Breakfast with Neruda by Laura Moe

mouthful of braces walked into Mrs. Peterson’s fourth-period sixth-grade language arts class. I noticed the look Billy Meeks shot to Jason Stoddard, as if they were marking him as their territory. I knew the new kid was a goner as soon as I saw him, and Meeks and Stoddard had him in their sights, aiming their rifles at him from the deer stand.
    Mrs. Peterson told us to line up to go to the library for our biweekly visit. Every two weeks on Friday before lunch, one of the secretaries opened the doors to the library, and she snapped at us to sit down and stay quiet. If we wanted to check out a book, we had to wait for the secretary to boot up the computer at the desk. The school once had a librarian, but when she retired, the school didn’t replace her. The only other time we got to use the library was on rainy days after lunch or when Mrs. Peterson insisted they let her class visit. I was secretly in love with Mrs. Peterson.
    I sidled up to the new kid in line and said, “Hey, I’m Michael.”
    “Rick,” he said. He shook my hand.
    Just then Billy purposely shoved me against Rick with his shoulder, knocking us both against the wall. “Oh, so sorry, your major Faggotism,” Billy said. He leered at Rick, then me. “I see you finally found a boyfriend.”
    On the way down the steps, Rick asked, “Who is that?”
    “The school asshole. Or at least the biggest asshole in sixth grade.”
    We purposely sat far away from them in the library, but Billy and Jason shot us looks the whole time. I sat with Rick at lunch at the table where other misfits sat: a couple of gamer guys, a boy who always picked his nose, and two girls from band who only talked to each other. None of us were friends, per se, but in the lunchroom, if we sat together, the sheer number of us somehow protected our group. We were safe until we got released to the dreaded playground. Every day I prayed for rain so we would be allowed to either go to the library or the gym.
    I never went to the gym; it was an open savanna for bully targets. The other geeks and I always opted for the library, and those twenty minutes were kind of a slice of heaven for me. Even though the magazines were old and the pages of the paperbacks yellowed, being in the company of the printed word made me feel whole. It still does. So even though I suck at science and math, my English teachers have always loved me.
    But this day was not one of those lucky rainy days. The new kid and I were destined to meet our dooms on the playground with the other losers. Somehow I knew Rick the Redhead would be the chief target today. He was new, a distraction, new blood. Like on the savanna, fresh blood provided temptation.
    “Listen,” I told Rick, “these kids are going to mess with you.”
    “Yeah, I kind of figured that,” he said. “It’s the redhead thing. And the braces.”
    “And you don’t weigh much more than a sack of potatoes.”
    He laughed. “You’re one to talk.”
    “Too bad we don’t have superpowers.” I said. “Or swords or laser beams.”
    “True, but I have a better weapon,” he said. “Just watch.”
    As if on cue, Billy and his tribe sauntered over to the corner of the building where Rick and I stood. They were careful to watch for the teacher on duty, made sure she was not watching. “Hey, Ugly,” Billy said to me. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new faggot friend?”
    We both ignored him, and he shoved me into the wall. I expected to feel a fist in my face, but as soon as Billy lifted his arm to punch me, Rick let out a bloodcurdling scream that could have been on the soundtrack of
A Nightmare on Elm Street
. He wailed so loud the entire playground stopped, and everyone looked. I put my hands over my ears. I was surprised the screeching didn’t break glass. Billy and his friends also covered their ears and backed way, but the teacher on duty caught Billy’s arm and asked what was going on.
    “N . . . nothing,” Billy said. “He just