Toki's knees knocked together in a nearly audible fashion as he stood at the front of the classroom. This sucked. This really sucked. Hadn't a nervous swallow and bare whimper been answer enough when Lundgren asked if he'd like to be introduced to everyone else? Not that the class cared someone new stood before them—even with the presence of a teacher did they commence to chat with their neighbours, pass notes, and throw paper airplanes at those beyond speaking distance. Toki would've loved to hide in the back corner. Instead, he got flashed as a piece of fresh meat for the picking when they finally all calmed down.
"This is Toki Wartooth. He just moved here all the way from Norway." Lundgren rested a hand on Toki's shoulder. Way to make it even worse. Throwing a Norwegian in with a room full of Swedes would not bode well. "So do your best to make him feel welcome. It's never easy to start somewhere new. Why don't you take a seat, Toki?"
His legs weakened as he tread into dark territory. Lundgren instructed everyone to take out their Language Arts books, but while his back was turned no one listened. Twenty-two pairs of eyes drilled into Toki, a cool dark blue the most disconcerting. Toki eased into the desk right before the blond, then fumbled in his bag for one of the notebooks his mother shoved on him on his way out the door. He focused on Lundgren, attempting to catch on to what book or grammar section the class studied, when a reverberating thud against the bottom of his chair caused him to squeak.
Giggles followed around him, catching Lundgren's attention. When no one confessed, he returned to the lecture. Another kick came, harder than the last. Then another. And another. Shaking too much to even hold his pencil, Toki peered back over his shoulder in hopes that maybe his fear might inspire sympathy. The boy boasted a smug smirk, blond hair barely touching his shoulders. He slouched in his seat, yet sat level eye-to-eye with Toki. Judging by all the attention he drew, by everyone's eagerness to see this play out, he was quite respected among his peers.
Great. And he's obviously found his newest target.
The boy's name was Skwisgaar, as Toki learned the next time roll call was taken. He quickly learned to resent that name, after only a morning of having his chair repeatedly kicked. Why did everyone keep laughing? Was it seriously that funny?
He spoke to nobody and went straight home after school. Thank God no one followed him. He lied to his mother about how his day went, then locked up in his room with his guitar. Dumb Swedes. Big Dumb Swedes. Maybe what everyone said at his old school in Lillehammer was right: Swedes were dildos. Big dumb dildos who would laugh at anything and were stupidly mean.
Toki avoided Skwisgaar as much as he could. No choice existed about being bugged in the classroom, but he found nooks and crannies about the school and its grounds where he could hide during breaks. He was never much for reading or homework back home, but here he resorted to nothing else. Pretty soon they'd all start calling him a nerd, or something. Then things would only get worse.
Wednesday afternoon, he and the rest of the seventh graders left the split class for the multi-purpose classroom. A twitchy sort of man with terrible body odour welcomed them all in, then regarded Toki with a tilt of his head and hands on his waist. "Who's this, now?"
No one else answered. "M-my name's Toki. I'm new."
"I see! Did you have a music program where you lived?"
"Not really."
"Do you play anything?"
Toki nodded imperceptibly.
"Cat got your tongue? What do you play?"
The class oohed when Toki indicated his choice. One boy guffawed. "Only Skwisgaar plays the guitar."
Rather than subject himself to the blond's piercing stare, Toki backed down. "I. . .I can play piano too, if that's okay."
Although ignored during regular study and shoved aside in music, Toki found gym class to be where he could excel. All the difficult chores his parents made him do at home contributed to dexterity, speed, and endurance. He could run the most laps around the gym, climb the ropes the fastest, walk on his hands, and deke anyone in indoor football. Respect, although hesitant at first, soon came through this avenue. The other sport-oriented minds invited him to play with them during recess and lunch hour outside, he always got chosen first for teams, and, for once, he boasted a leg up on Skwisgaar. If the blond's sneer was any indication, that bothered him a lot. He got worse about kicking Toki's chair, tripped him in the hallways, and poked him in the back of the neck with his freshly sharpened pencils.
No longer afraid as much as annoyed, their silent feud came to a head during a handball game when, accidentally on purpose, Toki whipped the ball across the gym. Rather than his teammate as intended, it nailed Skwisgaar in the nose. Groans echoed through the gym. If Skwisgaar had been paying attention, it might've been avoided. Even though it was half his own fault, the blond glared at him on his way to the nurse's station.
One of Skwisgaar's friends, after class ended, caught up to Toki. "You're dead, Wartooth."
"Ja, dead," another reiterated.
His own strength was something Toki took pride in, so he didn't worry at all about the gangly blond coming after him. If he did, he'd only embarrass himself again. Days passed, wherein Skwisgaar's black eyes healed, he stopped kicking Toki's chair, and finally an entire week went by without a reminder that he'd fucked with the Big Dumb Swede.
Come Monday, however. . .
Toki headed for the boy's bathroom after the bell rang for recess. While he washed his hands and hummed a song, the door slammed open behind him. A punch to the stomach forced all the air from Toki's lungs and sent him to the floor. He gasped for breath, looking up at his attackers, when the Big Dumb Swede himself filed in after his friends. Guffawing ensued, the same kid that hit Toki propped him back up, and he pat Skwisgaar on the shoulder. "We'll watch for teachers."
Toki still gasped for breath as the blond stood before him, the rumble of students out in the hallway more than enough to obscure any potential call for help. He didn't expect much to come from Skwisgaar in way of pain, but he still cowered when the Big Dumb Swede steeled himself and advanced. Toki's eyes remained clenched when a large hand clasped his jaw and straightened his head. Nose for a nose, he assumed.
But a punch never came. Toki's eyes flew open at the fear that Skwisgaar attempted to smother him, then they crossed as he realized just how close that stupid nose was. Blond hair brushed his cheek and he had no idea how to react. An instinctive pucker engaged him. Although it seemed to last half his lifetime, probably only a few seconds passed before a quiet smack of their lips ended the uninvited kiss.
He had no idea what to say, and Skwisgaar wasn't talking either. The blond stayed close, unreadable as ever, then he smirked and tapped Toki a couple times on the underside of his chin. "You're cute. Keep it up.
"Oh, and. . ." He turned back before reaching the door. "Pretend like you're hurt. Got it?"
Stunned, all Toki could do was touch his mouth. No. Really? What?
Skwisgaar's friends must've taken it for granted that he'd done a good one over on the Norwegian, because they didn't come back in to see the damage. Once their guffawing faded away, Toki turned around and groaned while rinsing out his mouth. Gross! Yuck! And yet. . .
He'd totally do it again.