Bite Back.

At this point Friday was easily my favorite day of the week. For one, it meant a weekly class trip to the library and thus a new book. And if I was lucky, it was mom's weekend to have Kei and me. But this particular Friday was not one of them, and seemingly just to drive the point home it rained all morning. However, we were "allowed" to play outside during recess anyway. I had my new book, so I found a dry piece of blacktop next to the PE building and got comfortable. Unfortunately, the boys decided they'd play basketball since the field was muddy. I went unnoticed until Hunter decided to change up the sport a little.

"What you got there, Shorty?"
The others guffawed stupidly, but I kept my eyes on my book and didn't move. Hunter became bolder as the crowd of boys around us began to thicken.

"Didn't you hear me? Why ain't you skipping rope or something with the girls over there?"
I didn't move or say anything, didn't even look at him. Just kept my eyes on my book. The crowd was starting to get restless and bored. My plan was working. At least it was until Hunter threw his basketball at my book, knocking it to the ground. The crowd was roaring with laughter once again. Without my book I couldn't hide my face, and thus couldn't conceal my anger. I was so angry that tears began to stream from my eyes, which only made matters worse.

"Cry for your book, nerd!"

"He's crying! Oh my god!"

"What a girl!"
I stood up to get my book and leave, but instead Hunter shoved me into a nearby puddle, and before I could even begin to stand my book was kicked into my face. My stomach twisted, my heart began beating a war drum inside me, my teeth clenched up, my muscles tensed, and my mind was gone. The only way to describe it comes from one of my favorite superheroes at the time; someone else who was extremely short, got picked on for it, and got even for it. Images of Wolverine in one of his "berserker rages" went through my head as I launched myself at Hunter. Hunter the athlete, who was at least a foot taller than me and probably had at least 50 pounds on me, not to mention a crowd of supporters. But that didn't matter, I butted his stomach with my head and he fell onto the wet concrete. I was on top of him, punching any part of his body I could find and cursing a blue streak even my grandmother could be proud of. The boys were laughing again, but I didn't know why until Hunter's fist connected with my head. I fell off of Hunter and now he had me in a sleeper hold. He stood up and pulled my feet off the ground with him. I could feel my face redden with anger and partial suffocation. I couldn't get out, I just struggled and dangled as the boys redoubled their cheers in the seeming victory. I had to get free and get out of here. My arms were useless, my legs were useless, I couldn't even move my head and my mouth was covered by Hunter's arm. So I ripped into his forearm as hard as I could. He yelped and dropped me, and this time there were no cheers or laughter. Just the sound of me gasping for breath while Hunter stared at the blood dripping from his right arm. Trent and the others rushed to his side and started migrating back to the school building. I didn't know if they were going for a teacher or the nurse, but I knew I was in serious trouble.

I don't know that there's anything more frustrating than being a kid talked down to by self-righteous adults.

"Why were you fighting, Dorian?"

"I wasn't fighting, I was reading a book until they came along."

"Well, I've got 20 boys outside who all say you started it.

"And they're all Hunter's friends. What does that tell you?"

"I don't appreciate your attitude, young man."

"Well, I'm sorry ma'am, but I was just minding my own business when they came over and shoved me in the mud."

"You should have told a teacher and let them handle it."

"I couldn't. I was surrounded by 20 boys."

"Well it doesn't matter. It takes two people to start a fight, so you're both in trouble."

"What was I supposed to do? Let him choke me?"

"I don't want to hear any more about it. I'm calling your parents and sending you home."
She began to dial her phone in the most menacing way possible. I wasn't worried, because I knew I had done nothing wrong. I would accept any punishment because it was worth it just to see that look on Hunter's face. The injuries hadn't been serious, we were only kids after all, but for some reason the fact that I bit someone was a very serious matter.

"Can I go talk to the counselor, please?"

"No, you need to sit out in the hall and wait for your parents to get here. Why do you want to see Mr. White?"

"Because he listens to me."

Boys are stupid.

I've always made friends easily in life, just usually not the ones I was supposed to. The first school friend I can remember making was Donny in 1st grade. I was so short people often thought I was still a toddler and I could already read and write so I ruined the class dynamic right away. Donny was black, deaf and retarded. I had been learning sign language with my mom over the summer while she tutored the deaf for her college. So when I actually saw someone my age signing I was thrilled to have someone to "talk" to and he felt the same way. I honestly can't remember much about our friendship. We both liked Batman and playing on the swings at recess. I quickly began to doubt the "retarded" diagnosis. He was a little slow sometimes, but he was just like any other kid out there. Most perplexing was the praise I was given for being his friend. He didn't tease me and I didn't tease him, that's all you need for friendship when you're 6.

