Chapter IV: Greg plays Hackey Sack
"Bye, Gregory," Mrs. Sanders said to the last of the trio of boys as they started to file out of the back of her van. "Have a nice day at school."
Greg barely glanced back at his mother as he grumbled something nonsensical under his breath and slammed the car door shut behind him with more force than necessary.
He was in a bad mood. A very bad mood, and it was all her fault. He'd been grumpy and standoffish with her all week, since Monday night when he discovered that his father wouldn't be coming home because he was away on another business trip, this time for a whole six days or maybe even more. Both of his parents knew about it, but neither had even bothered to tell their son. He was furious with both of them, but his mother got the brunt of his cold shoulder just because she was the one around all the time. And he would only be angry with his dad until the man came home with some unnecessary gift to make his son feel appreciated until the next time he disappeared again.
Greg wasn't stupid—he knew something was wrong with his family's situation. Fathers weren't supposed to not want to see their sons and then return later with a peace offering of sorts. He honestly couldn't understand why his mother did nothing about it and let his father go off like he did. And the more Greg thought about it, the angrier he became with her.
The only thing that kept him going all week was the fact that his grandparents were coming over. Nana and Papa would be waiting for him when he returned from school, and they would dote on him and make him forget about how mad he was and he would go back to being a happy, carefree kid just the way he liked to be.
But first he needed to sit through an agonizingly long day of school.
He entered his morning classroom and took his usual seat just as a moderately sized spitball whizzed past his head. He turned automatically to glare at Marty Geisman, who smirked cruelly back at him. Greg's bad mood was fueled tenfold, and he was about to open his mouth and retort scathingly when his English teacher suddenly walked into the room.
"Good morning, class," she said with a smile.
"Good morning, Miss Totteli," the students returned in unison. But one loud voice in particular overpowered the rest with an obnoxious, "good morning, Miss Tortellini."
Greg just rolled his eyes at the very lame nickname. Apparently Marty Geisman thought he was tough enough to pick on the teachers to their faces now. Usually he would just mock them behind their backs in other classrooms. Now it was as if he were testing their teacher, waiting to see if she would reprimand him for the quip or ignore it and continue on with her lesson.
But Miss Totteli just turned and pushed her thick glasses back up her nose as she looked over Marty with a half grin on her face. "And good morning to you as well, Mr. Gasman."
The class exploded with laughter at the surprisingly immature comeback. Of course Marty Geisman didn't laugh, and Greg was very pleased to see a humiliated blush on the bully's cheeks. He should have known by now that the English teacher would never let him get away with being disrespectful.
Though Greg enjoyed studying the English language about as much as he enjoyed studying the very useless French language, he liked Miss Totteli very much. She was younger and much more sociable with her students than the rest of Greg's teachers. He wasn't sure exactly how old she was, but he did know she didn't have as many grey hairs as his mother did, so she couldn't have been that old.
"Alright, that's enough," she said after letting the class have their few minutes of hilarity. "Settle down." They did so she began their lesson while Greg continued to grin stupidly to himself over the look on Marty Geisman's face.
It was Thursday—Chess Day. Or it was usually Chess Day. The eighth grade teacher at Greg's school, an older gentleman named Mr. Shelley, had started an innocent little after school chess gathering with his students and encouraged children from every grade to join. Greg's friends did not care for chess, probably because Greg could always beat them in just a few carefully calculated moves. Greg loved chess. It was a game he could actually win at, even when he played the older kids at his school. Things like sports and spelling bee competitions had never been Greg's forte, but put him in front of a black and white checkered board with a neat row of little chess figures and he was all powerful. God like, even.
Except for today. Mr. Shelley had to cancel the after school Chess Day after only a half an hour to go to a doctor's appointment. While Greg had known this ahead of time, he had neglected to tell his mother about it, mostly because of the speaking embargo he'd had on her since Monday. But now he regretted not telling her, because she wouldn't be picking him up for another whole hour when his chess games usually ended. By the time he'd remembered that he'd forgotten, most of the other students and teachers had gone, leaving him to stand alone on the steps in front of the school feeling very stupid.
He followed his usual after school path and half hoped to see his friends sitting in their usual spot while they waited for their late ride to show up. Instead, there was a pair of eighth grade girls sitting beneath the tree, giggling about something while they played with each other's hair.
With a disappointed and disgusted groan Greg turned away before the girls could see him. He walked slowly back towards the school and strolled along the perimeter, his hands shoved in his pockets while he glanced around, hoping to see a familiar face. He didn't, so he continued around the corner of the school and out of sight of the few people still hanging around in the front. As much as he didn't like to be by himself, Greg certainly didn't want to be seen waiting around after school by himself. That would probably label him an even bigger loser than he already was.
He wandered further down the shadowed side yard of the school that dead ended in a dumpster infested alcove. And on the other side of the field was a very familiar chain link fence. Greg stared at it and recalled the nosebleed that he'd received there more than a week earlier. He vaguely wondered if any of his blood was still lingering in the grass there, and then he wondered if he should go investigate.
