Bully (part 1)

One

SEVENTH GRADE SUCKS! Had I known seventh grade was going to be so different from sixth grade, I would have stayed home. I stood at the end of the sandy driveway, barefoot, waiting for the bus. My desperate attempt at iridescent fishscale trousers were a dull hand-me-down from one of my cousins that lived in Aspen. Too much time had passed and the sparkle the scales once held were failing me now. “They are nearly years ahead the fashion trend in Aspen,” my mother had said as I grumpily put the trousers on. They were tight, and fit well, but they didn’t shine with a kaleidoscope of colors like what was popular. Just one more thing to get made fun of about at school. <Ugh! Seventh grade…>

I remember tuning into the television and the news anchor was going on about a family of finlies that had moved into the town. My mother completely turned her attention to the TV. She gasped, my teenage dilema forgotten. “Can you believe it!?” She’d said. “Finlies! Here in Rog’nab! You know, they say they worship Abyss. I just can’t believe that.”

My palms were sweaty as I swatted a school of annoying fish that were trying to kiss the sweat off my forehead. I reflexively checked the time on my watch. My parents couldn’t even afford to get me a palm device — though they just claimed that I was too young to have one yet. My stupid watch didn’t give me a clear reading on the time, but the tidal clock worked fine. About an hour until hightide. The sand-packed road wound west from my house into a forest of coral trees. Seaweed stalks grew towards the sun, happily undulating in the wind as if they were underwater — in an hour they would be.

“I did buy you a new vest.” My mother had said, handing me an, actually acceptable, black vest. “You could probably leave it unbuttoned.” My mother was trying to appeal to youth fashion. She probably remembered her teenage years and how the boys would always posture with their vests unbuttoned, showing off their chest muscles. My father probably had abs — I however — just had ribs poking through.

“Boy! You need to eat more shark!” My father would tease at my stringy squid arms. “Shark builds muscle!”

Black was a good color. It allowed you to blend in. And it matched with anything. No danger of breaking some fashion rules. None of which, I understood. And, the vest had a hood. That was the best feature of anything my mother tried to put me in that morning. I immediately lifted the hood over my head. Feeling portions of my face covered in shadow, I felt more comfortable.

I could hear the manta before I saw it. It let out a whoosh of held breath from its gills as it neared the corner. Even though the beast was flying in the air, it still used its gills to breathe. There was a wall of orange and pearlescent coral trees between the manta and me. I could see its dark indigo wings slowly flapping as it rounded the corner. The manta hovered over the packed sand and crushed coral of the road. Its flotsam sac organs keeping it afloat in the air. Similar to buoyancy organs when under water. The manta was huge, other than one species of whale, this manta was the world’s biggest animal. Strapped to its back was a harness of seats, a coach, that sat about forty or fifty people. The driver sat at the front of the coach with controls and reins.

I knew what I’d see once the manta glided closer. Sail and all his henchfish would be sitting in the back, intently watching me — waiting for their opportunity. I puffed out my chest. I used to sit with them. Until something happened over the summer. My mother tells me it’s hormones. She claims they’ll come around. But right now, I was anathema to Sail and his friends. My old friends.

The manta came to a back-flapping halt at my stop, kicking up white sand and light shell pieces. I grabbed my bag from the ground and threw it over my shoulder. It knocked one of my vest buttons open, and I quickly re-buttoned it as I walked across the street. The manta ray was happily munching on a snack the driver, Mr. Jaguar, had given it. Mr. Jaguar was watching me cross. And I knew Sail and his friends were watching me too. Thank Neptune for the hood on my vest.

The coach had a gate around it to prevent anyone from falling out had the manta needed to change directions quickly. The door was open for me. I adjusted my bookbag. “Morning River,” Mr. Jaguar said too cheerily. I stepped up into the coach.