Date: Sun, 12 Dec 2004 23:50:04 -0800
From: RC in Sacramento <sacwriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: Munchkin, Chapter 15

This is a work of fiction. It depicts the often sexual relationship between
two young girls. If this offends you or if you're not old enough to be
reading this stuff, then get out NOW. If, however, you're where you want to
be, then enjoy.

			 MUNCHKIN
			 Chapter 15
			by Sacwriter

	Joe was now convinced that the entire student population of Roosevelt High
had somehow doubled over the holiday. The hallways in particular seemed to
be packed, with throngs of jostling and elbowing teenagers flocking the
passages between classes, jammed so tightly together it was hard to breath,
much less stand up. And most of them, according to the insistent crawling on
the back of his neck, were secretly watching him.
	*Okay, paranoia time, that was way over the top,* he told himself firmly.
He knew that to almost everybody in this place he was still the same
nonentity he had always been. They didn't know and could care less about him
and the insane little drama that his life had become. He kept telling
himself that, over and over again, but it didn't seem to matter to the back
of his neck. He still felt the weight of all of those eyes.
	Someone shoved him from behind, and Joe felt himself duck as if he had been
hit. Nothing else followed, so he decided it hadn't been an attack, just
somebody being rude. He had an almost overwhelming urge to find a classroom
or a broom closet or even just a hole to crawl into, but instead he forced
himself to continue on, instinctively staying close to the wall so that at
least that side of him would be protected. He sighed with relief when he
finally made it to his locker, searching the crowd quickly for the presence
of waiting enemies before he approached.
	Damn, what a day. He felt his shoulders loosen as he worked the
combination, then swore when he got it wrong and had to start over again.
Thank God it was almost half over. He had just finished third period French
and was on his way to lunch, where he'd be able to hook up with Becka and
Gia again. At least then he'd be able to sit down and let his stomach
unclench, get something to eat and maybe--
	"Dude--"
	Joe yelped at the hand that grasped his arm, pulled away and threw himself
to the side, backpedaling until he stumbled over his own feet and fell to
the floor. He felt his heart pound like a trip hammer, as he stared up at
the shocked face of his best friend, Milo.
	"Jeez, Joe, what--?"
	Joe let out an explosive breath, then held his hand out to the other boy.
Milo took it gingerly, helping him to his feet while shooting him a question
with his eyes.
	"Forget it, Milo. I'm just stressed out a little, is all." Even to his own
ears, he sounded tired.
	"Dude, my Dad is stressed. You're just plain fuckin' freakin'. So whuzzup,
man? Harper and his stormtroopers still on your case?"
	"Yeah. Yeah, something like that." As he said it he couldn't help but look
around nervously, as if afraid that just mentioning his name could summon
Gary Harper. As if Harper was Joe's very own private curse, or something.

       The morning hadn't started out this way, at least he hadn't been a
total wreck when he had gotten out of bed. He had had breakfast with the
girls and left with them for school, feeling a little anxious but on the
whole he had been okay. In fact, he had been almost convinced that he would
actually manage to survive this week after all.
       Becka had even come through with his equalizer. In the car she had
presented him with a small plastic box that looked like an electronic pager,
complete with a belt clip and what he had at first taken to be a wrist
strap. But when the blonde girl had handed the `pager' to him, she had
pulled the strap and it had popped out, setting off a deafening electronic
wail, one so loud that even outdoors it had pierced his ears and made his
teeth clench. He had been startled and had panicked, tossing the screeching
little box from hand to hand as if it were red hot, finally throwing it into
the back seat and right onto Gia's lap. Gia had responded with a cry and
then attempted to jump to her feet, not succeeding due to still having her
seatbelt fastened. Instead, she managed to pop the personal alarm off her
lap and down onto the floor mats of the back seat.
	The next few minutes made Joe think of a Buster Keaton marathon he had seen
on late night TV. Gia was screaming, struggling to get out of her seat and
reach the alarm somewhere down at her feet, while Becka was scrambling over
the back of the seat and falling into the other girl's lap, smacking their
heads together painfully on the way down. Joe, meanwhile, had wisely leaped
over the unopened door of the convertible and was scrabbling on all fours
across the driveway as fast as he could. When he finally managed to regain
his feet some yards away from the car he could only stand there staring,
watching the girls apparently wrestling in the backseat, trying to put the
strap back into the box before someone called the police and things got
really messy.
