Scratch the Surface
Ben hitched the strap of his Jansport higher on his shoulder and eyed the home of the Glenwood Springs Demons. Dropping his head, he headed for the oversized walls flanking the high school entrance. The building had been designed as a deconstructed postmodern medieval siege fortress, complete with high set arrow slits and glass architectural postmodern patterning. He pushed shoulder first through the door into the internal chaos of students jostling for peer attention.
He cut through the social interplay with blunt force, leaving eddies of snide comments and covert admiration. He wasn't in the mood to play nice. He was still hemorrhaging from this morning's confrontation with his mom. His Cap'n Crunch felt lodged at the base of his throat, a physical reminder of the bitter words that had been flung across the breakfast table. Spinning through his locker's combination he threw the door open with a satisfying crash and quickly exchanged one worn text book for another.
He sagged into the locker's claustrophobic privacy. How had everything burned to ash so fast? His head still echoed with his mother's anger. They were so far south of normal Ben was completely lost. Growing up without a father, the only constant in his life had been his mom. The Braeden's, mother and son, against the world, right or wrong, no loop holes or clauses. She had always had his back. He had never given the nameless SOB that had contributed the other half of his DNA more than a passing thought, because she had always been enough.
So, how the hell had they gotten here from there? He wanted desperately to blame Dave, her latest boyfriend, but he liked the guy too much. Besides, mom's boyfriends only lasted long enough to prove they weren't who she was looking for. Sometimes, Ben wondered if that had anything to do with the mystery of his dad. But his Mom's love life tended to be a subject he avoided. A teenage son just didn't want to dwell on his mom's sex life.
He swallowed back the heartache, buried it, and shrugged on an "I could care less" veneer that would get him through the day. Kicking the locker closed, he risked taking the scenic route to first period. Mr Thompson would be pissed if he was late, but he figured he needed the additional time to settle before facing any academics.
Passing by the vocational auto bay, low voices and a breathy gasp of pain brought him to a halt. "Really?" he snarled at the cosmos "I need more to deal with?" He stood debating with himself. Trying desperately to reason against his compulsion to right the wrongs of the world. Sure, everyone enjoyed rooting for the underdog. But most people were content to do it from the sidelines rather than wading into the fray to even the field and share in the consequences. But another soft gasp set him in motion, backtracking into the auto bay, against his better judgment.
Between two Detroit born auto projects stood three heavy hitters from the football team. Likely held back for athletic accomplishment, they were putting the squeeze to a set of skinny jeans in combat boots. A cocky grin slid into place as Ben thought, "Time to make some friends". "Hey boys!" he called, "That old Plymouth Roadrunner has enough dents already, you wanna watch what you're doing?" 4 pairs of eyes swung his direction. "Crap, Skinny's a chick," Ben realized. Coming to a girl's rescue felt validating, but he had been counting on sharing the action when the fists started flying. Call him chauvinistic, but he didn't hold a girl to the same expectations as himself. And he couldn't help wonder, why his luck was always so crappy? "Guess I'm in it for the long haul," He muttered, calculating damage projections of 3 against 1 rather than 3 against 2.
"Step off neub," Drago 2.0 growled. Ben gave him a long suffering look, "Come on man, lunch money is what… 6 bucks? Be original, make a different career choice."
Ben succeeded in ducking the first swing, but caught the second across the cheek bone, sending him toppling over the side of a tool bench with a resounding crash of tools. Thing 1 and Thing 2 jumped up to get their chance to play. Ben scrambled across the wrench sockets scattered across the floor dodging as best he could as the three jockeyed for a shot.
A deep bellow finally cut through the testosterone. Mr Kramer, built like a descendant of the mythic Paul Bunyan and the undisputed ruler of the automotive vocational domain commanded attention. "What are you boys playing at here?" Ben ignored the question, instead giving the room a cursory check with the eye that wasn't swelling up. Skinny had skipped town. Classy, Ben thought. Realizing that without backup, he needed to pay attention to whatever cover story Drago was trying to sell, he wiped the blood from a split in his lip and tried to focus beyond the pain that was his face.
Mr. Kramer held up his hand, "Save the noise for the principal to sort out." He gave Ben a disappointed look. "On your feet Mr. Braeden. Looks like you'll be missing my 2nd period lecture on carburetor performance modification, since the lot of you are headed to the administration office for the morning." Ben silently cussed himself out. Mr. Kramer was the one teacher that had taken an instant shine to him and he had just tarnished it.
Ben dropped his backpack heavily beside the open bench of a lunch table and sat. The location was more public that he preferred, but at least he would have witnesses this time. Something that was top of mind having spent the last 3 hours fighting for his version of the morning's altercation to be considered as plausible.
