Page 1 of Second Shot

Prologue

Gabe

I fucking hate Ryan Caldwell with the power of a thousand suns.

I stare into his cold, jade-green eyes as he rips page after page from my prized hockey magazine. Revulsion and mockery glimmer as he watches me struggling to free myself from his pal, Freddy Morrison’s, strangle hold around my throat.

“What the fuck are you doing with a hockey magazine?” Ryan asks, smirking. “Shouldn’t you have a cooking magazine or something? Maybe a sewing magazine so you can make yourself a new skirt?”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, tasting blood, just so I don’t give him the satisfaction of crying. But I feel like crying. I fucking feel like sobbing. I’d washed cars and mowed lawns all summer long just so I could afford to pay for a magazine subscription toHockey Now. Maybe it was just a magazine to others but to me, that special edition magazine was like the golden ticket Charlie found in his chocolate bar. It symbolized a dream. An escape from my hellish school existence.

When I’d found the magazine on the kitchen table this morning, the heady scent of the printed pages and the slick feel of the photos beneath my trembling fingers had thrilled me. I hadn’t even finished my Captain Crunch cereal because I’d been so excited to get to school to show the magazine to Jenny, my one and only friend at Morningside Middle School.

Unfortunately, I’d run into Freddy and Ryan loitering in the hallway near the lockers. I’d kept my head down, clutching my hockey magazine against my chest like armor, praying they wouldn’t notice me. I’d told myself that if I was quiet enough, small enough, maybe today they wouldn’t bother me. Maybe today they’d turn their sights on someone else.

Then Ryan’s mocking voice had called out, “Hey, Blubber Boy, where are you going in such a hurry?”

And here we are again.

I wheeze as Freddy holds me in a chokehold. The hallway smells like industrial cleaner and sweat. Kids hurry by, pretending not to see what’s happening. All the little sheep just scurrying around us, praying the big bad wolves don’t notice them.

Freddy’s forearm is so tight against my windpipe, I see spots on the edge of my vision. Ryan holds my gaze as he tears out another page. He has a bruise beneath one eye, and his lip lookscut. Probably got those war wounds from some other kid he’s been busy bullying. It’s annoying that he still looks hot even with those marks on his face. He’s the best looking kid at our school, and he knows it.

Ryan starts to toss the ripped magazine on the ground, as if he’s tired of the game, but before he can do that, Freddy snarls, “No, finish it. Every fucking page needs to go. You want this little fat faggot jerking off all over those photos of those hockey players?”

“I don’t do that,” I rasp, struggling to push the words out.

“Did I say you could talk, faggot?” Freddy shakes me and then turns to Ryan. “Do it. Every page needs to be ripped up.”

Ryan hesitates, and a muscle works in his jaw.

“Don’t be a pussy, Ryan,” growls Freddy. “You feel sorry for this little faggot? Why? You a faggot too?”

“Screw you, Freddy,” Ryan grumbles, glancing at me as one solitary tear slips down my face. His cheek twitches and his eyes darken. For one second, I think he’s going to tell Freddy to fuck off. But instead, he smirks and rips the entire magazine in half, dropping the torn pieces to the dirty ground. He watches me as he steps on the shredded pages, twisting his foot.

“Oops,” he says.

Freddy cackles and his arm releases my throat. Choking and coughing, I fall to my knees, gasping for air.

“Let’s see you try and masturbate on the players now, Blubber Boy.” Freddy says in a mocking tone.

I hate that name. I hate how it makes the other kids snicker, how it follows me from class to class like a shadow I can’t shake. I’m notthatfat. I’m just... soft. Mom says I’ll grow into myself, that some kids are just late bloomers. But standing here next to Freddy’s wiry frame and Ryan’s more lean, athletic body, I feel like the title fits.

Freddy puts his foot against my back and shoves, and I end up face first on top of the destroyed magazine. The scent of the ink from the pages makes my eyes sting, but I still don’t cry. My long, dark, stringy hair falls over my face and I hear Freddy laughing even louder than before.

“Look at that fat ass. Jesus, he’s going to make some gay dude a wonderful wife one day.” Freddy cackles again.

“Okay, we should get to class,” Ryan says gruffly. “I’m bored.”

Ignoring his pal, Freddy leans down, pushing the hair off my sweaty face. His breathsmells like bacon and he’s close enough that I can see the gap between his front teeth, the one that makes him whistle when he talks. “Do you seriously think you could play hockey?” His eyes are cold and his voice venomous.

I try to push up on my arms so I can get to my feet, but he shoves me back down. Behind him, Ryan watches us, his green eyes emotionless.

“News flash, fatso,” Freddy says. “They don’t make skates or uniforms in size elephant.”

Some kids nearby laugh nervously. Not all of them, but enough. Enough that my cheeks burn and my vision blurs at the edges. I blink hard because I will die before I cry in front of them.

“Fuck off,” I say hoarsely.

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