THE SCARE
So, like I said, we get the token suspension of three days from the Principal, Mr. Rice, but when he tells me and David White and the Orange Face brothers to shake hands and make up - I knew he had most likely gone senile. I mean, he looks like the guy on the box of Quaker Oats, and he’s been here since the 40’s, when Roselle was like Mayberry. Whole different ballgame now...
The first day back to school after the suspension, I am spooked. Jumpy. Maybe it’s in my head, but it seems like the white kids are gawking at me behind my back, like I have Legionaries Disease, or something. The black kids act eerily quiet around me, but I’m sure they are secretly signalling strategic death plots to each other. The whole mood provokes flashbacks of the time a few years ago when we visited Washington Square Park in New York City - and a mime followed me through the whole place - imitating my every mannerism.
The whole crowd of people there would spontaneously erupt into fits of uproarious laughter, and I would turn around, and suddenly, the mime would be right behind me, smoking a cigarette or reading a book, or something stupid, much to my annoyance. Fucking mimes. No wonder I hate them. Mimes and clowns.
Anyway, I am certain fiendish plans for my demise are being hatched at this very moment. Oddly enough, nothing out of the ordinary occurs the first couple of days, calming me down a bit. Then, the third day back though, I’m rummaging through my locker, maniacally scouring it for my colored magic markers for Mr. Silverstein’s second period art class. The bell had already rung almost five minutes ago, the halls are bereft of activity, and I’m desperate to get to class quickly, in order to avoid yet another suspension. I come upon the markers, slam my locker door shut - and run right into the posse of David White and The Orange Face brothers. Surrounded. It’s an ambush.
“Yo, whass up, mo’fucka?”
David White smiles cryptically through the gap in his front teeth. Instantly I hear a distinctive CLICK - and glance down to see a switchblade drawn and ready at his side.
“You be going for a walk with us, bitch.” Boo Daniels declares icily, as they tighten the circle around me, hastily pushing in the direction of the stairway. I am done.