Look, I’m not a bad guy. I’m not the first hot shot to come through these halls. Bernard isn’t the first dude who ever got roughed up because he had a D&D book in his bag. It’s just the rules, you know?
I actually like Bernard, in an indistinct sort of way. I don’t know him. He’s shaped sort of like a green bean — skinny and curved into a protective hunch — but you can tell he’s pissed off and passionate behind the eyes. No one else in our school has perfected the cold disdain he has when he talks, and he just talks himself right into my fist week after week. I wish he would quit it already.
Bernard can’t throw a punch. He tries — man, you can tell he really wants to hurt me back — but his form is all wrong and he has shitty follow-through. Sometimes, I just want to stop mid-fight and give him some instructions. I almost did once, but I really didn’t want to embarrass the dude anymore.
So I play it up. I hit the ground harder then necessary, ham my way through a couple hits. Whatever. He gets bloodied by the end of the fight and I get to crow around like I own his ass. My teammates jeer and shout like we’re gladiators or something.
You gotta understand, Bernard has been Carson’s target of choice for as long as I’ve lived here, ever since my parents bought a house on the hill when I was in fourth grade. I have no idea what the story is — it’s one of those old cliches that goes something like we were kids and when we hit middle school — but because I’m the Big Guy On Campus, it’s my job to do the actual dirty work, while Carson yells encouragingly from a safe distance. (more…)