So now it's lunchtime. As usual, Greg and I go to our table, of which no one sits, so that gives us lots of room to do homework. Once in a while, someone shoves through and tells me to "move it, Burrito," of which I do on command. They could at least say "please".
Greg then pulls out a comic book from his backpack. It's one of those anime comic books. I don't really care for them; it's always the same thing: In post-Apocalyptic Tokyo, kids running robots try to save the world from even bigger robots. And they always have these pretentious, self-important names: "The Last Exile," "Metropunk: Genesis," or "Messiah of Evil". Greg, however, always buys one when he's in St. Paul, and only to see the tits and ass. He opens it up and shows me this girl with pink hair, big eyes and bigger boobs, smiling at us as she uses one arm to hold this huge bazooka and the other to pet it.
"I could go for some of that right now." Greg says with a big grin.
"What? The girl or the gun?" I reply.
"Check her out!"
And I do. She looks great, for a drawing anyway. But I know better. "Look at her gun. It's phallic imagery."
"Everything to you is phallic."
I turn away, and I see Kevin, Loge and their friends coming in from the other side of the cafeteria, holding small pizza boxes and soda. I could go for that right now, instead of this lousy sandwich I'm eating or Greg's beauties. Kevin and friends take seats next to these pretty girls. Kevin in particular is kissing this one blonde girl, while the others joke with each other.
"Ever found out who those other two guys are?"
Greg, who's still drooling over his comic-book hottie, shakes his head.
Then, the security guard walks in, takes off his sunglasses, and looks around. He spots me and waves. I wave back.
Suddenly, something small hits me from my left. I quickly turn, but all I see are a bunch of guys talking and eating. I turn back, and see that the security guard noticed something, too, although he stays put. Greg notices nothing.
A minute later, it hits me again, and I turn to still find nothing. Then, I look down, and spot this rolling wad of paper. I turn back, but now I see the security guy walking to near where I am. He looks around, frustrated but intent on catching someone. Then, someone's voice comes out of the walkie-talkie fastened onto his belt.
"Yo, Angus, something's wrong at the boys' bathroom in the main building, second floor. All the toilets are exploding, and there's crap everywhere. Over."
The security guy sighs as he turns to me. He takes the walkie-talkie and speaks in it.
"Yeah, I'm on my way. Out."
He walks out of the cafeteria.
Since I was now done with my lunch, I thought it would be a nice idea to get out, too. I pack my stuff, trying to ignore another wad shot at me. Greg follows.
As I walk through the playground, I see all the guys playing basketball and all the girls gawking at them. I sometimes hope that maybe I could play with them and have the girls gawk at me for once. But baseball season's still months away, and even then, despite the fact that I'm a good pitcher, it never gets the praise that I want. Girls just don't find fat guys attractive, even if he's standing on the mound not having to run and shake his flabby guts in the process.
After crossing the playground and surviving the incoming bits of milk cartons, Greg and I hide away from all our loyal "fans" and go to a building on the other side of the campus. I remember the security's guy's name blurted through the walkie-talkie earlier. Angus. Sounds familar. Isn't that the name of a cow? Maybe it's just a code name.
Greg then drops his bags, takes out his comic book, and runs off, barely saying that he's going to the bathroom.
I think about who'd want to blow up the bathrooms in the main building. No doubt it has to be those two pranksters, De la Llave and Flores. I don't think of them fondly, since they've pulled quite a few of them on me in the past. I take out my new textbooks and give them a leafing.
Suddenly, from where Greg went into, I hear his screams of laughter. I get up and run to where he is, entering the bathroom. Sure enough, Kevin's cronies are holding down Greg with his pants down as Kevin tickles him to death.
"Ah, so this must be the Green Burrito." One of the unknown assailants goes.
Immediately, I rush the guy, but Greg's gasping laughter dies down as the other three now punch me wherever. I grab one of them, Loge, and get him away from Greg. The two unknowns, however, grab my arms and pin me to the floor. I can see Greg getting up and trying to pull Kevin away, who's now throwing a few punches on my stomach, but Loge props back up and pulls Greg into a stall, where he finishes him off. The bell rings, but the gang ignores this.