By the time I made it to 4th grade I had really hit my stride. All the short jokes the kids could come up with had already been done over the years and I was finally getting attention from a teacher who didn't punish me for being ahead of the class. Her name was Miss Funk. She had a great teaching style that only a new graduate can bring: a combination of kindergarten togetherness and participation along with an adult amount of respect and interest. We'd build chains of paper that represented strands of DNA. We acted out short stories and then sat in a circle and discussed them. Even multiplication tables were done with a couple of game show buzzers and bite-sized candy for prizes. But then, the divorce happened. All I had left of my favorite class was a giant piece of butcher paper in my favorite shade of robin's egg blue. "We'll Miss You, Dorian!" it said in a big rainbow of color across the middle. Everywhere else in black marker were words of encouragement, compliments, and goodbyes. "You're so smart and funny." "Make lots of friends at your new school!" And underneath Miss Funk's pep-talk were four words I had heard but never put together before: "Don't worry. Be happy."

But those words were easier said than done. Especially in this new town. The school consisted of two separate buildings, each one a long hallway with classrooms on either side. The smaller building was for the Kindergarten and 1st grade classes, and was were my sister went to school. The bigger building had 2nd-5th grade classes, generally with just one or two teachers to a grade. There was also the cafetorium, where good students were allowed to eat on the stage with the principal during lunch and the library, with one of the nicest librarians I had ever met. The two buildings ran parallel to each other until the kindergarten building ran short. The remainder of this space was filled with the playgrounds and the new PE building. I quickly learned that the main difference between an inner-city school and a small town school is viciousness. In the city, kids weren't too concerned with your problems because they had plenty of their own. But here everyone knew everyone. Unless they didn't know you, in which case you were not to be trusted. But somehow, they still had a knack for finding out your personal business. "See that short kid? He lives down the street from the school." "I heard he was too smart for The City to teach him so they had to move here." "If he's so smart, why hasn't he already learned cursive?" "His grandma goes to my church and my dad says he's from a broken home." "I heard he doesn't even have a mom." "No, he does, but she lives with another woman." "My dad says that's evil."

The boys of my class all played together under the rule of Trent and Hunter, the two "cool" kids who always knew what was best because they were the best athletes. The boys played soccer during recess and when I turned down the offer on my first day I became an instant outcast. So I spent much of my recess reading books from the library and sitting in places where other kids weren't likely to bother me. Today I was in the middle of the merry-go-round reading Ramona the Brave. I'd already finished all of the Roald Dahl I could find, and since I told her that Matilda was my favorite the librarian had lead me to Beverly Cleary. Deep in my book, I was surprised to find two blond pigtails reading over my shoulder.
"I have that book! Do you like it?"
I was still in a state of shock, but when I realized it was just Elizabeth from class and not someone else I relaxed.
"Yeah, it's really funny. This is my 3rd Ramona book so far."
She looked over at the blacktop nearby where several other girls were waiting, including Amy and Amber who I recognized from class. They must have been waiting for Elizabeth to scope me out because they quickly joined us once she waved them over. The merry-go-round had 6 handles and was divided into 3 colors: red, blue, and yellow. I sat in the middle with Elizabeth on the red slice behind me, Amy sat down on blue, Amber on yellow and a few more girls filling in the gaps who I didn't recognize.
"Why are you reading a girl's book?" Amber asked just as she sat down. I clutched the book to my chest for fear they might take it, "Just 'cause it's about a girl doesn't mean I can't read it, too!" Amy let one of her legs drag through the dirt as the wind lazily spun us.
"Why don't you play soccer or basketball with the boys?"
"Because boys are stupid. And I hate sports."
"But you are a boy!"
"So? I'm not stupid."
This proclamation seemed to hang in the air just as Trent scored a goal over at the soccer field. The boys all cheered, despite the fact that there was no goalie and no actual "goal" to speak of, seemingly proving my point.
"Do you want to help us push?" Elizabeth was off the merry-go-round, her hands on the rails and ready to go.
"What do I do with my book?" I asked. The girls giggled until Amy replied, "Why don't we set it down over here where it can't get dirty?" indicating the edge of the dirt-box we were in.
"Okay."

We spent the rest of recess running, spinning and laughing, particularly at the boys. For the next few weeks life was good, on the playground at least. I couldn't do anything that was strictly "girls only" such as eat lunch together or hang out after school, but I was the only boy they ever allowed to play with them and I took it as a great compliment. I was always willing to be the dad when we played house, I was the best at hopscotch, and I knew just as many clap-songs as the rest of them thanks to my sister, such as "Miss Mary Mack", "The Baby in the Bathtub" and the mildly explicit "Hell-o Operator." Of course, none of this went unnoticed by the boys. Now I was the short sissy kid who read too much and played with girls.

Something was bound to happen.