis, seeing that he could not possibly continue to bully D.B. without getting into trouble with Deidra, put on a strange sort of grimace that, I think, was supposed to be a smile.

"Well," he grunted, punching D.B. in the arm a bit harder than necessary. "See you later, buddy."
"Yeah," D.B. said through clenched teeth. "Buddy."

I could literally feel D.B. seething beside me as Travis walked away, Deidra in tow, shooting us moody glances over his shoulder as he went. D.B. raised his fingers to the red mark forming below his eye where the locker had hit him. He winced and scowled deeply.

"Do me a favor and trip down those stairs, buddy," D.B. said under his breath. "Trip and break your big, monkey head..."
"Harboring some ill intentions, are we?" I asked.
D.B. scowled and took the black ear-flap hat from his back pocket. "No," he growled, cramming the hat back on his head. "None at all."
"Are you entirely sure about that?"
"Well..." he paused thoughtfully. "Define ill."
"If you had one wish - "
"I'd use it to make his nuts shrivel up and crumble into dust," he interrupted savagely.
"Sometimes it shocks me how sane and well-adjusted you are, D.B.," I said dryly.
"He's just hopped up because he's got the big game tomorrow," he sighed, defeated. He swore half-heartedly. "Do I have a bruise or something? It hurts where that locker hit..."

It was the end of the day on a very tense Thursday. The entire school seemed to be squirming in anticipation over the approaching Homecoming weekend. D.B. fished around in his pockets for his favorite butterscotch candies as we walked out to the parking lot near the cafeteria. We found Kim and Mikey loitering by D.B.'s beat-up sedan.

"Shh," Kim warned as we approached.
"Whasup?" D.B. asked around the butterscotch, the candy clicking on his teeth.
"Mikey-Swami is in session," she said mysteriously.

Mikey was trying very hard not to smile, his eyes squeezed shut in mock concentration. The very tips of his fingers were poised at his temples.

"Mikey-Swami predicts..." he said in a ghostly, affected voice. "That, during Friday's pep-ralley..."
"Yes?" Kim pressed, clutching the collar of Mikey's shirt. "What does the future hold, Mikey-Swami?"
"There will be microphone problems!" he claimed, deliberately turning down the corners of his mouth in an attempt to hide his snickering laughter. "The cheerleaders will perform an awkwardly choreographed dance! Someone will pull the fire alarm!"
"And the game?" D.B. demanded, pretending to be terrified.

I rolled my eyes at the three of them, trying to mentally communicate to the group of girls staring at us that I didn't know them.

"The game?" Mikey asked boldly. "Oh, Mikey-Swami predicts that we will lose!"
"No!" D.B. cried, dropping to his knees. "Say it isn't so!"
"It is so, my son," Mikey said. "And, not only that, but - despite the humiliating defeat - the football players will continue to act like complete dickheads!"
"The horror!" Kim squealed.

"That's pretty rude, you know!" one of the girls shouted.

Kim blew a loud raspberry at them as we clambered into the car. I tried to shoot the group of girls an apologetic look, but it might have came out looking more like suppressed laughter because they were all glaring at me as we drove away.

I fiddled with the radio in the front seat.

"Don't play Lady Gaga," Kim grumbled.
"I'm not!"
"Well, last time - "
"That was Mikey!"
"It was not!"
"You like her and you know it."
"Lies!"
"You want to wear her sparkly leotards and touch her weird orange skin - "
"D.B., Indigo's being mean to me!"
"Do you want me to turn this car around?" D.B. shouted in his best Father Voice.

We made plans to meet at Mikey's tomorrow after school and collectively avoid the Homecoming game. Mikey seemed reluctant to have a gathering at his small apartment, but Kim's mother's book club had a meeting, D.B. was terrified of my father, and he nearly ran into a stop sign when his house was suggested.

And, for some reason, the butterflies in my stomach just wouldn't quit.