As the school year wound down, I got sick and tired of hearing the questions. Well, THE question-namely, "Did you really fuck Bridget Landau?" Bridget was untouchable, unattainable, and the idea that a relative non-entity like myself had fucked her brains out had my classmates questioning the sanity of the Universe. Mere mortals don't couple with goddesses. Not in high school, anyway.
You can only say "no" so many times, and when I finally reached my limit I changed my answer to that particular inquiry to a terse "fuck you". When you say "fuck you" to your best friends they get pissed off. "Fuck you" leads casual acquaintances to think you're a total asshole. And, when directed at selected male members of our species, "Fuck you" are fighting words. As I learned on that particular Tuesday afternoon in study hall, when Michael Panucci slapped a book out of my hands and said, "No way. No fucking way."
I was sitting, he was standing, and I leaned back so he wasn't looming over me. "No way what?"
Panucci was one of the most popular guys in school, handsome, star wide receiver and point guard, an enthusiastic bully. I'd never spoken two words to him in my life. He tried to stare me down with his dark eyes. "No way you stuck it to that bitch. No way she'd bother with a shit like you."
We had an audience, everyone in the auditorium looking at us. No teacher yet sat at the big flat table in front of the stage. I picked up my book and started reading again. Again he slapped it to the floor. "Don't you ignore me, pussy. You show me RESPECT."
Ever since The Sopranos debuted Michael Panucci turned into one of those ridiculous young Italian-Americans who think they're "connected" because their last name ends with a vowel. I knew Mike to be a suburban, white-bread pissant who was less mobbed up than Chef Boy-Ar-Dee, so I wasn't exactly afraid of him. Not anymore, not after all the shit I'd endured the last few months.
So I did something I wouldn't normally have done. I sat back, raised my hands in a plaintive gesture, and said, "Hey, Mikey, no disrespect, but FUUUUUCCCCKKKK YOOOOOOUUUUU!"
I wouldn't be fair to say I got beaten up. Accurate, but not quite fair. First of all, I was beaten DOWN, four guys ganging up on me with punches and kicks that drove me to the floor. And second, although I didn't throw the first punch, or the last, I threw the best. Panucci cuffed me across the face, and I stumbled back out of my seat. He jabbed, caught me on the cheek, and it hurt. It hurt so much I got pissed off. I got so pissed off that, when Michael jabbed again, showboating like Macho Camacho, I threw a straight right cross that caught him square on the nose.
POP! It was loud as someone snapping their fingers. A thin geyser of blood pulsed from his split nose and showered my forearm. He let out a quick, sharp cry, and that's when his buddies fell on me. I turtled, covering my face with my hands and tucking my knees to my belly. Panucci was screaming, screaming, seeing his own blood made him crazy, but before they could really start making sausage a squad of teachers intervened and pulled them off. I staggered to my feet and saw what was, I guiltily admitted, a pleasant sight-Panucci's handsome face sheeted with blood. Blood I had shed.
"You motherfucker!" he shrieked. "You sucker-punched me!" A big mistake on his part-we had scores of witnesses who knew that wasn't true. The lie emboldened me. "You ratting me out Mikey?" I taunted.
"Mother-FUCKER!"
"You ain't so pretty no more!" I crowed.
I was sent to the nurse's office to be treated before moving to the principal's office for whatever punishment awaited. Michael was already en route to the hospital to have his nose set. The nurse swabbed the blood from my arm, gave me ice packs for the various bruises settling in on my arms, back, and thighs. The hand that broke Panucci's nose ached. Actually, my whole body ached, bad. The adrenaline was gone, and I hurt all over.
I was staring at the clock when I sensed a blonde presence in the doorway. I turned my head and there she was, Bridget Landau, the most beautiful girl east of the Mississippi. She wore crisp tan chinos, a pink oxford, and pink lip gloss, in what I guess was her "Little Miss Innocent" costume. In the weeks since our dustup in the cafeteria she hadn't so much as looked at me, but now she sat down and gently touched my cheek with her fingertips. "I thought you'd look a lot worse, after what I heard happened."
Her touch gave me another big dose of adrenaline. "Disappointed?"
She shook her head, and kept touching my face. I said "I bet Panucci looks worse than me."
Her fingers moved to my chin. "I saw them taking him to the hospital. His eyes were already swollen shut."
I could smell her hair and it made my head swim. "Next time I see him I'm taking his ears."
"Do you know why he picked on you today?"
"It was his turn? Everyone's been hounding me ever since, well, you know..."
She nodded. "I know, it's been awful. I mean, Michael asked me to the prom today. I mean, HIM? Can you believe it? The idea that I would, like, go out with a high school kid is just ridiculous."
"Well, you're in high school..."
The contempt in her eyes shut me up. "Danny, don't insult me." She said a name, a name I recognized because he was the left fielder for the Pittsburgh Pirates. "I met him at a game last month. If I wanted, HE would take me to the prom. So do you still think I would bother with a loser like Michael Panucci?"
My hand started throbbing again. "Well, that explains why he came after me. You shoot him down, and he needs to take it out on someone. Me."
"Mm-hmm. Sorry about that."
"Sure."
"Danny, we have a problem. You've got a target painted on your back because every guy in school has a hard-on for me and hates your guts because you...took my virginity." It obviously pained her to admit that.
"I didn't take it, your mother gave to me. Under duress, remember? Remember that dildo she shoved up my ass?"
She waved her hands in my face. "Don't talk about that!"
I sighed. "So everyone hates me. What's your problem?"
Her cheeks flushed red. "No one is AFRAID of me anymore!" she hissed. "You think Michael would have had the guts to ask me out before that scene in the cafeteria? I walk down the hall and girls actually have the courage to look me in the eye! I fucking KNOW they're laughing at me behind my back. And I can't fucking stand it!"
I shrugged, and my shoulder hurt so bad I winced. "So what do we do about it?"
She leaned back and smiled, a girl with a plan. "You and I are going to the prom together."
I violently shook my head back and forth. "I'm sorry, my ears must be ringing. Say that again?"
She nudged over until our legs were touching. "You and I are going to the prom. We're going to pretend to be a couple. We'll go on dates together, hold hands in the hallways, go to the prom and slow dance all night long."
I was THIS close to bursting into tears of joy when she said, "And then, after the prom, I'll dump you."
