Sam

I don't know why Principal Hughes thought it would be a good idea to have a ventriloquist perform for us. We're in high school, not kindergarten! At least this one was a little different: Instead of using some creepy puppet, he had a live donkey.

High school's a drag. For example, being the star quarterback doesn't mean I take steroids. That stuff's for losers, man. Have you even read what the side effects can do to the male body? If I shot up, I wouldn't be half as popular with the girls!

Everyone just assumes I'm on juice though. I actually just work out a lot and watch my diet. Nothing too special.

Other people call me Rapunzel. They think I'm transgender or something because I let my hair grow. I'm not. I'm a guy who likes girls. I just want to know why only chicks and indigenous people can grow out their hair. Every guy at my school has a buzz cut or a rag mop. I just want something a little different, you know?

Long hair has its advantages. I was out hunting once, and a mountain lion jumped on me from behind. I guess my hair made it hard for him to get a good hold on my neck, but I stumbled forward, and we both ended up rolling down a hill. When we reached the bottom, I realized I was actually behind the mountain lion, so I strangled it until it was unconscious…or so I thought. When I called the park ranger to report the incident, he found a dead mountain lion. He wanted to know what exactly it was that we "punk kids" had against the cats; apparently, there had been reports of a mountain lion killed with a paintball gun years ago.

Of course, being strong has its advantages too. I was helping out on a farm as sort of an extended volunteer program thing. The other volunteers were all aggie kids. Guess they hadn't learned how to accept the societal differences in modern life. They kept trying to sneak up behind me and tie my hair to different things.

I finally had enough, so I picked up this jawbone I found lying around and asked who wanted to fight. They all ganged up on me, but I managed to escape with minimal bruises. When the volunteer coordinator heard what happened, she considered dismissing us all for fighting, but my actions had been in self-defense, and my tormentors had gotten what they deserved, so she let us all off with a stern warning about what would happen if there was any more trouble.

I don't dare tell anyone I'm allergic to grapes. It's such a stupid allergy. I can kind of understand peanuts and shellfish since the allergy is so common, but what would my friends say if they knew the hulking quarterback was allergic to a tiny grape? My hair already makes me enough of a joke without the fruit allergy!

For all my strength, I do have a weakness: I don't understand girls. Phyllis and Francine have my condolences because I think they have old lady names, but anyway, they both think I'm going to marry them after graduation. I don't know why. I've always spoken to them kindly, the same as I do everyone else, but they've somehow interpreted my courtesy as flirtation. I guess it's not common for a guy to have normal conversations with girls, so when one does, all the girls swoon over him.

Of course, Phyllis and Francine also have brothers who have threatened to beat me up if I break their sisters' hearts. I've told them repeatedly that we're just friends; I'm not really into either of the girls, but no one seems to listen.

I've got my eye on Lyla. Her dark eyes make me feel like an ant being burned under a magnifying glass, and she's everything you could want in a girl: lithe, slender, clever, and the star cheerleader.

She often squeezes my bulging arms and asks, "What's your secret, Muscles?"

The only thing I don't like about Lyla is that she would do anything to make a quick buck. Anything. Sell answers for an upcoming test in any subject. Write someone else's essay. Smuggle alcohol and drugs in her backpack. Even get paid by the hour to spend quality time with someone, i.e. allow him to violate her.

"Do you ever drink?" Lyla asked me one day after practice.

"No. I'm not of legal age."

"But no one has to know, do they?" She fluttered her eyelashes.

"No, thanks."

She slowly rotated her shoulders and leaned closer to me, her lips almost touching my ears as she whispered, "I'll be here if you change your mind."

Lyla approached me after school today and offered me some fruit juice.

"No, thank you," I replied.

"But it's nonalcoholic." She smiled warmly.

I hesitated. "What's in here?"

"Strawberry, orange, cherry, blackberry, and pomegranate."

"And you're sure it's not alcoholic?"
She lightly hit my arm. "I'm sure. It's like a fruit smoothie, Muscles!"

The juice tasted great, but then I didn't feel so well. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back. Why couldn't I see anything?

"Sam?" a voice asked.

I couldn't open my mouth, but I managed to answer, "Hmm?"

"I'm Dr. Lukas. I'm afraid you're in the hospital, but your vitals are working their way back to normal. You seem to have had a bad reaction to some fruit juice that contained grape."

I put my hand to my face.

"Your eyes are still swollen shut," the doctor explained. "It happens sometimes with anaphylaxis. We have called your parents, and they should be here shortly. I don't wish to cause you any more anxiety, but are you by chance bullied at school?"

I nodded.

Dr. Lukas patted my hand sympathetically. "I'm afraid I have some more bad news. You were unconscious when the paramedics found you, and someone seems to have shaved your head before they arrived." He gripped my shoulder. "I know this isn't a good day for you, but it's not as bad as it could have been. You should pull through, and your hair will grow back before you know it."

Is this punishment for the time I rounded up some stray dogs, tied some lit sparklers to their tails, and let them loose in the stadium during halftime? Who found out I had a grape allergy? Why had I ever trusted Lyla?

Dad says when you don't understand what's happening, you can always talk to God and be completely honest with him since he already hears the thoughts and feelings of your heart. I don't much feel like it, but I guess I can try praying.

Dear God, please let this building cave in. Let the roof collapse just over my hospital bed. Let there be a tornado or something, and let me die here, along with anyone else who is suffering beyond hope, but let the other people get out safely. Please, God, don't make me live through this! Just let the roof fall on me. Amen.