The bell for third period had already sounded. It amazed Zammie how quickly the hallways switched from mass hysteria to empty solitude between classes. One moment the locker-lined halls were filled with a couple hundred middle-schoolers, the next they’re as empty as a canteen in the desert.
Usually Zammie would have already been in class himself at this point, but he just arrived at school from a rough teeth cleaning at the dentist. He turned one of the vacant corners and saw four peers standing near the lockers on the other side of the white-tiled hallway. A small boy had his back against the blue lockers while three larger boys hovered over him like night club bouncers. Two of the boys were holding the smaller boy by the arms while the third brute was talking to him with his finger in his face. Zammie recognized the smaller boy. His name was Joseph Suna. His dad was Japanese and his mom was Thai, Asian immigrants like his own parents. Joseph was the quintessential outcast at school. Too smart for his own good. Too small for his age. A dark bowl cut encircled his head, and his brown pants stopped short at his ankles. The kid had no chance. The big red-haired boy’s name was Marvin. Zammie didn’t know him personally, but he heard enough urban legends to stay clear of Marvin at all cost.
“I asked you nicely, Joseph,” said Marvin. “Didn’t I ask you nicely?”
Joseph couldn’t speak. His chin quivered like a ribbon tied to a fan.
“I told you if you talked to her again you’d be punished, you little bitch.”
Without a moment’s hesitation Big Marvin punched Little Joseph right in the stomach. A whimper escaped from Joseph’s mouth and he doubled over, his knees buckled and the other two boys let go of him so he could fall to the floor.
Zammie froze in the hallway. One of the boys spotted him and pointed.
“Look!”
The red-haired boy looked at Zammie and in a flash started walking towards him. Zammie’s heart began racing but he stood his ground. He didn’t want to show fear, but his bladder felt like it was about burst open like a tomato in a microwave.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” growled Marvin, approaching Zammie like a slobbering pitbull.
Zammie tried to speak, but his jaws wouldn’t cooperate.
“You didn’t see nothin’, did ya?” said Marvin, now right on top of Zammie, freckles and all.
Zammie didn’t respond. But he did see something. Something that made him both sick to his stomach and angry at the same time.
Marvin stepped closer. “Say ‘no,’ you little bitch.”
“No,” said Zammie, frightened and fuming.
“Say ‘no I didn’t see nothing’.”
“I … didn’t see anything.” Sudden shame washed over him.
“Smart ass.” Marvin stepped closer to Zammie, looking down at him, his baloney breath filtering out in hot waves. Small acne pustules convalesced around the corners of his mouth like tiny soap bubbles. “You’re name’s Zammie, right?”
Zammie nodded his head, almost proud that Marvin would know who he was.
“If you tell anyone, Zammie, then we’ll find you. Believe it. And you won’t like what we’ll do to you.”
Zammie glanced at Marvin’s two stooges. They were bad news: greasy hair, see-through mustaches, dull eyes. Kids that didn’t amount to much after graduation. If they even graduated.
Zammie had always told himself if he was ever bullied or pushed around he would stand up for himself. If he ever saw someone else being bullied or pushed around he would stand up for them. Well, here he was. And he couldn’t move a muscle. Putting up as much fight the last mushy fruit loop in a bowl of cereal.
Marvin turned away from Zammie, motioned to his two minions, and the three of them walked quickly down the hall and turned a corner, probably off to find someone else to harass. Zammie exhaled and rushed over to where Joseph and trying to stand up again.
“Are you okay? Why did they do that?”
Joseph tried taking a couple deep breaths. He was in the 7th grade like Zammie, but he was only ten years old whereas most of the other 7th graders were twelve or just turning thirteen. He had been pushed ahead two classes in elementary school by his parents. They believed their gifted child needed the additional challenge of more advanced academics. What they hadn’t taken into consideration was the increased interactions with kids much larger and much less passive than him.
“I’m fine,” he said. Zammie noticed large tears falling from his eyes.
“What’d you do to piss off Marvin?” asked Zammie.
“Nothing … I’ve gotta go to class.”
Joseph picked up his backpack from the other side of the hallway and ran off as quick as his little feet would carry him. One of his laces was undone. Zammie was left alone both confused with what had just happened and disappointed in his response to it.
The sky was crackling blue and the sun glowed like the giant heart of Zeus high above the school building. Kyla was waiting out by the flag pole in front of Rosemont Middle School after the final bell had wrung for the day. That was her and Zammie’s meeting place after school before making the short walk to Zammie’s house a few blocks away. It was warm enough for shorts, by Kyla had stuck with jeans and a pastel top. Her black hair was woven tightly into a single braid down her back.
She was always glad to get Fridays over with, but today she was especially excited. Two days earlier they had gone to visit their neighbor Mister G. They told him about their time trip to Gettysburg and their survival of Hiroshima. The elderly Mister G was amazed at their stories and proud of his two brave time-travelers. Zammie had promised Kyla that they could go on another journey that afternoon. It was addicting, like gently salted corn chips, it was impossible to stop indulging.
Mister G had given the Arjuna statue to Zammie thinking that it might give him visions of the past, but he didn’t expect it to take both he and Kyla back into fully immersed adventures where they’d be able to completely interact intelligently with historical figures. They were even able to bring artifacts back to the present with them. Mister G had never seen the Arjuna statue work so strongly before. Apparently the Arjuna liked these two kids very much, but he was worried that they might grow too involved with it.