	Joe saw Becka finally pop up with the shrieking box in one hand and the
strap in the other. She quickly fitted them together, and blessed silence
suddenly descended on them like a blanket. Gia had managed to release
herself and climb to her knees on the rear seat, from where she glared
angrily at her sibling. For the first time ever Joe saw Becka with a
sheepish look on her face, which was so ludicrous that he had to fight the
sudden, insane urge to laugh. Something told him that laughing at Becka
Jackson right now would be a bad, bad idea.
	Before any acrimonious words could be spoken the sound of running footsteps
was heard, as the three Cameron brothers came pounding around the corner of
the garage. They stopped just shy of slamming into the back fender of the
Mustang, their eyes searching for the source of danger to their sisters. A
few seconds later their father arrived, barefoot and wearing nothing but a
pair of boxers and a hastily thrown on robe, a baseball bat gripped in one
hand. His disheveled hair and the way he was blinking in the bright morning
light made it obvious that he had been asleep when the alarm had gone off.
	"What?! What the hell's going on out here?" he demanded, looking at his
sons who could only shrug in reply. Gia shook her head and looked disgusted,
jerking a silent thumb at Becka, who was turning a bright, crimson red. Joe
had to turn away, so that he could cover his mouth. It was a real struggle
to keep his shoulders from shaking.
	A quickly mumbled explanation followed, which Joe couldn't hear, but he
could guess at its content close enough. When it was done Phil snorted,
handed his bat to Johnny, and then grabbed the small box from Becka's hands.
He stalked over to where Joe was standing, stopped, and held the box up in
front of the boy's eyes. The words he spoke came out clipped and annoyed.
	"This is a personal alarm. As you probably noticed it's very loud, about a
hundred and thirty decibels. You wear it on your belt, just like a pager,
and you use it to scare off bad guys.
	"There's a pin attached to this strap, that fits into a hole on the top.
Pull the pin, the alarm goes off. Put it back in, the alarm goes silent.
It's a handy tool for defense, and giving it to you was a good idea." Phil
paused, to look pointedly over is shoulder at Becka. "It was not a good idea
to play with it outside my window at seven in the morning!"
	The big man spun around then and bulled his way through the snickering
group of Cameron sons, and disappeared back into their home. Becka shot her
brothers a glare hard enough to cut glass, while Gia just shook her head and
climbed into the front seat. She slid in behind the steering wheel and said,
"I think I'd better drive today."
			* * *
	The ride to school had been fun, the three teens laughing at the mornings'
little calamity, even Becka joining in after a while. When they finally
pulled into the school parking lot Joe had almost forgotten about his
worries for the day, and about the dangers that had haunted him since last
week. He should have known better. He should have known that safety was an
illusion, as temporary and frail as a soap bubble.
	They were sitting in the parking lot killing some time before the first
bell rang, the three of them in no hurry to end the closeness they were
sharing. Joe was sitting on the top of the car door, his feet inside the
Mustang, resting on his book bag so as not to scuff the leather seat. He was
telling a joke about a teacher that he and Gia had in common, when he saw
the startled look come over her face. It was the only warning he got, before
two hands from behind suddenly shoved him forward and into the car. His arms
flailing frantically, Joe barely caught himself in time to keep from falling
face first into the steering wheel, then felt Gia's strong little hands grab
him by his shoulders and help him right himself. With a sinking, sickening
feeling he heard the voice of Gary Harper laughing from behind him.
	He should have known.
	"Hey, faggot! I'm surprised to see you here. Hell, after what you did last
Friday, I never would've believed you'd show your face around here again."
	"Leave him alone, asshole! You mess with Joe, and you mess with us, and you
know you don't want to do that." Becka had already vaulted from the car and
was standing in the parking lot, glaring at a grinning Harper and his two
henchmen. Her hands were clenched into fists, and her whole body language
was shouting that she was ready for a fight.
	But Harper raised his hands and backed up, grinning. "Hey, no problem,
Jackson. Just wanted to say hi to our little friend, here. Hey, Munchkin,
how's it hanging? I heard you were painting your house this week. Want some
help?"
