Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 29
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
Recess ripped that smile of Jake’s face in an instant. For an instant.
A test, yet Jake Jones in a trial was Jake Jones; he smiled and juked and dribbled his way through best he could.
Tribulation or no, Jake smiled. What changed could be seen in the crinkle around his eyes. Too young for wrinkles having traceability, Jake’s crinkling hinted at character roiling inside. A blessing for Jake, his disposition tended toward a boyish joy.
Displaced, Jake’s joy cracked and crumbled into sarcasm: selfish enjoyment buoyed with a sarcastic smile. Expression all right, yet somehow dis-positioned.
Smile or not — with hopes held for twisted pleasure after being corner — Jake faced trouble.
Somehow his “slight, with fight” had him about in one.
With three eighth graders. It seemed they’d come to bother him just because he was slight, and it seemed to bother them that he had fight.
Jake Jones had never come to fists, “fight” — backboned pluckiness — was just part of him.
So, youngest and runtiest on campus or not, Jake didn’t take the time to consult his reflective, concerned side of his psyche when the Three sauntered up and opened mouths only to say, “Hey, Sixth Sense, are you dead … or just short?” Jake decided they’d be facing off.
The stupid comment … being unsure which one said it made no matter to Jones, as they all looked like they meant it and he attributed it to all Three. The actually mouthpiece didn’t affect Jake; he’d clicked into taking down the lot of Them.
Not pausing to hesitate Jake called them out, called a game.
He retorted, “How we going to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Set and settle.”
“Huh?” one of Three grunted, giving a goofy look for his others, lackeys apparently. It appeared doubly goofy to Jake who afforded him no humor. “You’re a weird dude, Six.”
“Yeah,” said lackey said. “Set and settle, what do you even mean …?”
Not throw, Jake said, “Set the teams: and settle. One-on-one. Settle the score, settle the matter. Your stupidity.”
“‘Stupidity?’ That was stupid.”
“One-on-one.” Jake pushed ahead. “Who’s playing?”
“21.”
“One-on-one.” Tall or not, or, better, no matter how short Jake had grown enough to stand and always reach the ground, and he stood tough on the turf. “Who’s playing me?”
“We’re all playing.” Determination descended, revealing itself as clearly as a wolf pack displaying teeth as one in a unison snarl. “21.”
The small dog, Jake fought ferociously for the fairest fight left. “That’s just you three teaming up on me. Come on, who’s playing me, man-to-man? No double, triple teams
“Which one of us did you call stupid?”
“I said stupidity, actually, so—”
“Which one?”
“Well, you’re doing all the talking.”
“Then I’m playing you, punk. Somebody’s got to put you in your place.”
The other two laughed.
Yep. Lackeys.
Tall and lanky, but lackeys.
Feeling fairly certain he was toast anyway, Jake did something stupid of his own, even if it didn’t make a difference. He challenged the other two laughers with an invitation. A game of 21; he’d take ‘em all Three on. One Sixth Sense Grader — whatever that was — against three incensed older kids.
The whole encounter should’ve been an introduction, an amiable invitation to friendship, and an initiator of hours of generously shared and appreciated athletic competition among the boys. It should’ve been a PA of names and a tip of of games.
But it was no game. New kid Jake Jones checked into a basketball battle with the eighth graders — yearly self-appointed kings of school.
Jake stored away the friendship plan and pulled up his life-etched design: scrape and scrap compete mode.
To be continued …
—Billy
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