A week and a half into school and I'd already been hazed three times. It didn't really bother me that much. I was used to it. I'd gotten into the habit of bringing a change of clothes to school. But I'd hoped that maybe my classmates would have matured over the summer, or at least developed a particle of compassion. I made my way to the locker room and passed the vice principal, Mrs. Youngblood, in the hallway.
"Mr. Vonnegan, what is all this?" She asked, gesturing to the trail of Jell-O behind me.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Youngblood. I'll clean it up."
She frowned. "Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not."
She considered me for a moment, then shook her head and continued down the hall, muttering something about delinquents in the making. Out of all the teachers and administrators in the school, I liked Mrs. Youngblood the best. She wasn't patronizing, and she didn't give me that annoying look of pity that all the others did.
By the time I reached the showers, most of the Jell-O was gone, but everything was still sticky. I pulled off my clothes, stored them in a plastic bag, and quickly rinsed off. Stepping out of the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I always tried to avoid looking at myself because it was kind of depressing. I was really tall and really skinny, with a combination of new acne and acne scars covering my face. My eyes and lips were large and looked like they belonged on someone else's face. My hair was dark and stringy, and it refused to do anything interesting despite all of my efforts to style it. Altogether I was the epitome of an awkward, gangly teenager. No wonder everybody picked on me. I was like a walking target.
But getting Jell-O dumped on my pants wasn't even the worst thing that had happened to me that day. I was still mortified by my disastrous exchange with Kayla Morrison that morning. It hadn't been all bad, but it definitely hadn't been good. Most guys would be elated to be partnered with the girl they'd had a crush on for 12 years. Me? Not so much. Somehow it was better to dream about her on my own than actually have to have real interactions with her. Pathetic, I know. But I'd already come to the conclusion that dating Kayla Morrison was impossible. She was the junior class president, all star of the debate team, a wicked volleyball player, and she even played the viola. Who plays the viola? And not to mention, she was absolutely beautiful. Golden brown eyes, wavy dark hair, a smile that brightened the dreary halls of our high school… yeah, she was way out of my league. She'd made that clear when she pretended she didn't know my name that morning. Although, it'd been years since we'd been friends, so maybe she really had forgotten that we used to play together when we were kids. I'd always liked her, but what was the point? Just looking at her made my hands go numb. She was at the top of the food chain, and I was … well, Frog.
I dried off and put on a new set of clothes just as Milo Kowalski darted into the locker room.
"Frog, are you okay? I heard about what happened. That's rough."
I shrugged. "It's alright. Now I smell like lime. Maybe some girl will find that attractive."
Milo snorted. "You'd probably have better luck with strawberry," he joked. "Who was it this time?"
"Pete Dickensen and Alice Rowes."
"Alice? Really? I didn't know she had a mean streak."
"Apparently she's developed one."
"Probably to impress Pete."
"Probably."
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to make it do something. It didn't. I looked down at Milo, who was picking a scar on his forearm. I was really glad to have Milo as a friend. Without him, I'd be completely alone in this merciless school. He didn't seem to mind that everybody hated me. Maybe he was just glad he wasn't the one always being tormented. He was about as skinny as I was, but he was a lot shorter, so it didn't seem so dramatic.
"Sorry I wasn't there," Milo said, "I had to clean a moldy locker in the east wing."
I nodded. Milo and I worked as student janitors, so we were often called on to clean up random messes. I'm sure that didn't help my status quo much, but for the most part I got to work alone and it paid really well.
"That's okay," I replied. "I don't know if you could have done anything to stop it."
"Yeah, and then we'd both reek of lime."
I packed up my stuff and started heading toward the door. "Do you want to help me clean up the Jell-O I trekked through the hallway?"
Milo wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, but let's do it quick before lunch is over. Remember what happened last time everybody saw us mopping the floor?"
"Yeah, that was a disaster."
Milo shivered. "I was sneezing out microfiber for weeks."
*****
I came home that evening to an empty house, which wasn't unusual. My mom worked as a consultant for struggling businesses and she often worked late. I threw my soiled clothes in the laundry, then went down into our small basement where we had some workout equipment set up. It seemed like everything in our house was small (my mother preferred to call it cozy), but it was sufficient. After all, there were only two of us living in it, and my mom was gone so often at work or on business trips that sometimes it felt like I lived there alone. I turned on some music, positioned myself on the bench press, and started lifting.
I worked out almost every day, not that it ever did any good. I had about as much muscle as a really buff skeleton, but it helped me work through my frustration. I'd created a lot of distractions like that for myself. Playing my guitar helped me relax, karate helped me momentarily escape my reality, and dancing helped reverse my negative emotions. Now, I wouldn't admit to anyone that I danced in my basement, not even Milo. Every once in a while my mom would catch me, but she'd just give me a small smile and leave the room, giving me some privacy.
I heard my mom's car rumbling outside and half a minute later she appeared at the top of the stairs. She glanced at how much I was lifting and opened her mouth, but then she shook her head, as if she had decided not to comment. Instead, she went into her usual interrogation.
"Hey honey, how was school?"
"Same as always," I grunted.
"Did you get harassed today?"
I sighed. "A couple kids poured about 10 pounds of Jell-O down my pants."
She raised her eyebrows. "10 pounds? Wow, they put a lot of effort into it. At least that's more creative than dumping soda on your head."
"Yeah, I guess," I responded, annoyed at her odd way of dealing with my bullying.
I could detect concern in her eyes, but mostly she seemed to be amused my misfortunes. She thought it helped build character. I guess I should have been grateful. If she had offered any sympathy I might have been tempted to curl up in her arms and bawl my eyes out, which would have been totally childish.
My mother sat down on the steps. "I have to go on another business trip tomorrow."
"To Chicago again?"
"Yes. It will only be three days. Are you going to be alright alone?"
I did a few reps before responding. I don't know why she even asked. I'd been okay by myself the last 20 trips she'd taken. Why would this one be any different?
"Yeah, mom. I'll be fine."
"Just remember to take your pills."
I replaced the bar and made a face at my mom. "They make my tongue swell up."
She glared at me. She could joke about a lot of things, but my pills were never one of them. "You know that if you don't take your pills, you will die."
Most people would just write that statement off as an exaggerated threat, but I believed her. Once when I was nine I took my pills three hours late, and it felt like my entire body was on fire. A couple months after my dad left, I was diagnosed with a rare liver disease. Since then, the pills were a regular part of my life. I took two before bed every night, even though they tasted like floor cleaner.
"Okay, okay, I'll take my pills," I assured her, giving her a small smile before I started lifting again.
She nodded and stared intently at me, something I had noticed she'd been doing more often lately. "Frederick, I'm sorry that I have to leave so frequently, but someday you'll understand why."
She stood and disappeared upstairs, leaving me alone with that cryptic statement. It really wasn't a mystery, we needed money and so she needed to work. I knew she felt guilty about leaving me alone, but that was just one of the disadvantages that came with being a single parent. I got a little bitter about it sometimes, but generally I would just have to remind myself that my mom was struggling too. I wasn't the only one affected when my father left.