Once I got to the cafeteria, I loaded up a tray with a beef burrito, some potato wedges with a fistful of ketchup packets, cherry cobbler, chocolate milk, and vegetable medley (since I did need something healthy) and headed toward my usual table. I immediately noticed that Daphne was absent.

"Hey," I said to September, "where's Daph?"

She pointed over to the Jock Table where Daphne had wedged a chair next to Glen Reeves from the swim team.

"She and Glen had an amazing IM session last night," September explained.

I took a bite of my burrito as I watched Daphne laugh at something hilarious Glen must have said.

The sudden smell of Gucci Envy and cigarettes made me look away from Daphne and over to my left. Sure enough, Brian was standing beside me, a predatory smirk on his face.

"You must have nearly two thousand calories on your tray there, Mr. Taylor," he remarked. "I wish I had your metabolism."

I wiped my mouth with the whisper-thin tissue paper the school offered as napkins. "Well, growing boys need to eat. What did you have for lunch today, Mr. Kinney?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I had some delicious, high-protein chicken."

I instantly broke out in a sweat.

"Mmm," was all I could say before he turned to leave.

September watched Brian walk away before looking at me curiously. "Uh, that was weird."

I had already seen Daphne during Brian's creative writing class that morning where she had blatantly ignored me. I decided to attempt a conversation with her before English Literature class began.

"Good afternoon, Daphne," I said as I sat down at the desk beside her.

She took her textbook out of her backpack and stared forward at the front of the room, her lips slightly puckered in annoyance.

"I saw you sitting with Glen Reeves during lunch. What's going on with him?"

The girl sat there like a living statue.

I sighed. "Well, when you do finally decide to talk to me, I'm all ears."

Brian soon entered the room, took roll call, and immediately dove into our study ofHamlet. I was of course enthralled with Brian's lecture of the classic play, listening intently as he read Mr. Shakespeare's fancy words while pausing every so often to explain what a character meant in simpler language.

Chris Hobbs and one of his cronies in the back of the room, on the other hand, were not at all interested with the subject matter given that they were whispering and snickering throughout the class.

"Mr. Hobbs," Brian summoned.

"What?" Hobbs gruffly answered, clearly annoyed that his monkey business was being interrupted.

"Since you are obviously oh-so invested in our discussion, I'm sure you'll have no problem explaining to the class what exactly Prince Hamlet meant during his famous ‘what a piece of work is man' speech*."

I turned to look at Hobbs, who looked like the proverbial deer caught in headlights.

"Uh," Hobbs said as he flipped through the pages of his book. "He meant that, uh, man... you know, men are real pieces of work. Like, they're basically... yeah."

The classroom burst into a fit of laughter. Even Daphne, who had maintained a rather dour expression throughout the lesson, couldn't help but snicker at Hobbs's display of utter stupidity.

I looked back at Brian, who was biting his lips as he always did as he tried not to break. "Fascinating, Mr. Hobbs. Men are real pieces of work. Don't you agree, Mr. Taylor?"

I immediately composed myself, thrilled that Brian had once again acknowledged me during class. "Yes, Mr. Kinney, they sure are... some more than others."

Brian smiled for a moment at my audacity before saying, "But please, Mr. Taylor, tell us what Hamlet was referring to in his conversation with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in Act II."

I then recalled Brian referring to Emmett and Ted as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern at Babylon and I couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

"Hamlet meant that although he recognized that humanity was a beautiful thing, he could find no joy in the company of others following the death of his father."

"Correct," Brian said, surely proud and/or turned on by my brilliance.

"I can certainly empathize with him," I continued. "I mean, my father is still alive, but my parents are currently getting divorced. He moved out a few weeks ago and I haven't spoken to him since."

Brian nodded slightly, as he was already familiar with my family situation. "That's too bad."

"But... at least he's still alive. I could reconcile with him one day, if I chose. Unfortunately, not everyone gets that chance."

Brian then squinted at me, clearly realizing that I was referring to his relationship with his not-so-dearly departed father.

I was potentially putting myself at risk of really pissing him off, but I decided to roll with it. "Hamlet was depressed after losing his father and everyone in town knew. Not everyone reacts the same way to the death of a parent, however; some choose to ball up the pain inside and self-medicate. They may even end up hurting themselves in one way or another, if they're not careful." 

Brian sat on the edge of his desk, attempting to maintain a detached facade. "Yes, that's true."

"In Act II, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were sent to check on Hamlet and he was kind of an asshole to them."

There were a few giggles throughout the room.

"Pardon my French," I said.

Brian waved his hand. "Go on."

"Hamlet was being a bit condescending to them because he didn't know of their true intentions for coming to see him. Maybe all Hamlet really needed was someone to talk to... someone he could really talk to about his pain from losing his father instead of putting up a tough exterior."

Brian stared at me for several seconds. "Maybe," he finally said.

There were only a few minutes left in the class period so Brian wrapped up the discussion and assigned us a set of questions on Act II from our textbook to be completed that evening. The bell rang soon after and I got up to leave.

I stopped when I heard Brian clear his throat, pretending to busy myself with looking for something in my backpack. I could see him walking towards me in my peripheral vision as the room emptied.

"What the hell was that?" Brian quietly asked.

I looked up at him as innocently as I could manage, blinking slowly. "What was what, Mr. Kinney?"

He took a breath to elaborate but stopped when he realized that students from his next class were beginning to come into the room.

