Pre-first-bell yells. Catcalls. Laughter. A few tears. Nothing out of the ordinary. But just as I reach my own locker, a loud guffaw makes me turn to search for its source. It’s Shaun, apparently the chief of a small tribe of geeks. When I draw my glare even with his eyes, he turns his back to me, lowers his voice, and says something to his not-so-braves that makes them all laugh out loud. Something inside me snaps, almost audibly. I slam my locker, take dead aim at the geeklets’ chieftain. Straight up in his face, “Something funny?” His eyes dart back and forth among his stick figure friends. But no one comes to the rescue. Uh. No. Not really. Then he tries to draw strength from numbers. We were just talking about girls and what they do for attention. He pulls himself up as tall as he possibly can. What do you do? If his buddies think about laughing, the look on my face must make them think twice. Ice-cold anger pulses in my veins. I can feel it in my temples. And something else, too.
