Last December Read Free Page A

me and I tried to block it with my arm, but somehow the punch got through and hit me on my eyebrow. And it hurt, Sam. A lot.
    I heard another voice shouting from somewhere else, and the skinhead let go of me. After a second or two, I sat up with my handon my eye because it was sort of throbbing, and with my other eye I tried to figure out what was happening, but I was kind of out of it, if you know what I mean. And around ten feet away from me, I saw this guy with long hair standing in front of the skinhead, pointing and swearing at him, and the guy was talking so so so fast, telling the skinhead to pick on someone his own effin’ size.
    And then the guy with the long hair started talking about other stuff I didn’t understand and then he actually poked the skinhead’s forehead a couple of times, which I thought for sure would start another fight, but I guess the skinhead really was scared, because he didn’t do anything, except step back a bit, with a big red dot on his forehead. And then all of a sudden, another shout came from way down the street and we saw a teacher from St. Clair, and everyone ran.
    Everyone except for me. I was still sort of dazed, just sitting there looking at the teacher, but I finally snapped out of it when I saw him coming my way, and I didn’t want any trouble and I didn’t want to somehow not be able to try out for the team, so I quickly grabbed my stuff and tried to get away, but the teacher said, “Stop, son. Hey, are you okay?” and I kept walking and mumbled, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and then his voice went serious. “Stop right there, son … now!” So I did, and he jogged over to me and said, “You’ve got blood on your face. Are you a St. Clair student?” and I nodded, wiping my forehead, and then he said, “We’re going to need to take you to the infirmary, and I’m going to have to find out what happened here.”
    He was tall and bald and had a pointy nose and thickish glasses. “Who were those guys?” he said, handing me a tissue sothat I could wipe the rest of the blood off my face and hands. I grabbed it, and said I didn’t know who they were, which was true. “Why did they hit you?” he asked, and I shrugged and said I didn’t know why, which was also sort of true, and then he said, “I didn’t get a good look at them. Are they students from St. Clair?” and I said, “No,” because I just wanted the whole thing to end.
    “Okay … let’s get you to school so we can clean you up. What’s your name?” and I said, “Steven,” and then he said, “I’m Mr. Duncan. Are you trying out for the team after school?” and I said, “Yeah. I think so,” because he said it like he was surprised, and then we walked together but we didn’t say anything to each other the whole rest of the way.
    And then Mr. Duncan took me to the infirmary, and he said I should sit in the waiting room while he took my equipment down to storage in the basement, and I waited for ten minutes for the nurse to arrive, and when she did, she smiled, put her purse down, and rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse and said, “What happened here?” and I shrugged because I didn’t really want to explain. She continued to smile and said, “Let’s see if we can fix you up,” and then she put rubbing alcohol on my palm and then my forehead, leaning toward me so that I could smell her perfume and I could see the flowery part of her white bra through the buttoned part of her blouse, which meant that her emgees were right underneath, which got me pretty horny.
    (Sorry, Sam, it’s true, and Byron said it’s way way way better to be truthful. By the way, emgee stands for “m.g.” which stands for “mammary gland,” which is a scientific way of saying breast , which is an adult way of saying boob .)
    So I put my hand across my lap to hide my horniness, and then the rubbing alcohol stung like crazy, so I pinched my leg and then it didn’t hurt as much, but I wasn’t horny anymore,