He'd always wanted to see a drop of his own blood under his amateur microscope to get even a fleeting glimpse of his own DNA, but could never bring himself to draw even tiny bit of blood. He wasn't exactly squeamish when it came to blood, but he enjoyed bleeding about as much as the next sane guy.
He was just starting in that direction when he heard the sounds of hushed voices. He glanced back, towards the far end of the fence, just in time to see a familiar trio hop over the chain links. The public school kids hadn't been around here since the nosebleed incident, probably so they wouldn't get in trouble for it. But now that they were back an irrationally fearful tremor ran down Greg's spine. He swallowed hard and made a left turn in the hopes that they wouldn't notice him standing there, alone, in the middle of the field. Regrettably he wasn't quick enough, as one of the boys called out to him the second he started walking away.
"Hey, twerp," a gruff voice called. "I've been meaning to talk to you…"
Greg groaned at the familiar, belittling nickname as he continued shuffling hurriedly forward without even bothering to look back at the bigger boy.
"I'm talkin' to you, dip shit!"
Greg gasped when he felt a large hand fall on his shoulder and force him to turn and look up at the pack of grungy, pimple faced teenagers. Terror crept into his system, but he managed to keep it hidden, as showing outward displays of fear was not the Greg Sanders way.
"What?" he whined as he came face to face with the boy whose fist had caused Greg's very unfortunate nosebleed.
"You shouldn't have fucking tattled on us, twerp," the bully said menacingly as his cronies started to close a tight circle around him and Greg.
Greg looked up at them in confusion and shock at the boy's harsh language. "T-tattled," he squeaked. "Tattled for what?"
"You told on us for hitting you last week, and then for smoking on school property," the bully growled as he leaned in and pointed an accusing finger at his prey. "We got in school suspension for a whole week because of you, you little bitch."
Greg wanted to comment how they deserved to get an even longer and much more degrading punishment, but wisely didn't as the circle's close proximity was making him very nervous. He just managed to keep his voice steady enough to say, "no I didn't! I'm not a snitch—I didn't tell on you, I swear!"
"Well somebody did," the larger boy spat. He showed his distaste for the response by flicking the half burnt cigarette he'd been sucking on at Greg's chest. Greg winced in surprise and quickly brushed the cinders away from his jacket before they could catch fire. He tried to turn and run away from them, but was yanked roughly back by the hand that was still tightly gripping his shoulder from behind.
The leader of the trio laughed at Greg's futile effort to escape. "Where you goin', huh?" he chuckled. "We thought you wanted to hang with us…how about we play a game together?"
Greg felt himself quivering ever so slightly at the malicious joy in the other boy's tone. "A…a g-game?"
The bully's smile grew impossibly wider. "Yeah…a game. You know what a hacky sack is, twerp?"
"It-it's a little b-ball…thingy…" he mumbled. He found himself looking desperately for some kind of help, but even the girls beneath the tree had gone and there was no one else around to see or hear Greg in his plight.
"Well my hacky sack is stuck on my school's roof, so it looks like you're going to have to take its place."
Without warning he suddenly shoved Greg backwards into one of the other boys, who in turn shoved Greg back to him. The smaller boy was tossed around between the trio, back and forth while they laughed down on him. It didn't really hurt, it was just terribly disorienting to not be able to regain his balance and footing before he was pushed again. Greg couldn't even cry out—the fear and confusion kept his voice at a low, pathetic whimper as he insisted over and over that he hadn't told on them. But apparently they couldn't hear him over their laughter.
After a few humiliating minutes that felt like hours to Greg, he was shoved one last time in the back and caught at the lapel of his jacket by the leader, who had already grown tired of their little game. Just as Greg was regaining his footing, the larger boy pulled back his free fist and struck Greg hard in the side of the face just below his eye. The blow was so sudden and so painful that he actually saw disorienting stars dance in front of his eyes. The grip on his shirt was released and it took a Greg a second to realize that he was tipping over.
He fell backwards again into their little circle, only now there were no bodies there to break his fall as the other two chuckling bullies stepped out of the way. Greg cried out in surprise as he tripped over his own feet and toppled backwards, his arms swinging around ridiculously as he tried to break his fall. And break his fall he did, as one of his hands hit the ground hard and gave out as his arm buckled beneath the rest of his body with a crack that was loud enough to shock the bullies into silence.
Pain shot through the limb, effectively drowning out the pounding ache in Greg's cheek as he crumpled to the ground. Instinctively Greg turned to his side as he cradled his stinging right wrist to his chest. He opened his mouth to yell, or cry, or something but couldn't make a sound as a meaty hand smothered Greg's mouth and shoved him back down in the dirt.
"Ooh, don't even think about it, you little shit," the bully hissed. "There's no way I'm gettin' in trouble 'cause of you again."