	Apparently Harper's friends, Matt Ingles and Ronnie Hooker, thought he was
hilarious. Their laughter was an ugly sound, with an edge of cruelty to it.
Now it was Gia's turn to scowl.
	"So you admit that you're the one who trashed Joe's house?" she snapped at
him, angrily.
	"Hey, who said I did anything like that, huh? Why, that would be illegal,
wouldn't it?"
	"Yeah, then what about that crack about Joe's house needing to be painted?
How'd you know that if you aren't the one who vandalized his place?" she
accused.
	"I drove down his street and I saw it." Harper cast a malicious look right
at Joe. "Everybody saw it."
	Joe felt like the ground beneath him was yawning open wide, felt himself
falling and being swallowed up. The confidence that the Camerons had helped
him build up piece by painful piece, he now saw for the hollow bravado it
was. Empty words, with nothing to back them up. Once again, he smelled the
dirty tiles of the restroom, felt the cold air on his bare buttocks. Even
with his two `bodyguards' right beside him, Gary Harper could still reduce
him to a bowl of quivering jelly with just a few sneering words.
	God, why did he have to be so afraid? Why was he always such a coward?

       "Nobody here is impressed by your trash talk, Harper. Stay away from
Joe, or you'll be dealing with us. I'm not going to tell you a second time."
Becka's words were somehow soft and hard at the same time. Something about
them must have finally penetrated Harper's shell of cockiness. His face lost
its smug grin, but before he and the other two left he cast one final taunt
at the boy in the convertible.
       "Someday, Munchkin, when you're not hiding behind a couple of girls.
Then we'll finish this."
       Gia watched as the trio of bad news disappeared into the crowds
around the front door, frowning, thinking about something Harper had said.
But then she looked at Joe and the thought was quickly shelved for later.
Their friend was sitting hunched over next to her, his head hanging down and
staring fixedly at the floor. His body was shivering, as if the warm spring
breeze had turned into a cold winter wind.
       "Joe?" she said, and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. But the
boy jerked at her touch, and she snatched her hand away as if burned.

       They walked Joe to his first class, and then waited until he had gone
inside. Before heading off to their own classes, Gia spoke to Becka about
what had been troubling her.
       "Remember the first thing Harper said, about how surprised he was
that Joe would even show up after what he had done? What Joe had done, as if
he was the one who did something wrong. What do you think he meant by that?"
       Becka sighed, her experience with the Harpers of the world showing in
the weariness of the sound.
       "I think that punk is covering his ass. In case Joe ever goes to the
police about trying to rape him. He's putting a different spin on things, in
case you and I try telling what we saw last week."
       Gia looked up at her sister, and as usual for them she heard much
more than the spoken words. And what she heard now was stirring an uneasy
feeling of foreboding for their friend.
			* * *
	Joe was aware that Milo was watching him now while he finished opening his
locker and stowing his books. He couldn't blame his friend for staring, not
after the way he had freaked out when Milo had approached him. Still, there
was something about how the other boy was looking at him that was getting on
his nerves, something speculative, that reminded him of the looks he had
been imagining all morning. It made him wonder, if maybe he hadn't been as
paranoid as he had thought.
	When he was done Joe slammed his locker door extra hard, making a sound
like a gunshot and causing Milo to jump. Joe glared at him with one eyebrow
raised in a question, waiting. Milo fidgeted, before finally asking, "What?"
	"You tell me, `what', Milo. People have been staring at me all morning,
like I just grew a second head or something. I thought it was just my
imagination, but now you're doing it, too. So what gives, dammit? Why is
everybody looking funny at me?"
	Milo looked away from his friend and rubbed the back of his neck. He seemed
to be thinking it over, before he made a decision and returned Joe's look
with a sigh.
	"Okay, I'm not buying into it, you unnerstand. And neither is anybody else,
least not the people what knows you. But that asshole Harper and the
catamite twins, they been sayin' stuff about you. About what happened after
school last Friday."
	 "What... what have you heard, then? What have they been saying about me?"
	"Man... they're saying that, like, after school they cornered you in the
bathroom. They said they was gonna beat the crap outta you, but you cried
and begged them not to. And they said that you, uh, you offered to suck `em
off if they'd let you go. Jeez, man, don't look at me like that! I dint say
I believed them."
