Then, after Biology and before English, I passed Brent in the outdoor breezeway.
It was a shock because I had been thinking about him so intensely right before, but it was also a shock because I usually didnt pass him in the halls. I was usually sure to take routes that kept me away from him.
Whats up, little bitch? he said.
I wasnt smaller than him, I was just weaker. Fuck you, little bitch, I said back. But I said it quietly into my shoulder, and after he passed.
But then, behind me, he said, Did you say something?
I stopped and turned, and he was walking right at me. I started backing away.
Did you say something, faggot? he said.
Then I put my hands in front of my face, but he got through them with his fist, and hit me. I felt his knuckle connect with my cheekbone, sharp. And then I fell, because I was surprised, and
would be forgotten too.
Hey.
I turned. There was someone standing in a little alcove in the sidewall of the theater.
He had been watching me. It was Teague. There was cement behind him and above him and he was in shadow so it was hard to see his eyes.
There was another guy on the cement above us, but I couldnt really see him. I could only tell that he was big and white.
Teague was my height, and handsome. He wore a black parka but I could tell that he was skinny from his face and neck. He had curly brown hair cut pretty short.
He looked like he was about to laugh, but he didnt laugh, and because I couldnt really see his eyes, I was confused about what he was feeling. Maybe nothing.
Heres the shit, said Teague, and he handed me a wrinkled paper bag. He didnt stop looking at me while I took the bag.
The bag was heavy. I looked inside, and there was a black handgun at the bottom.
Take it out, he said.
Nah, Im cool, I said. Looks good.
You dont want to check it out? he said.
Nah, were good, I said. Three fifty-seven, right?
Its a Glock, he said. There was a sound from above, like scraping.
I thought you said a three fifty-seven?
Glocks better, he said.
Right, cool, I said.
Three-hun, he told me.
Oh, right. I took out a folded envelope from my back pocket and handed it to him. I had been saving for a car.
He counted the money and then put it in his back pocket.
Nice doing business with you, he said, and walked out. He met his friend at the end of the grass, and they turned the corner down the hall with the orange lights and were gone.
The bag just looked like a lunch bag, so I carried it casually. I rode my bike home, and the bag swung under my handlebars. I was humming a little bit. Some tune. I saw my hand on my handlebars, gripping the handgrip and the top of the bag. I stopped humming and heard the air all around me, and my bike whirring below.
And you know how you cant see your face? The closest you can see is the tip of your nose, if you cross your eyes. But I wanted to look at myself right then, to see this guy coasting down the sidewalk with a gun, going somewhere.
Then the bag split and the gun clattered onto the cement. I skidded to a stop and turned around to get it. It was lying on the sidewalk in front of someones lawn. A black gun on the sidewalk. It wasnt metal. It was plastic. It was a squirt gun, full of water. For a second I was sure of it, but no, it was a real gun. I picked it up. I didnt know how to check if it was okay. There was a button on the side of the grip that I pressed and the clip popped out in my hand. It was heavy and full of bullets.
I popped the clip back in.
Then I pointed the gun at the house I was in front of. It was an Eichler house, low and boxy, with a garage door out frontlike my house, but orange and white. I pulled the trigger, and the gun fired. There was a loud burst and then the house was there, but even more there because it had just been shot.
A neighbors dog barked, and I took off on my bike with the gun clutched to my chest.
Two weeks later was the Battle of the Bands. There were seven local bands from the various high schools, and I thought it was funny and fitting that it was in the gym at Cubberley.
I went to hear my friend Barry play. Barry was in a band called Headless Tom, I guess after Washington Irving and Mark Twain. Barrys brother was in the band, with two other pothead Mormons.
Most of the kids there were the alternative crowd from my school and other schools, but there were some jocks there too.
I stood to the side and watched. The gun was heavy in my jacket pocket.
Barrys band went on third.
Their first song was called The Quick and the Dead, because those are the last words in the Mormon Bible. It is a song about friends who have died.
Across the pit I saw Teague swaying like a stalk of wheat. He looked like he was laughing, but I knew that he wasnt.
Then I saw Brent Baucher. He didnt look like he was enjoying himself. It was not his kind of music. He needed his Too $hort, So You Want to Be a Gangster.
I saw Mr. Case in the corner, one of the chaperones. It was really late to drive back to Angels Camp.