To our luck, Angus the security guard comes in, just grabs one of the guys, and sends him flying across the bathroom. Seeing this, the fear of God sets in Kevin, Loge and the other unknown. They immediately stop and try for an escape, but Angus steps in front of them. I was expecting that they give him a suspension. I think beating up a guy to a bloody pulp more than qualified. Instead, he just shakes his head and tells them to "get the fuck out." They didn't hesitate, and so they took off.
Now there were four of us: Angus, Greg in the stall, the buff unknown still lying on the floor, and me still bleeding. The security guy then helps me up.
"You can come out now."
Greg finally comes out, barely pulling up his pants. The unknown also gets up, and Angus approaches him and grabs the collar of his shirt.
"What's your name?"
"Jason." He's as handsome and buff as he looks, but he's as mean and defiant as he sounds.
"Jason what?"
"Jason Enderby."
"Come along. Both of you, too," he firmly said to Greg and me. "I have something in my office to patch you guys up."
Finding promise in that, Greg and I follow Angus through the crowd of students now rushing to class. But first we tell him that we have our stuff down the hall. Angus then follows us as we spot our belongings (my lunch box now gone) and pick them up, and we get back to following Angus. We soon arrive at a nondescript door. Angus opens it and he invites us to enter. We take the invitation.
The office is very small and barren, except for a few degrees and pictures on the wall. There's hardly room for any of us, and the fact that there are two big guys inside didn't help either. There's also a desk that only had a nameplate and a pen. The nameplate read ANGUS BETHUNE. Angus opens up one of the desk's drawers and pulls out a bulky first-aid kit. He opens it, takes out a bottle of white stuff, probably iodine, and splashes a bit of it on a rag. The rag is folded and placed on one of the fresh cuts on my left arm. Yep, it's definitely iodine, and now I wince at its touch. Then he takes out an ice pack, wraps another cloth around it, and puts it on one of the bruises on my face.
"Forget this, I've got class to go to." Jason gets up and approaches the door.
"SIT BACK DOWN!!!" Angus blurts out. Scared shitless, Jason quickly follows the order.
Angus moves my hand and places it over the ice pack for me to hold it. Now he takes out some sort of form and jots down something on it using the pen on the desk.
"Jason Enderby," he mumbles much more calmly than before, "You're an awesome receiver. I hear you can do the forty in 4.6."
Upon hearing this, Jason puffs himself up and says, "Hell yeah!"
"A likely story," Angus replies dryly. If he knows that much about Jason and his Pop Warner days, he surely must've heard about my feats, too. As though he read my mind, however, Angus turns to me.
"And Robert Bean."
My heart leaped up into my throat.
"You can do the forty in 5.2, and you're a great tackler and blocker."
That was awesome that he knew that about me! I want to tell him that I'm a better pitcher than a lineman (at least I thought I was), but I didn't want to somehow spoil this sudden praise.
Then he tore off whatever he was writing from the pad and handed it to Jason.
"Good receivers shouldn't be in detention. 3:10 today at the cafeteria, Enderby."
Indignantly, Jason snatches the detention and scowls at it. Then he leaves, without Angus saying anything else.
I'm guessing that he was going to give us detentions, too. Not that I wanted one, but, well, he could. Instead, he just smiles.
"And I'm guessing you must be the unathletic token geek who masturbates to manga?"
Greg looked out-of-sorts on hearing that. Then Angus pulls out the comic book that Greg had. He leafs it, and two of the pages stuck together. Greg blushes a deep red.
"I once played third-baseman in the Little League."
"What's your name?"
"Greg Mongeau."
"Holy shit! You're a Mongeau?"
Greg nods.
"Kick ass!" Angus hands the comic book back to Greg and sits on the desk near him, anxious to talk to Greg the Mongeau.
The walkie-talkie sounds off again. "Angus, can you get the nurse? There's a puker in the west hall."
Angus sighs and shakes his head as he heads to the door.
"You guys want to stay here for the rest of the period, while your bruises heal a bit?"
More than happily, Greg and I nod. Angus leaves.