       A feeling of cold unreality seemed to well up inside of Joe, a sense
of something so bizarre about to happen, that it couldn't possibly have
anything to do with him. He looked at his friend through eyes that were
beginning to blur around the edges, and realized that he wasn't breathing.
When he had resolved that problem he forced himself to think coldly about
what Milo had just told him, and what the ramifications to him were. He
quickly decided that the ramifications sucked big time.
	"There's more, isn't there, Milo? What else are they saying?"
	"Man.. they saying that Becka Jackson busted into the boy's room and found
you like that, like on your knees, man. On your knees, begging to suck
Harper an' Matt Ingles off. They saying she dragged you outta there, an' all
the while they was laughin' at you."
	Horror, shock, a cold dread and bitterness. The wild emotions played
through his body like cards being laid on the table, one by one, each new
one overlapping the old. Over it all was the sick realization that Gary
Harper had effectively trumped him, that he couldn't even go to the police
now. It was his word against the three of theirs, and even Becka couldn't
testify to what really happened before she burst through that door. And if
he did tell what really happened, his own isolation in this school would
guarantee that most people would believe Harper over him, anyway.
	With a sinking feeling Joe realized the inevitable. In the eyes of the
entire school, he had just been exposed as an even greater victim than ever.
If his life was hell before, than what would it be like now?
	Milo must have seen the tattered play of emotions across his face. The
other boy reached out and lay a hand on his shoulder, leaning close. "Dude..."
	Whatever supportive words he was going to say where lost, as a sudden,
overwhelming impact from behind sent them both slamming into the metal wall
of lockers with a bang. A raucous, jeering voice told him that the hell he
had been fearing had just begun.
	"Get a room, you fucking little homos!"
	Joe recognized the blond hair and acne scarred face of Ray Nestor, another
predator that had made his life oh so interesting at Roosevelt High.
Although not a constant threat like Harper was, at 6' 2" Nestor towered over
him by more than a foot. And even though he had always fought back whenever
Nestor had laid hands on him, Joe had never been able to inflict enough
damage to discourage further assaults.
	Nestor was already turning away, as if the violence had been a casual
thing. Sucker punches from the safety of a crowd, a tripping foot in the
hallway, or body checking a victim from behind. Joe remembered that drive by
savagery like that was Ray's M.O. Was this what he had to look forward to
now, assholes like Nestor taking cheap shots at him all day long?
	Bitterness swelled his throat to the point of choking. He glared after Ray
Nestor, who was already swaggering down the hallway, even as Milo bent close
and hissed urgently into his ear.
	"Man, you gotta do something! Don't let that asshole just walk away like
that. After what Harper's been sayin' `bout you, if you let anybody push you
`round, then you gonna be everybody's bitch from now on. You'll be finished
here, man."
	Milo grabbed his arm, but Joe just pulled it away, refusing to meet his
gaze. What was the use? What the hell was the fucking use?
	Milo stared at him for a while, searching, and apparently not liking what
he found. But he was much too good a friend than to turn away. Instead, he
stepped out into the middle of the hall and shouted as loud as he could.
	"Hey Nestor, you pock marked son of a bitch! You got the balls to pull shit
like that when somebody's looking you in that ugly face of yours? Or are you
such a chicken shit that you can't fight somebody when they might hit back?"
	  Nestor had stopped to talk to someone, and so he hadn't gone that far.
Now he stood, staring back at Milo incredulously. An empty space had formed
around them, as the rest of the passing crowd became aware of the
confrontation. In the mysterious way of mobs everywhere they had sprung up
at the first hint of violence and blood, and no one would interfere, Joe
knew, at least not until after the spectacle was over.
	"Yeah, bitch, I'm talkin' to you! You the ugliest dude in the whole school,
you know that? You got a face that looks like the bottom of my shoe. You're
so ugly, when you was born your Momma slapped you!"
	Milo was enthusiastically throwing himself into taunting Ray Nestor. He was
dancing on the balls of his feet with barely suppressed energy, shifting
from side to side, ready to run in any direction when Nestor came after him.
When, not if. It was obvious that Milo was ridiculing the bigger boy on
purpose, trying to show his friend that you didn't have to roll over and
take it when the animals came for you.