Greg whimpered behind the boy's palm and tried in vain to push the grip away from his face despite the agonizing pain in his arm. He couldn't even kick his legs out because the heavier boy was sitting on him. It wasn't long before the claustrophobia, the pain, and the fear became too much for young Greg as he felt himself shudder with muffled sobs while tears streamed down his cheeks onto the bully's hand.
"Oh look," one of them cruelly mocked. "You made the wittle twerpie cwy…"
All three of them laughed at that as the one grabbing Greg stifled his face even harder, until Greg was pretty sure he could taste blood from where his sharp, metal braces were cutting into the insides of his lips.
"What do we do now?" the third whispered after the laughter had died down. "If someone sees him like this, we'll get in trouble again."
A thoughtful silence fell over them for a long few minutes and all that could be heard was Greg's muffled, panicked breathing. The biggest of the three looked up from his victim and scanned the shaded school yard, his smile growing when he spied the solution to their problem.
"Alrighty, boys," their leader said as he hoisted Greg up off the ground by the mouth. He wrapped his free arm around the smaller boy's chest, not even caring that he jostled the fractured limb as he pinned the small arms to their sides. "Let's take out the trash."
Greg moaned and shuddered as the bully dragged him bodily towards the back of his school where a lone dumpster sat in a dark corner of the building. Greg and his classmates never ventured this far back in the school's grounds. Now, considering his situation, he couldn't help but think that it was the perfect isolated spot for a body dump.
"In ya go," one of the bullies said as he lifted the heavy lid of the dirty, green dumpster.
The boys were tall, but still too short to reach over the edge of the deep box. Lucky for them there was a sturdy crate lying in front of it for such an emergency. The bully dragging Greg along took an unsteady step upwards, and Greg used the opportunity to kick against the dumpster, causing the larger boy to stumble back with a curse. Greg might have been free with another thrash, had it not been for the third bully who suddenly wrapped his arms around Greg's flailing legs.
Together the two lifted him up and over the edge of the dumpster while the third held the lid open. Greg struggled as valiantly as he could while he was shoved backwards into the deep, half filled dumpster. He was just scrambling to his feet in the garbage when the largest bully grabbed him again, this time by the collar of his shirt so he could shove the sixth grader backwards head first down the slope of trash. Greg cried out as his back arched painfully on top of his already sore body and threatened to break him in half completely.
"Shut the hell up!" the big boy growled. In a split second he'd snatched a fistful of garbage and shoved it into Greg's open mouth. Greg choked and sputtered but could not dislodge the awful tasting substances from between his teeth.
"See what happens when you fuck with me, twerp?" the bully hissed. "You tell on us again and I'll be sure to break your other arm next time, if I don't just kill you first. Got it?!"
He shook Greg hard to make sure the point got across, and Greg could only respond with a stifled whimper. He'd never been more scared in his entire life, and there was no doubt in his mind that the boy would follow through with his threats. Compared to these bullies, Marty Geisman might have been Greg's best friend.
"Good," he said with a cruel grin. "And don't you forget it, ass wipe."
With that he finally released his grip on Greg's shirt and disappeared over the lip of the dumpster. Greg flinched a moment later when the heavy lid fell with a slam, leaving him alone in the smelly darkness as the sounds of laugher moved further and further away from him. He let out a terrified, sniffling breath and didn't move until he was sure they were really gone. Eventually he stopped shaking enough to reach his good arm up and pull the remnants of the day's garbage out of his mouth. A brown paper bag, fruit snack wrappers, bread crusts, a greasy banana peel… It made Greg nauseous to think of the disgusting substances that had been shoved in there and were probably still stuck in his braces.
He could just see the outline of sunlight above him which gave him a brief glimmer of hope that he would be able to get out of this on his own and not have to worry about the public school bullies again. He could clean himself up before his mom ever saw, and she wouldn't suspect a thing. He would just have to hide his arm injury until he could fake an accident of some sort.
Greg let out one last shuddering breath and wiped away his tears as he mustered the little bit of strength he had for an escape. He kept his aching wrist tucked against his chest while his good hand reached behind his head to push off of the wall of the dumpster. If he could just sit upright, he would be able to push open the lid no problem and carefully climb out.
But what he didn't count on was the slime that coated the interior wall. The second he started pushing himself up his hand slipped and he fell back again as the back of his head hit the metal with a reverberating bang. He actually sank backwards into the muck further than he was when he began, and now his head hurt along with his wrist and the rest of his body. All the plans he'd made for after his escape were instantly dashed—all he could think now was that he was going to die alone and scared in a rank dumpster. He didn't even try to move again as he gave in to his fate and sobbed pathetically like the wittle twerpie that he undeniably was.
Now I'm sure if this kind of thing had really happened, Greg probably wouldn't be too keen on dumpster diving…
Thanks a bunch happyharper13, the-amazing-lyndz, laura, InkStainedBlood, and JauntyChick for the reviews. It means a lot, really :)