Damaged Read Free Page B

the comment was directed straight at him, but when he turned, he realized it was Jason Corin, a rough, dirty redneck with an eighties mullet, joking around with one of his own buddies.
    Relieved, Adam turned and continued walking, headed for locker 108 to get his first round of school books. He was almost there and was trying to hurry before the bell rang again. He didn't want to be late like before, when Mrs. Steiner, his first-period English teacher, gave him a lecture about being tardy and ended up embarrassing him in front of the whole class.
    But his eyes focused on locker 108. He dropped his book-bag and grabbed the padlock, trying to remember the combination. He had trouble remembering things in public environments, where the fight or flight response generally took over. At home, he had a pretty good memory. He could recall ten digit phone numbers almost psychically. Here, in school, remembering three lame digits was like trying to memorize an encyclopedia.
    He got it right, luckily, and opened the door to a locker narrower than the pathway to Heaven. Adam knelt down and searched through his stack of books, looking for his English and Science texts. The English one, its cover bound in Kraft paper, displayed a very eerie pencil drawing of a fanged beast holding the severed head of a dead human.
    Or schoolmate.
    The science one had a drawing of a bleeding dagger with its blade piercing the top of a human skull.
    That's me, Mr. Creative.
    Before he could blink, he knew he was in danger. The sudden surge of fear struck him like a bolt of lightning. Somebody had sneaked up behind him and put him in a firm headlock.
    He couldn't breathe.
    "Hey, punk-assed bitch!"
    Adam gagged.
    "Who would win in a fight between me and you?" the voice said.
    Adam's face turned red. He knew a crowd was watching, for they grew very quiet.
    "Gah-" he groaned. Some kids started laughing. None came to his rescue.
    Adam thrashed about, struggling to get out before he passed out.
    "Yeah, that's what I thought, pussy." The kid released the sleeper hold and walked away.
    Adam coughed, face not only red from lack of oxygen but from embarrassment, too.
    He knew that voice.
    Pete North, redneck hillbilly. Adam's age, Adam's size, multitude meaner. He'd been giving Adam trouble since the eighth grade for no apparent reason. Pete just did not like him. He was another bully reject with three older brothers who could literally crush skulls.
    Adam sighed and grabbed his books while the kids around him spoke about him behind his back.
    "Weak."
    "Pussy from hell."
    "Couldn't fight if he had four arms."
    The bell rang, saving him from further accusation. He stumbled to his feet and ran down the hall, away from the laughing demons, and entered English class right before the shriek of the bell ended.
    ***
    "Almost late again, Mr. McNicols," the teacher said.
    “ Sorry," he grunted, taking his least favorite seat: front seat, third row.
    The teacher, Mrs. Steiner, was a no-nonsense woman hell-bent on proper education. Just by counting the heavy wrinkles on her forehead, one could tell that she was knowledgeable. She could be crude and stubborn at times, and hated when students interrupted or asked dumb questions.
    Adam knew that she didn't like him , but at the end of class, he was determined to hand her over a story he wrote: 'The Dead World'. Set in the Dark Ages, it was about a warlock who controlled demonic forces. A real page-turner, Adam strongly believed. Not too bloody but pretty weird. His goal was to get her to proofread it and edit it and maybe even help him publish it in some respectable horror magazine.
    He just hoped like hell she would not criticize his work too seriously.
    Rejection sucks.
    "Okay, everybody, today we're going to read aloud a story, The Batter, a baseball story, from this book—" She reached into a box on her desk and pulled out a small, thin, paperback novella.
    Adam was already shaking. The hand with which he held his pencil