Free Unknown by Christopher Smith

had.

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
    I made it with a few minutes to spare.
    I went to my locker, dropped off the books I didn’t need, grabbed a few others I did need, shut the door and spun the combination lock.   I turned to leave for my homeroom—and there it was.  
    Everyone in the hallway was looking at me.  
    Some were trying to be discrete, but others were flat-out staring at me and there was no question that what I saw on their faces was confusion.   I swung my backpack over my shoulder and walked through the crowd, expecting the typical jeers, but they didn’t come.
    At least not immediately.
    I was about to enter my homeroom when Jake Tyler, he of yesterday’s broken nose and boo-hoo crying jag, came up beside me and blocked the entrance with an outstretched arm.   “How’s it going, roid boy?”
    I looked at his arm, then up at his swollen nose.   “Let’s put it this way—things are way better than what’s going on with that blob of a schnoz of yours.”
    There was a flash of genuine surprise on his face.   I’d never stood up to him before.   “What did you just say to me?”
    “Your nose,” I said, loud enough so people could hear me in the room beyond.   “It looks like shit. Are they going to try to straighten it, or are you going to be stuck with a hooked nose and be permanently disfigured?”   I put my hand on his arm and pushed it down so I could pass.   “Excuse me,” I said.
    Every eye was on me as I entered the room.   It was like I was an alien.   Or that I had some secret-op doppelganger who had taken my place.   I looked quickly for Hastings and saw that he wasn’t here.   Neither was Jennifer, though Alex was.   And then, by the expression on his face, I knew I was in for it even before Jake Tyler lifted his books and slammed them down hard on top of my head.
    I went down like a ten pin, my backpack spinning across the floor.   I heard laughter, but as I blinked in an effort to pull myself together, I also was aware of feet rushing toward my backpack and a hand reaching down to pick it up.   I tried to will the pain away, but I couldn’t focus enough to do so.   My head was splitting and I saw Alex coming toward me.   His hand dipped and he helped me up.   “Are you okay?”
    I was damned if I was going to show anyone how much it hurt, so I faked it and shook it off.   I felt the top of my head for blood.   There wasn’t any.   “I’m fine,” I said.
    Alex looked over at Jake, whose face was flushed with anger.   He was every bit as big as Alex, but unlike Alex, he felt the need to hold himself in such a way that suggested nothing could touch him.  
    Was he insecure?   I couldn’t imagine it—he’d always been popular and he hardly was a disappointment on the football team—but that cocky stance didn’t lie.   I wondered about him.   In some ways, Tyler was worse than Hastings because he was pure stealth.   Hastings was more showy—he liked to get in your face and get the crowd going—but Jake looked for opportunities and would only act if he was sure he was in the clear, as he was now.   Our homeroom teacher wasn’t here yet and so he chose his moment and slammed me with his books.
    “What’s your problem, dude?” Alex said.
    “What’s it to you, bitch?”
    “Keep your hands off him.”
    “You his boyfriend or something?”
    Alex laughed.   “Some of you are so backwoods, it’s a joke.   Have you ever been out of this town?   Ever been to a city?   Because if you had, I think you’d have a different perspective.   For some reason, and I can only guess why, everything is gay to you.”
    From the back of the room, someone said, “There’s a good reason for that.   Did you see Moore’s trailer this morning?   ‘A Faggot Lives Here’ is written all over it.   Doesn’t get any gayer than that, buddy.”
    So, the word was out.
    Fine.  
    My head was clearing.   I was able to focus.   I turned to look at the