Middle School: the place of so many repressed memories. Anyways, this is for the sixth round of the Newsies Pape Selling Competition. My task was to write about middle school, and I didn't have any prompts.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Word Count: 720
"You can go back to school."
Back to school.
His father's words echoed in his ears, and David could only stare blankly at him. For whatever reason, he hadn't even considered going back to school, not after the day he'd had.
000
When he was eleven, his mother took him shopping for new clothes the Saturday before school started back. It had been several years since he'd had completely new things, and he wished away Sunday so he could wear them.
That Monday, he and Sarah had walked the seven blocks to school. Looking back, he realizes that the other boys had looked at him funnily, but at the time, he'd been so excited to wear new clothes and see his friends that he hadn't noticed.
He hadn't noticed the way they'd looked at him when he sat down at his desk, or the way they'd whispered amongst themselves.
Just like he didn't understand what the fuss was about when he'd corrected the teacher on the day Lincoln was assassinated. Scrupulous and studious, that was David Jacobs, and it had been since he'd started school. Everyone knew that. Yet his friends had snickered, even while the teacher smiled graciously and thanked him for catching her mistake. He had turned to look at them, but they had only stopped laughing and scowled.
"What's the matter, pretty boy? Better than the teacher now?" came a snarl from behind him, from the boy he'd called his best friend in the spring.
000
At lunch time, the boys started their game of kickball, like usual. David had always played outfield, and he ran up to join. But Mikey, the pitcher, had only scooped up the ball as the other boys crowded around.
"What's going on," he'd asked, smile fading.
"Nothing, Dave. We just don't want you to get your clothes dirty, that's all." Mikey kept the ball tight against him, and for the first time, David watched Samuel look him up and down. For the first time, he noticed their clothes, the patches in them, the faded colors, plaid pattern almost gone from a few.
He hadn't known how to react; instead, he could only stare in wonder at how his friends could say such things.
The remainder of lunch was spent sitting on a bench and quietly munching on his sandwich. He walked home with Sarah at the end of the day and didn't say a word.
000
His mother caught him leaving the house the next day in a pair of tattered pants and shoes with the toes missing, and when he didn't answer, "Why are you dressed like that?" correctly, he was made to change. And he saw their scornful eyes, and took the hint.
Mrs. Jacobs did not catch the clothes wadded up at the bottom of his pack the next morning, and Sarah, thankfully, had been more than happy to skip along to school without her kid-brother.
David had thought it would change things. All he received were deeper scowls, cupped hands to ears, and a snarl of, "Just stop trying to fit in, Jacobs. You know you're better than everyone."
He didn't wait on Sarah after school, and she didn't catch him on the fire escape with tears in his eyes that evening, trying to understand how his friends were suddenly different and why everyone didn't get along anymore. He'd never paid attention to what he wore, and somehow it had suddenly become his defining quality. Two months. Two months they had been apart, and somehow everything had changed.
000
Go back to school.
How could he go back to school after a day like this?
These boys didn't care. They didn't care that his clothes weren't threadbare and patched countless times. They didn't care that his hair was dark and curly. They'd laughed at his speech, asked his name, and taken him in with no questions. They'd taken him as he was and had acted like they'd been friends for years.
In fact, they were the first people who had been remotely close to what he could call friends in years.
Gratefully his mother, as if sensing his distress in that motherly way, swoops in and dissolves the situation. He feels himself let out the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, and they carry on with dinner.