	Joe saw the look of rage on Ray Nestor's acne pitted face, as the oversized
bully started to bear done on them. Milo started to backpedal preparatory to
full out and out flight, but for some inexplicable reason Nestor's fury had
a different affect on Joe. His flip flopping emotions took one last turn,
the choking bitterness making that extra step to becoming a rage of his own.
	Three and a half years of taunts, of attacks, of pain and humiliation and
paralyzing fear, all burst apart like a breeching dam. Despite the
overwhelming feelings flooding through his body, there was also a cold
reptilian part of his brain that still maintained clarity. Joe remembered
everything that George had taught him yesterday about fighting, and he put
it to good use now. With a roaring in his ears that drowned out all other
sound, he took three running steps toward the oncoming Ray Nestor, dodged
left on the fourth, ducked low under the reaching arms and threw a perfect
right hand punch to the older boy's midsection. Every ounce of weight and
pent up bit of emotion he had was focused on the apex of his fist, and Joe
screamed as it sank almost six inches deep into Nestor's belly. For an
instant Joe was sure he had actually touched backbone.
	Ray's breath left his body in an explosive grunt, his face turning bright
red as he sank bonelessly to the floor. Joe danced away, every muscle and
nerve thrumming like a base string, his blood singing with an adrenaline
high. He waited, prepared for the other boy to get up and continue the
fight, then realized that wasn't going to happen. At the same time he
noticed how silent the crowd had gotten. He slowly stepped towards the
kneeling bully who had caused him so much grief in the past, and enjoyed the
sweet sensation of finally looking down on him.
	It happened right then, at that one moment in time. It was as if the whole
world had gotten up and shifted a half inch to the left, and now everything
was changed. The silence of the crowd told him that they were all aware of
the change, too. In their eyes, in his eyes, he was no longer weak, no
longer the victim. No longer the Munchkin.
	But now he had to make sure that the world didn't shift back. Joe leaned
forward, his voice an uncompromising growl that carried easily to the rest
of the crowd.
	"You will never, ever, lay a hand on me again, Ray. You will not talk to
me, talk about me, or even look at me cross eyed. If I ever get any more
crap out of you, I will make you eat it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
	He saw the defiance in Nestor's eyes, knew it was going to happen when the
kneeling boy made a weak grab for him. Joe dodged it easily, then reached
out and grabbed Ray's thumb and bent it backwards. He twisted it viciously,
wringing a squeal of pain from his former tormentor as he forced Nestor off
his knees and onto his back. When he leaned forward this time his face was
within a foot of Ray's.
	"I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!!"
	Nestor closed his eyes and nodded, but when Joe gave his thumb another
twist he quickly squeaked out a "YES!" that could be undeniably heard by the
gathered crowd. Joe let go of his hand and gave it a rough toss, as if
throwing away a piece of disgusting garbage. He rose and turned, striding
purposely away. From behind him he could hear the sound of adult voices,
some of the faculty finally showing up to find out what the disturbance was,
late as usual. But he also heard a much younger voice whoop, and someone
else shout "Yeah!" in approval.

	Instead of going on to the cafeteria Joe turned down a side corridor
instead, one that was almost empty. He was peering into classrooms, trying
to find one that was empty, when Milo finally caught up to him and grabbed
his shoulder.
	"DUDE! Damn, man, you was awesome. You a freakin' Jackie Chan, man, you--"
	The pain hit Joe like a sledge hammer, exploding from his shoulder and all
the way down to his toes so fast he barely kept from screaming out loud. He
pulled away from Milo's startled grasp, then groped for the door of the
classroom he had been checking out. He stumbled inside, saw that it was one
of the science labs and, thank God, empty. The suddenly concerned Milo
followed him inside, carefully closing the door behind him.
	"Joe, are you hurt? Shit, man, are you hurt? Can you make it to the office,
or do you want me to go get somebody? Look, I'll, I'll get the nurse, okay?
Jeez, Joe, you sit down, I'll go get some help, I'll be right back--"
	"Milo, will you just shut the hell up!?" Joe snapped, leaning against the
back wall with a sigh. He took a deep, slow breath, and in a calmer voice he
said, "Look, go to the cafeteria, okay? Find Becka and Gia and bring them
back here. Don't let anybody else know something's wrong, you got that?"
	"Yeah, yeah I got it. But Joe, what...?"
	Joe gritted his teeth before answering. "Tell them I think I broke my arm."

