Humor

Brady’s World: Journal Entry Five

Dear journal, you know how everyone says that December brings magic and beauty and goodwill to all? Well, if that’s the case, then January is the month that all of that wonder dies a horrendous and gruesome death. You may say I’m being overly cynical, future world dictators do seem to tend that direction, but this last week is a perfect example.

As if it wasn’t bad enough to be going back to school after Christmas, it was made even worse by having to walk. Anyone else probably would have called off school for multiple feet of snow, but Principal Telsher grew up a homeschooler and, out of spite, has officially outlawed snow days for Forestwood Middle School. So, while the bus drivers got a day off, the rest of us trekked through the town in our too-thin coats, half blinded by the snow.

By the time I got inside, the rest of the class was already huddled up against the radiator in the corner. Not wanting to die of hypothermia, I wriggled my way into the heart of the tiny mob, firmly positioning my left ankle to successfully soak in a square inch worth of heat right between Suzanne’s elbow and Kevin’s right ear.

“Why is your sleeve rolled up? You’ll get frostbite!” I said, straining my neck to look over at Suzanne in disbelief.

Suzanne shivered in indignation, something I hadn’t even known was possible, and angled herself so we could see her better through the pile of bodies. “I don’t want to risk my new dress snagging on the radiator,” she said, giving the smooth purple fabric a little flick. “My dad gave it to me for Christmas when he came to visit.”

Kevin’s eyes grew wide. “Your dad came to visit?”

“For a whole week!” I’m not sure if it was the cold messing with my vision, but Suzanne seemed to glow as she said it.

Not surprisingly, when Mrs. Scramptor (yes, that’s her real name) came into the room and found her class crowded in the corner, she wasn’t generous enough to say that class would take place beside the radiator that day. Something like that would only happen in December, not January, so instead, we huddled behind our desks, little patches of skin growing red in protest to the frosty air once again. In fact, it was so cold in the classroom, that the whole class still looked slightly diseased with red marks by the time we finally made our way to lunch. Which would have been fine… if the pack of eighth graders hadn’t entered the lunch room just then.

“The Dull Droll Troll club,” I whispered, keeping them in my sights as we hurried to the lunch line. “Walk carefully.”

By the time we had gotten a serving’s worth of ketchup and mustard covered slop plunked on our trays and left the line, I let myself breathe again. The eighth graders were far behind us now. 

“Hey, you!”

Well, not that far behind us. We turned slowly to gawk up at a massive brute of a kid, at least sixteen, with stubble poking out threateningly from his chin and upper lip and two more stubbly beasts posted on either side of him.

“What’s with your face?” asked the brute, snarling as he poked at Kevin’s still red ear. Kevin flinched and pulled back, the rest of his face reddening on que to hide the seemingly diseased ear. “You’ll have to walk sideways if you want to guide a sleigh any time soon, you little dweeb,” he growled, his grin growing to show rotten teeth as his two goons cackled. 

Now, normally, this would be the part of the story where I’d do something stupid that gets my face pounded into the ground, but this time, I didn’t have to. Instead, Suzanne of all people, the girl who once called the ambulance when we were in kindergarten to check Kevin’s mental state, stepped between him and the beasts, brandishing her lunch tray like a weapon. “Leave him alone, you big oaf!”

“Make me.”

What happened next went so fast that all I saw was a flash of ketchup and mustard in the air before Suzanne stumbled back, letting out a shriek. Everything in the cafeteria went deathly quiet, as she stared, motionless, down at the red and yellow slop running down her dress. Her dress from her father. Nothing good happens in January. 

With a stifled sob, she dropped her empty tray and raced out of the cafeteria, her hands covering her face. Kevin only took a second to run after her, almost getting hit by the slamming metal door behind her, but the rest of us just stood there, silent.

The rest of the day, I stewed in my seat, righteous rage bubbling up from deep in my gut. The moment school let out, I raced outside and waited by the flagpole, preparing to avenge her. You know how in stories, the bully is only ever a bully because of a hard home life, and they always change their ways when you confront them. Whoever wrote those stories had clearly never been bullied, because if it were true, that confrontation would have gone extremely differently. 

You know, if it had been any month but January, being in the news would be great. But when you’re in the news because it’s the first time since you were in kindergarten an ambulance has been called to the school, and the paramedics find you with your tongue stuck to a flagpole and a mob of eighth graders throwing icy snowballs at you that you can’t exactly dodge, and a photographer for the paper happens to be driving past right at that moment after his last story fell through, then being in the news is not exactly the best thing in the world.

So, by the time I finally stumbled into my dad’s auto shop, almost three hours late, I was just about ready to die. Randy did his best to help with a nice cold coke, but I was so cold and the fizz hurt so much on my raw tongue that if I wasn’t such a manly man, I think I probably would have started bawling. As it was, I started hiccuping instead.

“WhaamIgonnado?” I moaned, feeling about as miserable as the room temperature glass of water I had resigned myself to.

Randy sat across from me comfortingly and considered, his expression grave. “Well, as unnerving as it is, kid, sometimes the best defense is a good offense.”

I thought about that a lot the next few days. Sure, a good offense might also be a good way to get yourself killed, but at this point, what did I have to lose? By the time I made it back to school, eyeing the flagpole warily, I was the definition of determination. No matter how long it took or how many more objects they stuck me to, the Dull Droll Troll club would come to rue to day they made an enemy of Brady Costen.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go ice my tongue.

 

 

 

Photo Credit: Sabina Boyer

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