Project X Read Free Page B

hits me two or three times in the chest and shoulders as fast as he can and then grinds his hip on my face and someone kicks me in the back. Somebody else kicks me in the tailbone. Flake’s screaming and swearing.
    I’m twisting around like a fish. I’m hard to hold down. The kid on my head gets dumped off and another drops onto my chest with his knees on my arms. He knocks the wind out of me and slaps my face in various directions. Flake’s on his stomach with a guy on his legs and a guy on his back. The guy on his back takes off one of his cleats and starts beating on Flake’s head with it. The cleats are rubber. Flake’s head pounds into the dirt. “I’m gonna kill you,” Flake yells at him. “You’re gonna kill me?” the kid repeats, and pounds him with the cleat. “I’m gonna kill you,” Flake says. “You’re gonna kill me?” the kid says.
    â€œLet ’em
go,
” one of the coaches hollers from the fence. “
Now
.”
    Everybody piles off us, passing around congratulations. Flake gives a kick from where he’s lying but otherwise lets them go. I have my hands over my head. We hear them crossing the street.
    There’s grass and stuff in my hair. My nose and mouth are bloody. My ear’s scraped up, too. My hand comes away from it wet. The blood’s stringy and slimy from the crying. It’s hard to spit. I don’t want to move because of my tailbone. I shift my butt and that’s enough to make me stop. Off in the distance I can hear the coach giving the kids shit.
    â€œFuck,” is all we can say, a couple times, because everything hurts. Flake sniffles and writhes around.
    â€œYou all right?” I finally ask him. Over on the practice fields, the teams are heading in and the kids who kicked our ass are running laps.
    â€œFuck you,”
he says. I know how he feels: he wants the world to blow itself up, me included. He tips onto his back. His shirt looks like a slasher movie. His nose is a mess. There’s dirt in his eyes. He puts some fingers on his face and feels around. He hasn’t stopped crying yet.
    â€œAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” he says. It’s not very loud. He tips back onto his side. It’s one of the saddest sights I’ve seen all year.
    â€œAaaaauuaaaaauuaaah!”
he screams. Even lying in the dirt, I jump a little. He wipes snot off his face and flings it. The kids running laps slow down to look over. Then they speed up again.

2
    My mom sits next to me on the bed and helps with the ice. When the facecloth gets warm I pass it over and she dunks it in the bowl and wrings it out and hands it back. My lower lip’s swollen and one eye’s half-squinty. I look like Popeye throwing a tantrum.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you?” she says in a soft voice. Like everybody else, she really wants to know. “Why can’t you get along with the boys in your class?”
    â€œThey weren’t
in
my class,” I tell her. It’s hard for her to hear through the facecloth.
    â€œIs his nose broken?” Gus wants to know from the other side of the door. He’s four and his favorite video’s
The Making of
Jaws
documentary.
    â€œHe’s fine, Gus,” my mom goes. “He just wants some time to himself.”
    â€œCan I see?” Gus asks.
    â€œThen it wouldn’t be time to himself,” my mom tells him.
    â€œ
You’re
in there,” Gus goes.
    â€œWhy do you think you’re always picking fights?” she asks me quietly.
    â€œAre there guts?” Gus asks.
    â€œNo guts,” my mom goes. “Are you watching the movie? ’Cause if you’re not watching the movie I’ll turn it off.”
    â€œI’m watchin’ it,” Gus tells her.
    He’s been on a Predator kick for a few weeks now. Flake thinks it’s a scream. Flake brings him magazines like Fangoria and
Cinefantastique
with gross pictures of