Page 51 of Summer of the Boy

“I’m so stupid,” he screams through his tears, as he hits his head hard again. Really freaking hard. Leaving red marks and his nose has blood dripping. And they all just watch like this spectacle was put on strictly for their enjoyment.

They all just watch.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Security’s on its way,” the, I’m assuming, professor tells me. Or I should say the short, balding professor with an obvious boulder-sized chip on his shouldersnidelytells me. The way he rolls his eyes and looks down his nose at Rid, even though he has to look up to see him.

Who does he think he is making judgements about anyone? He needs to slink back inside his Hobbit hole and leave the rest of us alone.

“You don’t need security.Ridley.” I use my firm tone.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Stop. Now,” I order. There’s a crack where he hears me but doesn’t stop completely. So I try again. “Ridley.Stop.” Once he hears me, and maybe because it’s me he hears, my voice specifically, it’s like flicking off a light.

He just stops. Then turns his head to look at me, “Leif?”

“Yeah babe.” Relief. “Can I touch you?” I ask.

He nods.

From my pocket I pull a crumpled up napkin to wipe the blood from his nose.

After that’s been dealt with, with permission, I wrap my arms around him and hug. His arms are drooped to his side, so he doesn’t hold me back, but it’s fine. He needs my strength. I’m here for him to absorb it.

With the show over, the crowd disperses. A few stragglers hang around by the door, my guess to see if Rid will start back up again. Looky-loo idiots. He won’t, not that they know this about him. But he won’t, at least not while I’m here.

“What happened?” I need the details before I start going off on people. Rid’s still too shaken up to explain yet which means the professor needs to answer some questions.

“What happened?” I ask the guy.

“He tried to use a microphone with his iPad. I told him he couldn’t in my class. Teachers have the right of preference. He kept it out, so I took it away, told him he could have it back end of semester.”

“You took it away?” Is he freaking kidding me?

“Right of preference,” he repeats himself. It’s such a lame excuse I have to check my urge to punch him in the gonads.

“Not when it’s part of his plan. Did he introduce himself at the start of class?”

The asshat cocks his head and blinks, just blinks.

“Didn’t he give you the information from the student disabilities center?”

He blinks again.

“Sorry, blinkingis notan answer.Did he?” I push. My hand curls into a fist at my side in preparation for whatever excuse he’s about to come up with.

“Yes. Though I was busy and didn’t read it.”

Breathe, Leif. In through the nose out through the mouth.

Nope, not working. Gonad punch imminent. Expulsion would almost be worth it.

Ridley finally lifts his arms to hold me back. His breaths hitch, but at least he’s calm now.

“He’s autistic, has an aversion to pens and pencils so he’s allowed to use the microphone hooked up to his iPad,” I explain and it’s so hard to keep civil.

“Well I just—” He tries to argue his point, but I’m not having any of it.

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