Bully (part 3)

Three

TRENCH WAS SITTING WITH ME! <Fuck!> I had moved my bag out of the way for him! What was I thinking!? I could feel Sail and his henchfish grow excited. Now they had more material, more ammunition against me. “I’m sorry, is this seat taken?” Trench asked, half-sitting.

“Ah…” <What do I say!?> If I say yes, the next stop is school. He would know I was a liar. Did I care? I had my own shit to deal with. Allowing him to sit next to me would only make things worse for me.

“No,” I replied. I pulled my bag close to me, to give Trench more room. His arm almost touched my hand and I flinched. I didn’t even realize I’d done it. The reaction was so automatic. Trench locked eyes with me for a moment, then looked away, at the floor, ashamed, nervous — maybe embarrassed. I am no better than Sail and his friends. I’d never seen Trench react that way. He never cared about how people acted around him. “Sorry,” I said quickly.

“It’s okay. People don’t like to touch me.”

“I’m not. I mean…”

“River, it’s okay. You don’t need to explain yourself.” Trench slowly slid as far from me as he could without falling out of the seat. I could only imagine that he only had one ass cheek on the seat and he was holding up most of his weight with his outside leg.

“Ooooo! Look! Does little River have a new boyfriend?” Phish shouted, followed by immature giggles.

“At least now he’ll get off my dick.” Sail said — followed by more laughing.

I felt my face get hot and probably turn red. I did my best to ignore them. I tried desperately to keep my shame to myself. I didn’t need Trench to catch on, even though everyone in the whole school new that something had happened between Sail and I. The unspeakable! Little did they know that it was his idea.

The manta hovered away and the lonely street became more streets as minor roads fed into major roads that led towards the school. Rog’nab Junior High wasn’t a large school. Nothing like the schools in Aspen. This was a small country town. Most people here were farmers or fishers of some kind: Seaweed fields, tuna fishers, or clam shuckers like Trench’s family.

We rode silent for nearly three minutes, though it felt like a century! “Thank you for letting me sit with you.”

I took a deep breath before answering. Trench speaking to me was just a painful reminder of what I was about to face the rest of the day. It would be a bunch of “River and Trench sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” “You’re welcome,” I said. Though I hadn’t consciously left space on my seat to share with him.

“You should just ignore them. Eventually they move on.” Trench said. He lifted his hood off his head. He grabbed his mass of silver hair and gathered it so that it draped over one shoulder. He had the slightest collection of dirt upon his pale cheeks. He looked too pretty to be a farmer.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Oh yea, you’ve got history. What ever happened?”

“I’d never tell,” I replied.

“That bad?”

Without wanting to, I nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

I just groaned in agreement. I didn’t really want to be talking about this, especially with the pariah that was Trench Gripe.

“We can change the subject.” Trench said, obviously attuned to my discomfort. I nodded in agreement, but I’m not sure if he saw. He sat in contented silence. He seemed perfectly comfortable with the awkward silence growing between us.

“Did you hear about the finlies that moved into town?” I asked.

Trench fidgeted. I’m not sure if he was uncomfortable or just readjusting in his seat. “Yea…” He said weakly.

“Do you believe they worship Abyss?”

“No!” Trench snapped. “They protected us from the wyrmwraiths. Why would they believe in Abyss?”

“I’m sorry, I was just…” There was a thick silence between us, “If you don’t wanna talk,” I began…

“No it’s okay. I just — don’t have much to say about that.”

“Finlies?” I wondered.

“Yea.”

“Okay…” I said. “Why are you talking to me anyway. I’ve never seen you really talking to anyone.”

“Because you seem like someone that could use a friend.” He said.

I could do nothing but look sheepish. Trench seemed so cool on his own, confident without a gaggle of immature teenagers surrounding him, making him curb his own personality and likes, just to fit in. Trench Gripe was completely himself — and there was a deep part of me that was jealous of that. I chuckled. A year ago I was one of the coolest kids in school. And here I was being comforted by one of the least popular kids. “Thanks,” I said — and I truly meant it. Cause I did need a friend. I’m just not sure I was ready to make it official with Trench.

The manta came to a stop at the school. The giant creature let out a held breath of air that rumbled beneath us. The sandy courtyard was full of barefooted students. Trench drew his hood over his head. “Well…See ya!” He got up and tried to slip off the manta coach before everyone else.

Trench had already weaved through the throng of students gathered in the courtyard and escaped into the junior high building before I got off the coach. I tried to make a b-line for the school. It was safer inside, near some faculty. Suddenly — I felt naked. Students poured off of manta coaches all around me. Awkward, I fidgeted, looking at my watch. About forty minutes till high tide. Water would start seeping up through the sand at our toes. No one seemed to care. They were happily clustered in their various cliques talking about whatever happened this past weekend.

“Hey faggot! Got a new boyfriend? I’m jealous!” I knew his voice before I even turned around.

Sail was standing there, flanked by his loyal henchfish: Harpoon, Toad, Phish and others. “Do you have any idea how stupid you sound?” I snapped. “You know what you did.” I said defiantly.

Sail moved so fast. He wrapped the collar of my vest around his left fist and pulled me so close to him that I could smell his breath! His right hand was balled into a fist. “Don’t. Say. Another. Word.” Sail spat between gritted teeth.

“There a problem here boys?” Mr. Jaguar had stepped off the bus. He wore his vest open, uncaring about the cultural implications. Underneath the nest of curly white hair, Mr. Jaguar had a tattoo of a wheel with a triangle at the center and a bunch of symbols around the perimeter. I wondered what it meant.

Sail transformed from the bully into the polite boy-next-door, “No sir. Just a friendly game.” Sail let go of me and released his balled fist.

“Be along then. Hightide is soon.” The driver smiled towards me. He had just saved my ass, and he knew it.