Left-Handed

“Tomorrow. You can meet me out front after school and we’ll go to my house to use as base camp for the project. Sound good?”

Finn removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with his shirt, because Finn wore glasses on Monday. Inspecting his spectacles for dust, he replied, “It’s about time we started this thing.”

“Oh, shut up. I can’t concentrate with you nagging.” I was trying to finish our homework ditto before the bell. Even with a study hall I refused to complete work outside of class. Other places befouled it.

Of course, I reasoned, it might end up being necessary to save enough to use as an excuse to block out Drew. Normally I was glad for his presence during a period of nothing, but given our friendship was currently in limbo I’d rather have him transferred all of a sudden.

“That one’s C,” Finn said, indicating a number ahead of the problem I was solving.

I gave in. “Okay, okay, you’re helpful.”

He looked pleased with himself and smiled smugly. When next I glanced at him he was focused on another. “That’s E and that’s D.” He could probably think as fast as the best of pirates.

I dawdled on the trip to our lunch hangout. If there had been roses, I would have stopped to smell them. And I hate the smell of roses.

A step landed here, a step there; what did it matter if I arrived last for once? Besides, if there were no flowers, the soil clearly needed my tomato to fertilize it. The slice was stubborn and had wedged itself inside the messy party of my wrap. Signs of the battle were left in the form of mayonnaise lightly slathered on my newly healed fingers. I licked them, wiped my hand on my jeans, and continued on.

Everyone watched as I sat on a vacant block; it was like I was some kind of war hero. The type of veteran that makes people wary, not one they’d admire. Emma had returned from the grave.

“Why do you look so...solemn?”

Drew coughed. “Emma, can I talk to you about something?” He took her by the hand and led her out of hearing range. As he passed I could feel him look at me, but I didn’t raise my eyes.

Perhaps feeling uncomfortable, Russ broke the silence their absence had left. “Some weather today, huh?”

On account of the overcast sky, Mel saw fit to chuck her empty water bottle at his head. “Idiot,” she muttered, and we all heard Emma laughing very loudly. I checked over my shoulder and saw they were heading back now.

I didn’t think I’d ever seen so many of Emma’s teeth before, she was grinning so broadly. There wasn’t much time to admire it; I felt Drew’s breath on my ear as he whispered, “Will you go out with me? I’m sorry.” He leaned back and blushed, waiting for my answer.

I was so elated that I decided to show it oddly: I stood up and shook his hand. “Absolutely!”

Russ immediately began shrieking hysterically and rocking back and forth with tears in his eyes, while Emma was sniggering behind her hand and Mel was utterly puzzled by their behavior. “What? I don’t get it!”

“Remember, Emma, I will personally shoot you if you tell anybody,” Drew threatened, but it was lost on his smiling face.

“Tell anybody what!?” Mel screamed in agony.

“I just asked Thom out.”

“And I just accepted.”

“Oh my God do you know what this means? You don’t have to pretend to be gay anymore because you are!”

“Way to state the obvious,” I teased her.

Drew and Russ, on the other hand, were confused. “When did you pretend to be gay?” they both demanded.

“It’s a long story...so I’ll let Mel tell you,” I finished lamely.

Helpfully she picked up right where I left off. “Okay, okay, so one time we were working at Hollister, and...” “...and my genius plan totally worked! The end!”

I silently willed the soccer ball onward, but it rolled gently to a stop almost a whole ten feet from my feet. This was the fourth instance my telekinesis had failed me since sixth period had started merely fifteen minutes ago. I jogged out to get it, eyeing my hopeless partner across the width of the gym.

Blake cringed behind his square, thick-rimmed frames when he noticed I was looking. “Sorry! I’ll kick it harder next time!” Oh, to have no allies in P.E.! I mourned my lack of a horde of friends; a posse would have done nicely, even.

Blake was the most physically uncoordinated person I’d ever met. Unfortunately, I was stuck with him from the start, the way he was stuck with minimal melatonin and the ghost of a mustache.

I tapped the ball with my instep and sent it back over to him, praying as I did so that he would successfully stop it. I didn’t think I could bear watching him chase after it again. The last time he’d ran smack into Tracy. Unwanted contact? Yes.

I let out my breath: he’d got it. Now for the return journey... The sneaker drew back, returned, pulled past, and missed entirely. My shoulders slumped. The world could not be trusted in any longer. I almost wondered if every kick Blake missed traveled to a pro somewhere.

“Evans! If you fail to contact the ball one more time you will run laps!” Mr. Silva barked, sounding like he was using a loudspeaker. Though he denied it, we all knew he’d been a drill sergeant at some point. Normal tones of voice did not apply to him.

Blake stiffened, terrified of the prospects of public punishment. I envisioned beads of sweat popping out all over his forehead as he concentrated. It was all in the aiming.

In a movie it would have run in slow motion, breaking into normal speed once it passed ninety degrees to the floor. The ball did not move.

“Evans! Eight laps around the gym!” Mr. Silva roared.

All the buoyant mood I had left from earlier depleted rapidly as the other students and I watched Blake jogging. Mouth gaping open in all his asthmatic glory, with each step the echo grew louder, ringing inside the open space between the floor and ceiling beams.

I left for the locker room before he’d finished. Spinning the dial on my lock, I pondered the injustice of it all. Where was Mr. Silva when Blake was getting a face full of Axe? As this was a regular occurrence I couldn’t imagine how he could be unaware.

I changed, but kept my shirt off. It was too confining. I shut the metal hatch, clicked the lock back into place and sat down with it bunched in my fist.

The door slammed open and I heard the other boys pushing inside noisily.

“For some reason watching Blake run made me crave cookies.”

“I swear to God, you are fucking retarded, Phil.”

“What? What’s wrong with wanting cookies?” Phil insisted.

“Well if watching other guys running makes you want some...” I heard a few others snicker along with him.

“I’m not gay, idiot.”

I gripped the edge of the bench as some of the group passed by on the way to their own lockers. The mere mention of the word gay was starting to make my pulse quicken; I needed to get a hold of myself.

My eyes came back into focus on the paint-chipped blue metal. Blake came into my peripheral vision. He stood there fumbling for words and decided on something simple; “Thanks.”

“For what?” I stole my gaze from the lockers and gave it to the floor, a regular Robin Hood.

“For not staying to watch the whole thing. I thought you hair was gonna turn white when I missed that second time. I don’t think I could’ve made eight laps with your eyes on me.”

I laughed sharply. “You sure it’s not white yet?”

“Yup,” he smiled awkwardly, almost like it was trying to slide off his face sideways.

My face must have leaked some evidence of my sixth-period trauma, for Drew watched me enter study hall with an inquiring expression on his face. I dropped my backpack beside my seat and turned to face him. “Blake,” I sighed.

Having heard me rant about the kid before, Drew replied simply, “Oh.”

Bending down and fumbling with the zipper, I felt his eyes on the little strip of bare back revealed by my shirt. “Ahem,” I rumbled, straightening up.

Once I’d successfully arranged my notebook and folder on the desk surface, I looked expectantly at Drew. Thankfully, he seemed to know what it was I wanted or had already planned on asking for my accompaniment later in the afternoon; I gladly accepted.