Sally & Danny
There were three of them: two guys and a girl. The girl was familiar, she sat two rows ahead of Sally in Spanish. She vaguely recognized one of the boys, too, the shorter one with the blue jacket. She'd seen that jacket passing by on the way to Lit and Comp.
The third guy was wearing a maroon varsity jacket and that, that said plenty.
"I said," repeated the lacrosse player, "what's your problem, Valentine?"
Like before, Sally didn't answer. She stared at the boy, dry-eyed and dumb. It was the safest tactic when this crap happened.
"Come on," he said. "It's an easy question. You understand me, right? You're not deaf." He snapped his fingers in her face. One, two. One, two. That's how the poem went, wasn't it? And through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack! Sally thought. He left it dead, and with its head he went galumphing back.
"God, do you even speak English?"
"Fuck off," Sally off said crisply and moved to pass. A maroon covered arm slammed into a tent pole on the other side, cutting off her way. Reflexively, she flinched and stumbled back.
The girl tittered, but the shorter guy squirmed. For a moment, Sally kind of hated him for that--for daring to be uncomfortable--even more than she hated his goddamn jock friend.
"Cooper, lay off," Shortie tried. "Not here, dude. There are teachers around."
Cooper--David Cooper, yeah, Sally remembered him now--didn't seem bothered by the idea of an audience. "What? We're just talking. We're all here to have a good time, right? To show a little spirit. How about it, Valentine, you here to show some spirit?"
Sally's hands balled into fists, short nails digging into palms. David noticed and leaned in. His voice dropped a little, a mean half-whisper. "You going to take a swing, Valentine?"
Sally didn't answer.
"No," David said slowly. "No, that's not your style, is it? You like to go in 'em from the back. When they can't see you coming." He was close enough to touch with a nod now. Sally's skin was damp with the idea, the threat of being able to touch any part of the guy--his sleeve, his collar, his douchebag sports watch. Every part was poisonous.
And yet it would be so easy, it would be so damn to reach out and grab the idiot. To rip off a little tender piece of him and shove it in his hoggish face. Make him choke.
"How about it, Valentine?" he asked. "You wanna go at it from the back?"