	According to the clock on the wall, Milo was only gone seven minutes, but
it seemed a hell of a lot longer to Joe. By the time the door to the
classroom clicked open to admit Milo and the Cameron sisters, he had slid to
a seat on the floor and was biting his lip to keep from moaning in pain. In
a second Gia was kneeling down beside him, one cool hand lightly touching
his sweaty face.
	"Hey, tough guy. How you doing?" Becka asked softly, as she bent over her
sisters' shoulder. She gave him a reassuring smile which he tried to return,
but the throbbing in his shoulder turned it into a wince.
	"Oh, I've been better. I had a little run in with Ray Nestor." Gia had
already unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it aside to examine his injury. She
probed his shoulder with gentle fingers, that still made the breath hiss
through his teeth.
	Becka was scowling. "Milo told us. Did Nestor do this to you, Joe?" she
asked, sharply.
	"Shoot, more like Joe did this to him. You shoulda seen it, m'man here
punched ol' scar face Ray right in the gut, dropped him to his knees! Then
he tells Nestor to leave him alone, or else, and he does it in front of the
whole freakin' school. I swear, people was cheerin', man. You da man, Joe.
You da man."
	"I'm a man with a broken shoulder, you asshole," Joe grumbled.
	"No, you're not," Gia announced, buttoning his shirt back up and then
sitting back on her heels. "You've just dislocated it. This happens a lot at
the dojo, all you need is to just pop it right back in and put an ice pack
on it. I've seen Daddy do it lots of times. We can take you down to the
nurses' office, and she'll give you a pass to go to the hospital. You'll be
fine in a day or so."
	"NO, you can't do that!" Milo broke in, distressed. "You can't take him to
the nurses' office. If you do that, everybody'll know he got hurt.
Everything he gained today, he gonna lose if this gets out."
	Gia frowned. "Milo, Joe's got a dislocated shoulder. The only thing that
gains you is a new appreciation of how much you can hurt."
	"He did a lot more'n that. Look, you heard the trash talk Harper and his
asswipes been sayin' about Joe, right?" Gia scowled, but nodded. "Well,
after beatin' up Nestor, Joe put the lie to a lotta that. By the end of the
day, word's gonna get around and the guys like Nestor and Harper are gonna
think twice about messin' with Joe. And most people'll decide that Harper's
full of shit. But if they hear Joe hurt himself worse'n he hurt Nestor..."
	"I'll just be a target again," Joe said, grimly.
	Gia looked at her sister, who nodded back, agreeing with the two boys. She
frowned, knowing what they wanted her to do, then shrugged.
	"Okay, if you all think we have to do this, I think I can pop his shoulder
back in. But it's going to hurt like hell. We could use a distraction." She
looked pointedly at Becka, and after a few seconds of the silent
communication Joe had witnessed before, it ended with the blonde girl
rolling her eyes and sighing in annoyance.
	Becka rose to her feet, jerked her thumb at the door and told Milo, "Out."
	Milo looked like he wanted to argue, but the look on Beckas' face changed
his mind. Becka followed him to the door, and then pointedly locked it after
he was gone. When she returned, Gia was already standing over the seated
Joe, having taken his hand in both of hers and gently pulling it out
straight as far as it would go. Joe's face was tight around the mouth, as he
tried to ignore the pain, or to at least not disgrace himself in front of
his friends.
	"Hey Joe, did you ever see an old movie called `Thunderbolt and
Lightfoot'?" Becka's tone was cheerful and bantering, and Joe remembered how
she was supposed to distract him when Gia popped his arm back into its
socket. He sure hoped she'd do something more distracting than talk about
old movies!
	"Yeah, I've seen it. Clint Eastwood and Beau Bridges. They're bank robbers
who use a '49 Mercury as a getaway car. They wrecked it."
	"God, you really are a motorhead, aren't you? I bet you can tell me every
other car they wrecked in that movie, too."
	"A '73 Trans Am, a '71 Buick Riviera, and a 1970 Plymouth Fury. But I take
it you wanted to talk about the scene where Clint has a dislocated shoulder
and tries to pop it back in all by himself?"
	"You got it, slick. Clint uses Beau Bridges' belt to tie his arm to a tree,
and then he throws himself backwards as hard as he can. Must've hurt like
hell. I wouldn't have done it that way."
