My name is something of a prophecy. Robert Bean. Yeah, it's not much of an attention-caller, but like a good prophecy, it asks to be deciphered. During the second grade, a certain Kevin Henke tacked on the moniker "Burrito", and I was christened the name "Burrito Bob". My fellow peers couldn't help but laugh at my new name. At first, I didn't know why; eating burritos wasn't really my thing. It took me a trip to the mirror to get my answer: Compared to other kids, I was fat. Really fat. Because of this realization, I gave Kevin a good smack on his nose, for which I was summarily suspended from school. When I came back, I was known as either "The Kid Who Beat Up Kevin Henke" or "The Bean Burrito."
Around fifth grade, I was in Pop Warner as a lineman when during a play I went too fast and slipped onto the recently cut grass, so that the fresh grass stains clashed with my blue-and-white uniform. Some receiver named Terry Loge screamed to me from nearby, "Love that big ass, Green Burrito". Everyone heard it, and everyone had a very good laugh, except me of course. Since then, Kevin and his new friend turned my newfound humiliation into a cottage industry, figuring out new insults to throw at me and new names to spark my wrath, although most of them didn't last too long among the crowds, which were always expecting for something more permanent.
So I'm known as the "Green Burrito." I hate it. Everyone else loves it and show their hate for me by using it. Then again, everyone else loves Kevin Henke. I found myself increasingly jealous of him. He was getting leaner and hotter with the girls, while I was only getting fatter and fatter. No girl could resist his charm or his long blonde hair. And it really must impress them whenever either he or someone else in the cafeteria loudly proclaimed that I was a walking whale, or when someone on my team calls me an embarassment on the gridiron or on the diamond and that I must be some teacher's pet because of my good grades. Usually, these comments would be followed by a fight and ended up with either detention or suspension.
For that, I hate Kevin Henke. He's the cause of my loneliness. With my last semester as an eigth-grader starting today, I don't know what to do about it. Maybe something good might finally come up. I'm a very good pitcher, and I like to think I kick ass as an offensive lineman, and English and Science are always fun. Teachers and coaches like me. Other than my run-ins with Kevin, I think I'm a nice guy, if only I had the chance. Something good just has to come up.
I take a look at my uniform, a white polo shirt that bulges at its seams as I fight to put it on and blue pants that press skin-tight against my legs. It's snowing now, so I get my blue jacket as I walk to the kitchen. Dad's left for work now, so I get my own breakfast and eat a bowl of corn flakes. I quickly make a ham and cheese sandwich, which soon joins my bottle of water and apple in my plastic lunchbox. I better hurry; my bus comes in ten minutes, even though I really don't want to board it. Still, I get my backpack and run out of my small house, past the small, leafless tree, and onto the side of the high road, waiting with the snowdrifts for my bus, which soon enough comes.
I get on the bus, and instantly I become stuck between its doors. That's never happened to me before. Did I get that large in such a short time?
I suck it all in and go up to find a seat, only to meet the wads of crumpled paper flying to me from my loving passengers. Among them are my mortal enemies Henke and Loge, bonding with two other guys I didn't recognize. You should see me then; I'm so bored of it, I don't even react to their taunts anymore. I breathe a deep sigh and look for a seat, but the only one that's not taken is by some small, pale and goofy-looking kid I've never seen before. He must be new, and he probably didn't hear the taunting fanfare announcing the presence of the approaching Green Burrito, because he's madly searching for something in his backpack, ignoring the commotion. I sit down next to him, and the bus takes off.
The kid next to me closes his backpack and looks up, looking really scared.
"Hi." Not much of a first impression, as I almost never give one on my account, but, well, there you go.
He turns to me. His hair is black, flat and nappy, and his eyes are gray and full of fear. He probably got a briefing on me already, and so he doesn't say anything.
"You're looking for something," I deduced to him.
"My baseball," he softly replies, "I lost my baseball."
I notice his accent, not to mention his taste for sports. Now my curiosity awakens.
"You play baseball?"
"A little," he goes, obviously not finding any relief in talking to me.
"I'm--" I stopped. Up to this point, I couldn't imagine what I wanted to call myself. Rob? Bob? Green Burrito? They were all bad names. "--Robert Bean." I quickly offer my hand.
The boy looks at it as though holding it would suck the life force out of him, but after a second or two, he shakes back, and quickly lets go.
"Luginbill Puddles," he replies in a natural Texas twang. He must have lots of sleepless nights thinking about such a weird name, so I won't press it. He now starts to look around his seat.
"It probably didn't wander far," I told him. Thinking he's probably new, I ask, "Where are you from?"
"Uhm, Odessa, Texas," Luginbill breathes out. "I have to find that ball. It's my only one!"
This frustrates me a bit, hearing the increasing sense of urgency in his voice, so I turn my head into the aisle and look for the ball, finding nothing.
The bus stops in front of Owatonna Middle School. In six months I'll be out of there. Given the bad press I get regularly, I think I can manage.
The uniformed kids get off the bus. Luginbill stands up, but I motion him to wait.
"I have to look for that baseball!"
Kevin, Loge and his two new friends approach me, taking a look at Luginbill.
"So, who's your new friend, Burrito?" Kevin spat, as Loge smiled icily and the two unknowns surveyed Luginbill and me with their disapproving eyes. Kevin then approached Luginbill's ear and whispered something I couldn't make out. Luginbill was taken aback at this. Then Kevin pulled away and he and his friends followed each other off the bus.
Once everyone is off, we take a quick look all over the bus in search of the baseball, but none is found. Finally, the bus driver told us to get off, and we had to obey. Once again, I suck myself in and shove through the doors. The snow had stopped, but the sky still showed promise of a cloudy day, and the ground was now covered with wet and muddy snow. Luginbill comes down and meets me in front of the bus. The bus closes its door and speeds off.
"My aunt doesn't like it when I lose baseballs," Luginbill spoke weakly.
"You could have one of mine. I have lots." Indeed, my locker is well-equipped for any sport, and baseballs are plentiful.
"You mean it?" Luginbill turns to me, and I turn to see him. Somehow, my proposition must have surprised him. Luginbill looked back down.
I start feeling sorry for him and for myself, because we couldn't find his baseball. "You want to go to my locker? I can give you a new ball and maybe show you around."
Luginbill looked back up. Then he looked around. All of the other kids coming from the buses are running towards the school building to take shelter from the cold.
"Okay," Luginbill finally said. So I walk towards the main building, and Luginbill follows. How nice; someone is actually tagging along.
Then, suddenly, something cold smacks my left cheek. I turn to its source. Kevin and company are hurling a barrage of snowballs at Luginbill and me! I take Luginbill and run towards the building, but we're ambushed by other kids who take a few shots at us with more snowballs. The bell rings, and everyone runs off.
I turn to Luginbill, now on the floor, getting himself up and checking that the coast is clear. As soon as he did, however, he speeds off to the building.
"My locker is 250! Can you stop by?" I call to him.
But without saying anything, Luginbill takes a quick glance at me and runs even faster. I know that glance; it was one of shock and even disgust. He disappears into the building.
I walk towards the steps and sit on them, looking towards the nearby snow. After a moment of hope, depression sank quickly, but this time with a surging vengeance. Why do you always have to screw up everything?