"I'll see you in the auditorium later for rehearsal?"

I nodded before leaving for my next class.

As I was walking to the auditorium at the end of the day, I unfortunately ran into Hobbs and three of his jock buddies just outside the door.

"Well, look who it is: Mr. Shakespeare," Hobbs said in a condescending tone.

I attempted to pass him but he blocked me by stepping directly in my path.

"I bet you feel really smart, don't you, because you can understand fucking Shakespeare's gibberish?"

"All I did was read the cliff notes," I said, trying to deescalate the situation so he would leave me the fuck alone. "I can let you borrow mine if you want."

He leaned in and yelled right in my face, "I mean, what kind of a guy likes fucking Shakespeare, anyway?"

"Yeah," his followers chimed in behind him.

"A fucking faggot, that's what," Hobbs answered himself.

I wanted to say something but decided to keep my cool as he ran his mouth.

Hobbs laughed, obviously very proud of his ingenuity. "Yeah, you and Kinney are a couple of Shakespeare-loving faggots."

At hearing Brian's name I instantly lost it, shoving Hobbs as hard as I could.

"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed.

Hobbs fell back into his friends who looked absolutely shocked to see someone actually stand up to their leader.

"You son of a bitch!" Hobbs yelled as he launched himself at me, punching me in my left eye before tackling me to the floor.

Hobbs's cronies cheered him on as Hobbs wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed.

"I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker," he growled in my face.

Luckily, someone pulled Hobbs off of me before I lost consciousness.

That someone was Brian, who was holding Hobbs in a full nelson. I sat up and noticed that the members of the Christmas play production, including Miss Peterson, had filtered out into the hallway in response to the commotion.

"What is going on here?" Miss Peterson asked.

"That little son of a bitch shoved me!" Hobbs yelled as he struggled to get himself out of Brian's strong grasp.

"You fucking deserved worse, you piece of shit!" I screamed back.

"Enough!" Miss Peterson yelled. "Brian, let him go!"

Brian complied although I'm sure he would have loved snapping that bastard's head off.

"Everyone involved, go to Dr. Perkins's office, now!" Miss Peterson ordered.

Hobbs, his friends, Brian, and I all silently walked to the office. I was directed to sit in a small conference room while the others went into the dean's office to tell their side of the story. Brian stayed in the conference room with me.

"What the fuck happened?" he asked.

"He called me a Shakespeare-loving faggot, so I shoved him."

Brian snorted. "So? He's not wrong."

I huffed out a breath, deciding not to reveal that Hobbs had also included Brian in his declaration.

"That doesn't make it okay for him to use that word, especially when he let me suck his cock that one time. He seems to forget that I have dirt on him."

Brian sighed and sat down at the table next to me. "That's exactly why he's such a shit to you. He's a dumb, immature asshole just taking his insecurities out on the easiest target."

"Am I just supposed to take it?" I angrily asked.

"You're supposed to be the bigger man and show that you're not going to stoop to his level," he said as he lightly rubbed a finger under my left eye, which I could feel starting to swell. "You're going to have one hell of a shiner there. The next time you decide to fight someone make sure you block them from hitting that pretty face, okay?"

I smiled. "I'll try."

My mother soon joined us in the conference room, demanding to know what had happened. I told her that Hobbs had been giving me shit for months and I just couldn't take it anymore. My mother and I were eventually called into Dr. Perkins's office where I explained my part of the fight in few words, admitting that I was the one who put my hands on him first.

I was given three days of suspension from school which was the standard punishment for fighting. Since it was a Monday and we were off on Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving Break, that meant I was not allowed back until the following Tuesday. Dr. Perkins informed me that Hobbs had also received three days.

Overall, standing up to Hobbs was really not worth it since I was a nerd who actually liked going to school.

Molly was spending the evening with our father so Mom and I were alone when we got back to the house. I grabbed an ice pack for my eye and she started making some turkey sandwiches for us.

"Alright," she snapped as she sat my plate down on the kitchen island in front of me. "Are you going to tell me what actually happened today?"

"I already told you - Hobbs has been giving me shit all year and today he got in my face, so I shoved him."

"Giving you shit about what?" Mom asked, surprising me since she rarely ever cursed.

I shrugged, trying to come up with something. "He just doesn't like me... I guess he's jealous that I'm a better student than he is. We have a few classes together and the teachers call on me more than they do him. Today during English Lit, I was able to answer a question that he didn't know and it pissed him off."

I wasn't lying, at least.

"Well, you shouldn't have put your hands on him," Mom said. "I'm not saying that it was okay for him to punch and choke you, but you should have gone to a teacher or someone in the office and told them about his verbal abuse before it ever turned physical."

"I know," I said before taking a bite of my sandwich.

Mom looked down at her plate but did not move to eat. "Justin... I have to ask you something."

"What?"

She turned and walked to the laundry room, returning with a long-sleeved black shirt on a hanger.

Brian's black Ralph Lauren shirt.

Oh no.

"Whose shirt is this?" she asked.

I chewed for a few seconds and swallowed. "Uh... Dad's?"

She shook her head. "It's a size too big for him, and when he moved out I made sure that he took every stitch of his clothing with him. He also never owned anything Ralph Lauren and I found this in your room this morning while gathering dirty clothes to wash. Now, do you want to tell me whose shirt it really is?"

I took a deep breath, deciding it was finally time to come clean.