When Zammie arrived at the flag pole he wore a pensive look on his face. He was still thinking about Joseph and his inability to help him.
“You ready for Arjuna?” asked Kyla. The smile on her face was as wide as eagle wings.
“Sure.”
Kyla noticed the lack of conviction in her cousin’s answer. “What’s wrong?”
“I dunno. I saw something very strange today, and I’m not sure what I should do about it—”
“Zammie!” A young girl was running towards the two cousins.
Zammie looked over and saw Jessica Guerra approaching. She was one of the eighth graders who worked in the Principal’s Office after school helping sort papers and make phone calls for a work experience credit. She was a pretty Hispanic girl with long, black hair and mocha brown skin. She was a couple inches taller than Zammie which was something that intimidated him a little.
“Zammie. Misses Ellingson wants to see you.”
“Misses Ellingson?” asked Kyla. “What for?”
“I don’t know,” said Jessica. “She just said she needed to see him real quick.”
“Oh, boy.” Zammie had a gut-feeling he knew what this was about. “Go ahead without me, Kyla. Tell mom I’ll be home in a minute.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Kyla. I think I know what this is about.”
“What is it?”
Zammie began walking back towards the school building with Jessica. “It’s okay,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you when I get home.”
Kyla watched her cousin disappear back inside the school building. The large, brown doors swallowed him up like a little Filipino gingerbread man.
Mrs. Ellingson was the Assistant Principal. She was an athletic, raven-haired woman in her later fifties who was active in yoga. She loved going to wine-tastings and complaining about the poor reading habits of today’s youth. From time to time she would wonder how she got stuck as a middle school AP having to deal with these artless tweens.
Help the minis, was her mantra. This must be the true calling the Cosmos has in mind for me. At least for the time being.
Her office was painted in a sandy beige color and decorated with tiny palm trees and pictures of her with various chefs, authors and other accomplished friends of her husband.
Jessica Guerra led Zammie into the office where he saw Mrs. Ellingson filling out some paperwork that was neatly stacked on her desk.
“Hello, Zamuel,” said Mrs. Ellingson. She barely looked up. “Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in one second.”
Jessica closed the door and returned to her post at the receptionist desk leaving Zammie alone with Mrs. Ellingson. He sat down on the black canvas couch across from her desk. His palms had begun sweating the moment he re-entered the school building. Now that he was actually in the AP’s office he felt he was going to piss himself as well. The second time he felt that way today. How disappointing.
“Alright, sir. You’re probably wondering what this is all about.” Mrs. Ellingson put down her pen. “Or maybe you already know.”
Zammie did his best to look relaxed, but he knew his face had “scared stiff” written all over it.
“I’ve been told we had a bullying incident in the hallway earlier,” she continued. “Do you know anything about that?”
Zammie felt like he was going to puke. How did she know?
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you sure? I ask because apparently there was another witness of the incident who claims that you were there.”
“What incident, ma’am?”
“I was told that Marvin Waggoner punched Joseph Suna in the hall today. There was a witness who will go nameless for now who claims that you also saw this incident. Right now I have three students who claim that Marvin was in third period study hall this morning and one student who claims he was beating up Joseph. If you also saw the incident it would go a long way towards supporting the case against Marvin.”
“What does Joseph say?”
“He doesn’t want to talk about it. He already went home. But tomorrow, Principal Gainar will be back and we will all be able to meet and discuss this entire issue ... if you did in fact witness it.”
Zammie wanted to speak, but the thought of Big Marvin using his face as a speed bag made the words turn into rocks in his mouth.
“Zammie, you understand that bullying is not something to be taken lightly. I will not tolerate it at this school. Principal Gainar will not tolerate it either. But if we are to be able to hand out a fair punishment we have to be sure of all the facts.”
Zammie was angry with himself. He wanted to speak up, but he couldn’t. Fear had a tethered grip on his tongue as strong as steel.
“Did you see Marvin punch Joseph, Zammie?”
He remembered hearing a story during the summer about how Big Marvin was playing a game of basketball on the outdoor court one afternoon. Marvin and one of his friends were playing two other boys, and the two other boys won. Marvin apparently didn’t take kindly to their smug attitudes so he picked up a rock from the grass and threw it at one of the boys as they were walking away, hitting him in the back of the head and knocking him to the ground. The other boy ran back at Marvin in an effort to defend his friend, but Marvin grabbed the second boy by the neck and began punching him in the nose, smashing it to pieces until the boy’s face was painted red with blood. Not everyone believed the story was true, but Zammie wasn’t about to hook Marvin up to a polygraph machine to find out.
“No ... I don’t think so, ma’am.”
“You don’t think so? You don’t sound very sure of your answer.”
“I didn’t see the incident, ma’am.” Zammie words trickled out like the heartbeat of a dying church mouse. He looked down at his brown hands. He could feel the stare of Mrs. Ellingson boring into the top of his head.
“Alright. I want you to go home and think about this some more, Zamuel, and on Monday I want you to come in and see Principal Gainar and tell him what you told me, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Unless, of course, you remember anything that you’re not telling me now. Then you can tell him the full story. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I can’t force you to admit to anything, Zammie, but I want you to think about what you’re going to say.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. You’re free to go.”
Zammie got up and left the office. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
