"Appendicitis? Really? Let's see your scar." Beth Brennan eyed the small twelve-year-old boy who was sitting across from her at the lunch table. Jeff Winger had a reputation for bullshit. Sure he had missed the past week, but Jeff missed a lot of school due to a litany of suspicious illnesses. One time he'd claimed to have Monkey Dance Flu.
"I still have the bandage on it. It's not healed yet. I'll show it to you later okay." Crap! He hadn't thought of this.
"Yeah, whatever" Beth shrugged. More Jeff Winger bullshit.
Later that day, Jeff was sitting on the floor of his bathroom, his mother's scissors in his hand. A first aid kit, which he'd found in his mom's room along with the scissors, lay beside him. His shirt was off, and he was trying to remember where exactly Billy Zeito's scar had been when he'd had his appendix out in the fourth grade. Jeff took a deep breath. His door was locked, and his mother wouldn't be home for another three hours anyway.
Fear created a funny feeling in his stomach. Could he really do this? Yes, he had to. Jeff Winger was a liar. Everyone knew he was, but Jeff didn't want to be known as such. His father was the smooth conman, not him. Nobody was particularly fond of William Winger, probably not even William Winger himself. People would like Jeff though. They had to.
Just do it Winger! Think of it like you're cutting a piece of paper.
It hurt like hell.
A week later, Jeff was sitting on his bed. He beamed as he hugged the box full of cards to his chest. There was one from Beth, one from Katy Hughes, one from Jason Picks…seventeen in all. All of them had cared enough to make a card. This was one of the best things to ever happen to him.