Dimples

Far, far below the standards of the education system, on the first day back from a three day weekend, two professors of public humiliation approached each other at a combined velocity of epic proportions- even for beefcake marauders of the more humane population. More simply said, this morning, two jocks slammed into each other in the middle of the hallway, purposefully knocking over a few undeclared social peons along the way. One of those untouchables that was toppled onto their backside was my best friend, Pee Wee Sherman- the king of all geeks and highly regarded WOW legend. I witnessed his embarrassment and sore rump-rubbing in the aftermath of the event and sympathized with him as he bitched.

“Why do they think they can do whatever they want?” Pee Wee gripes, still massaging his sorry ass.

“I dunno, Sherm,” I say, rubbing the back of my head as I watch Kelly Masterson’s legs go by.

“Well, don’t you ever think about what gives them the right to step on our faces? Is it in their genetic makeup or something? Like, they’re the modern-day Arian race? Or maybe, maybe it’s something about blood chemistry. Or hey, do ya think being a steroid-using hole will just automatically make you popular?” Pee Wee’s glasses fog up a little in his dork-fury and his butt-patting has turned into ferocious scratching.

“Jesus, Pee Wee, get your hands off your ass, will ya?”

A girl walks by and gives us a funny look.

“Hm?” P.W. looks behind him. “Oh.” His hand drops to his side and then uses it to shift his glasses up his nose.

“Thanks,” I mutter and lean back against the hideous green lockers.

“God… Elijah, I’ve lost all my faith in humanity. I really have.”

“Sherm, you say that every day.” I stand up straight and start walking towards social studies. Pee Wee follows.

“Well, it’s true,” he insists, scurrying along beside me, trying to keep up. Pee Wee doesn’t even come up to my shoulder, so furthermore, his legs are a lot shorter than mine. When walking at my pace, he usually sounds like he’s giving birth; a cause for further embarrassment.

“I know. But then again, Peebs, you gotta have faith in the first place to lose it.”

“Well then, dear Elijah, I have lost hope.”

I let out a sniffy laugh and slow down my pace. “Isn’t your class on the other side of the building?”

Pee Wee looks confused at first and then a little sad. “I bid you adieu,” he says, saluting. “If I die, all my possessions will be put in your care.” He looks very seriously at me.

I blink a few times. “Gym?”

“Yes… Though the correct term is physical education.” Pee Wee gives smiling a shot and then sighs.

“Best of luck,” I say and slap him hard of the back.

And with that, my best friend disappears among the ravaged victims of hormones.



“Hey! New girl!”

With those words, the entire male population’s heads snapped towards the sound while the entire female population went the other way. Well, minus the ones who play for the other team. Then the opposite is true.

Anyways. All that matters is that there’s a new girl and judging by the response, she’s relatively hot.

However, when I look over, all I can see is a wall of Varsity jockstraps smothering the girl in testosterone.

I still listen in to see if I can find something out, though.

“Hey, new girl. What’s your name?” One of the group asks.

“Luisa.”

Luisa?

My Luisa?

“Luisa?” one of the jocks repeats and shoves another back with his elbow.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” she replies.

Yeah. That’s definitely my Luisa.

“Hey! Hold up!” The herd of muscle heads inch forward.

“What?” she groans.

“We’re not done talking yet,” the head jock says.

“Actually, I have to get to class.”

“Not so fast, princess-“

They’re closing in! Must save!

“Don’t you have something better to do than harass the poor girl?”

The jocks turn and stare, disbelieving.

No. I didn’t say that. I’m still hiding behind my locker.

The guy who said it is Dominick Brandt. Über scholar slash über babe according to Pee Wee (sometimes I swear he’s gay). The jocks begin to disperse immediately for fear of calls home to parents or the deep-set dread caused by rumored encounters with hit men and the mafia. Dominick is the school squealer, and yet is well-liked and accepted as a bad ass. For some reason in 7th grade when he got a full-head mouth brace and kids obviously started making fun of him for it, a bunch of chillins started dropping like flies. Well, not quite. Just a string of mono. It’s not like it was that surprising though. I mean, the kids who made fun of him were all swapping spit behind the big hill in Middle School. Meanwhile the ‘losers’ played Yugioh and roleplayed Lord of the Rings with the occasional Inuyasha reference.

I continue to watch the scene unfold from behind my locker. I feel like I should have one of those apple juice cameras that everyone thought would instantly make you a PI back when we were like seven.

“Thanks,” Luisa mumbles, twirling her hair absent mindedly with her long fingers. God dammit. She already likes him.

“Anything for a pretty lady.” Dominick magically has her hand in his and he kisses it. Yeah. That just happened.

I feel my face flame up with jealousy. That should be me!

Then again… If I had said something, I’d have banana peels in my undies and festering pasta from last week’s spaghetti surprise in my hair. I shake my head of the thought.
Luisa blushes a bit and takes back her hand.

“May I ask your name?” Dominick asks, charming as always. The dirty, cheating bastard. I saw her first! Dibs!

“You’re gonna have to figure that out yourself.” Luisa smirks and flicks his nose, then walks away.

Dominick smiles after her, all dopey-eyed and then goes about on whatever it is he does, fixing his smart sweater vest.

Did I just say smart…?

I shake my head again, imagining I have fleas.

I guess I do in a way.

Mind fleas.

Pesky little devils.

I touch my hand to my nose and sigh.

Should’ve been my nose.