All names, places, and events mentioned are imaginary.
English is not my first language, so some mistakes are sure to have crept in. I proofread myself so I can do nothing but regret any mistakes you find.
The university medical system varies over the world. In the story I have mentioned it on the basis of my understanding of US medical colleges (3 or 4 years graduation + 4 years medical school and then a residency). It plays a minor role in the story but may irk actual medics if my understanding was flawed. I apologise in advance for that as well.
Sexual activity, if any, mentioned in the story is among consenting adults. Characters may frequently indulge in cuss words.
I submitted a version of this story earlier and it was rejected. This is a nearly completely rewritten version.
Written and self-edited in MS Word.
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Chapter 1
I have known Nadine since childhood when we attended the same school. Ours is a small town, and her family lived not far from mine. My first real encounter with her, however, was at the local kids' play area, called The Circle. Ironically, The Circle was a large rectangular grassy area with a group of tall trees roughly in the middle. It was within the town limits but at a distance from any main road. Children who were old enough to be left alone gathered there daily to play, or in my case, to watch others play. They played, shouted, fought, and bled while their mothers used the time to get some work done in the evenings.
It was a different era. Parenting philosophies in our part of the world were more laid-back. Everyone knew everyone in our small town, and there were hardly any crimes. I don't think our police department ever needed to use forensics--maybe not even once.
As a kid, I was called Vik when others were being gracious. More often, I was addressed as loser, sucker, four-eyes, and similar names. I was wire-thin, wore glasses, loved books, and could recite multiplication tables up to 25. By the fifth grade, I could name all the U.S. presidents and the capital cities of all 50 states. Naturally, I had no friends.
I went to The Circle daily, alone, hoping someone might pity me enough to include me in their games. They rarely did because I sucked at every sport that involved physical activity.
Nadine, two months younger than me, was a tomboy through and through. Her dad, a Navy veteran who owned the town's only garage and workshop, would buzz-cut her hair -- much to her mother's horror and protests. She always dressed in shorts or dungarees and refused to wear shoes while playing. She was small, wiry, and full of energy, with an irritatingly shrill voice. Her tiny upturned nose and light blue eyes on her round face gave her a mischievous look. She was often mistaken for a boy and only played with boys. She learned cuss words early on and used them liberally. No one ever called her cute or pretty, not even by accident.
Amusingly, she hated being called a tomboy and would correct anyone, insisting she was a "normal" girl. But kids don't care about others' feelings, so no one took her protests seriously. At least she always got to play. While she wasn't particularly good at any sport, her boundless energy made her an active part of every game. Nadine had two sisters--Michelle, the eldest, and Julia, the youngest. Both were charming, classy, and the darlings of their mother -- proper ladies. Nadine, however, was perfectly happy being her dad's 'son'.
One day, while Nadine was chasing a softball hit by Monty, the chubbiest kid in town, the ball flew toward me as I sat reading a comic book. I didn't notice the ball, and Nadine didn't notice me as she lunged for it. She tripped over my legs and fell face-first, dropping the catch.
To make matters worse, Monty, with his wheezing laugh, found her fall hilarious, which set everyone else laughing too. Nadine, humiliated, took out her anger by punching me in the face -- twice. This made the other kids laugh even harder.
That evening, Ma noticed my black eye and dried-up tears. After coaxing the truth out of me, she marched to Nadine's house with me in tow. No one could harm her baby and escape justice! Standing in front of the Mills' house, she loudly denounced Nadine, as though accusing her of leading the local chapter of a fascist party. A small crowd gathered in no time -- some curious to know what was going on and others just there for free entertainment.
A mortified Nadine's mom dragged her out by the ear and made her apologize. A tearful Nadine mumbled a reluctant "sorry"--clearly not meant from the heart--and was hauled back inside by the other ear. Her dad, who saw my bruised face, apologized profusely.
Nadine refused to speak to me for months after that incident. I avoided The Circle for weeks, fearing retaliation. Since she couldn't risk beating me up at school (where punishment was guaranteed), she instead resorted to spitting at me or shoving me on our way home instead.
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My name is Victor Billing. I have black hair, black eyes, and I wear thick, high-powered glasses. I like to think of myself as a gentle and kind person. I excel at academics and spent several years in university. You may have noticed that I'm hesitating to talk about my build. Well, here it is: I'm short, thin, and weak--there, I said it. Fully grown, I stand tall at 5'7" and weigh a whopping 140 pounds. This is the story of me and how I dealt with the famous tomboy of our town, Nadine Mills.