	"Oh, yeah? So just, uhhh. Just how would you have done it if you were
there?" Joe grunted as Gia placed her foot into the crook of his arm,
seating it gently but firmly as she tightened her grip on his hand. He knew
what was about to come, but he found himself getting caught up in the
conversation despite himself.
	"If I was there, I'd probably have done something like this." Becka
abruptly turned around, bent over and pulled down her pants, mooning him.
	Joe goggled, like a deer caught in the headlights. He couldn't believe what
he was see--"
	KA-POPP!
	Joe gasped at the sudden, sharp pain that temporarily blinded him with
flashes of red and yellow. By the time he had blinked away the tears from
his eyes, Becka had already turned around and was once again facing him,
fully dressed. The throbbing pain in his arm was all but gone, too. The
whole incident left him with a sense of unreality, doubting it had really
happened.
	Becka smiled and held out her hand. Using his left hand he took it, and let
the tall girl boost him to his feet. She watched as he tentatively rotated
and flexed his arm, then nodded when he felt only a dull soreness. She
grinned, and ruffled his hair affectionately, then bent down and whispered
in his ear.
	"And if you ever, ever mention this to anyone..." She let the threat trail
off, unspoken. Joe shook his head before answering.
	"Don't worry. Who would believe it?"

	Out in the now empty hall the girls led the way, instinctively acting as a
forward guard for their injured friend. Joe hung back, talking quietly to
Milo. As they opened the doors and crossed into the crowded cafeteria, the
girls both heard Milo exclaim.
	"A thong?!  You're shittin' me!"
	Gia laughed out loud. Becka rolled her eyes and shook her head disgustedly.
			* * *
	The rest of the school day went by in a blur for Joe. He was extremely self
conscious of the eyes that seemed to stare at him from almost everywhere,
and the whispered conversations that stopped when he looked at the parties
doing the whispering. The feeling all the attention engendered was akin to
what he had been experiencing all morning, but without the sense of
paranoia. Instead, he was feeling extremely self conscious and, well,
embarrassed.
	First off Sammie, Justine and Kelly had saved a table for them. They had
been open and happy to see Joe, but none of them seemed to have heard about
the fight between him and Ray Nestor. But that soon changed, when the D&D
Kings came bustling over, bursting with the need to tell the story.
Introductions were made, and soon Milo and the Kings were regaling all five
girls with an only slightly exaggerated version of the fight that only Milo
had seen. The girls were all delighted, and the Kings were enjoying
themselves immensely. Joe just wished he could disappear.
	Or at least he did, until he noticed how Sammie Waters was looking at him.
	His last three classes went by in a haze, his mind still preoccupied with
the `half inch to the left' shift that the universe had accomplished. In the
hallways, people who would have hassled him before hurried past, avoiding
his gaze. Others who he didn't know or who had pointedly ignored him in the
past, grinned at him and nodded. Apparently Ray Nestor had not been well
liked, and there were plenty of people who were glad to see him lose for a
change.
	When the last bell rang Joe hurried outside to the parking lot, anxious to
meet the girls and talk over the day with him. He got to the Mustang before
his two friends, threw his books in the back seat and waited, scanning the
crowd for their faces. He spotted them at the same time they saw him, and he
waved his arm, smiling. They hurried up to where he was standing, but just
before they reached him he heard a voice shout from over to his right.
	"Hey, Munchkin!"
	Harper, Ingles and Hooker stood in the lot, not fifty feet away from where
Joe waited. Harper was grinning at him. Cocky, superior. Cruel. As Becka and
Gia caught sight of the confrontation and started to hurry forward, Harper
made a gun out of his finger and pointed it at Joe. He let the `hammer' fall
and jerked his hand as if it had just fired, then laughed when he saw Joe
flinch. He turned around and walked unhurriedly away, disappearing into the
parking lot even as the Cameron sisters arrived.
	"Joe?"
	The roaring noise was back in his ears, along with the sound of cruel
laughter echoing off dirty tile walls. He smelled the scent of disinfectant
and mildew and pink handsoap. He felt the coldness seeping into his belly
like a liquid metal.
	"Joe?"
	The universe shifted another half inch, but this time back to its old
position. Everything was the same as it had been before. Nothing had changed
after all. Nothing.

(continued)