It turned out that Alex Chase and his football teammates, or Drago and his offensive line, as Ben had started thinking of them, weren't especially inventive. But what they lacked in constructing a plausible story and motive, they made up with faculty connections. Ben figured keeping to public places for the next few weeks would be a good idea, in case there were any repercussions headed his way. He felt damn lucky to have escaped the principal's office with a reduced sentence of detention. If his luck held, he planned to serve his time and get home for dinner with his mom, who wouldn't need to know much about any of it.
Ben sighed. His black eye was attracting a lot of interest. As the new kid, the attention made the hair on his neck bristle. He hunched his back and was doing his best to concentrate on his institutional hot lunch when a pair of boots shuffled to a stop in front of him. Ben glanced up to see that it was Skinny. She nervously glanced around the lunch room before giving Ben a hard stare that went 5 seconds beyond awkward.
"What?" Ben grumbled, resisting the urge to reach up to feel if his hair was out of whack. Maybe the damage to his face was worse than he thought.
Quickly, she slumped onto the empty seat across from him. "What are you?" she hissed, giving him a pained look that wrinkled up her face. She moved with exaggerated emphasis, trying to evoke some sort of supernatural powers of the mind. But like some B movie actress, she lacked the nuance to accomplish it without scripting.
Ben rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to pushing overcooked veggies around on his disposable lunch tray. Just his luck to earn detention stepping up for someone from the nerd brigade. He wondered if his day could get any worse when she pulled out her own personal silverware; complete with fancy monograms, salt and pepper shakers, and a flask from her backpack. Socially awkward didn't even begin to describe her lunch layout.
She twisted the top off the flask and held it out to him in invitation. Ben studied her, the bleached out hair, rich coppery skin and heavy eye makeup had an off putting effect. He was already dreading his mom's reaction if she found that he had been fighting; Skinny wasn't worth adding alcohol to the fire. He shook his head and started gathering up his things. She grabbed his wrist with surprising strength and demanded, "Take a sip."
"Psycho," Ben growled, shaking her off and grabbing his bag to leave. With a jerk, the liquid from the flask slapped across Ben's face and he blinked in shock. Water dripped from his chin, his hair. The students in their proximity fell silent, enthralled by the unfolding drama. Instinct helped Ben flinch in time to shield his eyes from the dash of salt Skinny followed her first volley with. "What the hell!" he exploded from his seat. A warning glint of light from her silverware sent Ben backpedaling clumsily to gain some distance. Skinny lunged across the table and Ben barely managed to grab the fork she jabbed at him before it found his neck.
Enough was enough, Skinny had just crossed the "don't hurt girls" threshold. Ben pulled and twisted, sending her crashing into the lunch trays of the table behind them. Across the room an administrator shouted, Ben turned and booked it for the nearest exit. He threaded through a wall of gossip hungry students crowding to see the commotion. Steps from the open hallway and freedom Mr. Kramer's hand landed on the back of his collar, and spun him off his feet. Crap! Mr. Kramer looked angry as all hell.
It wasn't until Ben was seated back outside the principal's office that he realized he still had Skinny's fork clutched in his fist. He shoved it into his pocket to deal with later. Skinny sat across from him. Ben was grateful that the office administrators' disapproving attention kept her from breaching the distance between them. Two fights in one day, Mom was going to be pissed! He wondered if there was any way to talk his way out of the school suspension headed his way.
Ben tried to ignore Skinny without losing her from his field of vision. He didn't trust her not to try another assault, despite the adult audience. Besides, there was something unavoidable about her, like a disaster in the making. She fidgeted oddly in her seat with a circular pocket mirror, practically twisting herself in half just to get his reflection to register in the reflective surface. He was about to mutter the obvious when the office door beside him swung open, catching his focus.
Dr. Dave Dysert walked in. Six foot, blond mane, tan complexion, and built with the confidence of a cage fighter. He was an eddy of fresh air and Ben's breath hitched at the sight. "Thank you," Ben prayed to whatever angel had sent Dave in his Mom's place. A strangled squawk and the thump of Skinny falling out of her seat, ruined the moment. Ben cast a WTF look at her, barely registering her suddenly pale countenance, before Dave regained his attention.
"You ok, kid?" Dave's warm hand gripped Ben's shoulder with a steadying reassurance. Ben gave him a soft smile. "Yeah, tough day is all." Dave nodded. "Give me a moment to spring you," he said with a tilt of the head towards the principle, "then you can tell me about it." Ben nodded. His eyes followed Dave through the principal's office door and waited for him to reemerge. Skinny and the administrative staff was forgotten in Ben's faith for this man his mom was dating. In no time Dave returned. With a flick of Dave's hand, Ben came to heel.