My entire family is made up of very gentle and loving people. That's the only characteristic I seem to share with them. Nothing common in physical stature. My Ma is a large woman, standing 6 feet tall and weighing 190 pounds, perfectly matching my Da, who is 6'3" and 250 pounds. I've never quite understood how their combined genetics resulted in me. Perhaps nature was playing a cruel joke.
As for siblings, I have none--at least, not in the traditional sense. My only sibling, my sister Abby, is 16 years older than me. Her love for me has always felt more motherly than sisterly, given our age gap. So, yes, you guessed it: I am an "oops" child. By the time I finished primary school, Abby was already married to Adam and had three children--Rich, Nick, and Tim. Abby was nothing if not productive!
Did I mention Abby is 5'11" and 175 pounds, and her husband Adam is 6'1" and 220 pounds? That makes me the tiny one in the family, and, naturally, they treated me as such.
But to properly begin this story, we'll travel back to my school days once again.
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By middle school, studies started taking preference for all. I was a grade ahead of Nadine, and her mother requested Ma to ask me to assist Nadine in her studies. It seems Nadine (while good at changing tires, fixing broken lamps, using the choicest abusive words, and picking fights with her classmates) was struggling with all subjects.
My kind Ma agreed immediately. As if I had a choice, I agreed to help her with her homework every evening.
Nadine will unhappily arrive at 5 PM. She was punctual, at least. Since our house is not very big, the study area was my room. I would try explaining her stuff; she would simply force me to do it for her or copy it from my notebook. I hated her. Meanwhile, she would get to eat something nice cooked by Ma. She would sit with her dirty feet on my bed. I really hated her. She liked to explore my cupboard or drawers and tinkered with my things to avoid studying. This made me hate her even more. The worst part was her mocking my love of books and rearranging them just to piss me off. Did I mention that I hated her?
But look at the bright side, she stopped physically assaulting me.
She passed her exams that year. She even got an A in one of the subject. Her parents were so impressed by my efforts that they requested that I continue teaching her. For free. Forever. My kindhearted Ma, of course, agreed without asking me.
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Chapter 2
By high school, boys and girls were old enough to realize their interest in the opposite gender. Friendships formed, pairs were made, and hands were held. I, obviously, had no such luck.
For one, I was entirely focused on my studies. My family never had much money. Da worked three jobs: at the town's garbage company, the sewage treatment plant, and, on weekends, at a nearby farm. I don't recall ever seeing him rest. Ma, who had never completed her schooling, was a homemaker. She managed the household well but lacked any additional skills--she didn't even know how to drive. Most of their savings went toward a fund to make me the first person in our family to attend university. I wanted to succeed, not just for myself but for them. My older sister Abby was a stay-at-home mom too, and Adam, though the nicest brother-in-law, worked as a foreman and was unlikely to get any richer. With three kids of their own to worry about, even they considered me their "lottery ticket," and I couldn't afford to fail.
Secondly--and more importantly--I was a spectacled nerd with average looks and below-average height. Teenage girls don't typically find that combination appealing.
Fortunately, I wasn't the only one struggling to impress the opposite gender. What gave me the greatest joy was Nadine's suffering in this regard. Both her sisters had become extremely popular at school for their beauty and impeccable sense of fashion. They had boys practically lining up to get their attention. Nadine, on the other hand, had grown taller, skinnier, and had a face full of acne. To put it kindly, she was plainest of the plain Janes. Her dressing sense hadn't evolved much either--she stuck to slacks or loose jeans and always wore a cap to cover her short hair. She had moved on from her buzz cut but still struggled to find her style. Despite her efforts, she couldn't get a boyfriend, and she hated every second of it.
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"This is the wrong formula for the volume of a cone," I pointed out during one of our tutoring sessions.
"Fuck you, Victor. Either give me the answer or shut up," she growled.
"You're not learning anything if you're not understanding."
"I don't want to understand. I just want to pass. Understanding is for dorks like you."
"Don't you want to go to university? Your mother told me Michelle got a good scholarship."
"Fuck Michelle, and fuck you too," she snapped, her anger flaring at the mention of her elder sister, who was considered a top scholar.
Any comparison with her sisters made her furious. She knew she had the worst looks among the three of them. She also knew she lagged far behind them academically. She hated being reminded of it--especially by her own mother.
I understood her frustration. I knew what it felt like to be compared to others. Both my parents towered over me physically, and that often led to teasing.
I quietly handed her the answer sheet for her to copy.
