Page 56 of Here & There

But as the bus pulls away, a back window drops down with a clunk. “Hey, Nathanial!” a sneering voice calls.

I look up to see a dude who looks like an ATV jerk in training stick his head out the window.

He says something I don’t quite catch over the roar of the bus gearing up again. But I do hear the wordsfuckheadandpussy.

Anger surges in my chest, and I drop my facade for the moment. “Who the hell was that?”

Nate dips his head. “Nobody,” he mumbles, and starts walking down the road.

I have a sudden flashback of those exact same kinds of taunts. Only mine were from girls with shiny hair and perfect skin and petite bodies who wore crop tops and skirts they didn’t make for girls like me.

“I remember what that’s like,” I say.

“Really? You had dickheads give you shit for being a new kid?”

If I were his parent, I’d say something about language. He’s only fourteen. But I’m not.

“No,” I say honestly.

His mouth twists. He thinks I don’t get it.

“I was never the new kid,” I say. I have to walk fast to keep up with him. “I had the same kids tease me all the way from grade school.”

He glances over at me so quickly that if I blinked, I’d miss it.

“They just got better at it as they got older. You know what they called me in middle school? Jiggles. Because everything jiggled during gym class. Any chance I had of having fun, hell, of getting the exercise my mom said I needed, made the whole world laugh at me.”

I remember that feeling. The humiliation that used to dominate my life. The worst part is I didn’t feel like I deserved to feel hurt. I wasn’t the biggest girl in school. But I was enthusiastic. Flamboyant. I just didn’t quite fit the mold. They needed something to pick on, and my looks were what they chose.

A moment ago, I nearly needed to jog to keep up with him, but he’s slowed his pace for me.

“It’s all right,” I say, just in case he thinks I’m looking for pity, or worse, compliments. “I found out later that I like my jiggles.” Most days. “I also found out that peaking in high school is detrimental to an actually fulfilling life.”

Nate lifts a brow but says nothing.

But as we walk in silence, something strikes me. He said he was the new kid.

“Hey, Nate…did you just switch schools or something?” I ask. I can’t see there possibly being that many options out here, but what do I know about small-town educational jurisdictions?

“This year,” Nate says, as if I should know that.

I frown. But suddenly it starts to click. How did I not see it before? Nate calling his dad by his first name. Mac trying so hard to get this kid to come out of his shell. It’s not just teenage hormones and normal clashing with your parents.

“You didn’t use to live with your dad,” I say, “did you?”

Nate hoists his backpack up higher and subtly picks up the pace again. He digs in his pockets, fishing out his earbuds. This is not a topic he wants to talk about. Obviously.

We’re rounding the corner. The house is visible now. I need to act fast. “Okay. Hey, well, Nate, I…uh…I need to tell you it wasn’t a coincidence that I was out there when the bus came.”

His temple pulses as he sticks one earbud in his ear.

“I wanted to talk to you,” I say before he can turn on his music.

He walks faster, and it’s not subtle this time. Tink barks excitedly and begins to trot.

Nate pulls out his phone.

“It’s about the Fire games.”

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