Free Dodging Trains by Sunniva Dee

someone to fuck her. Dude’s not gonna do that, tell you that much. I should give it to her, huh?”
    They don’t come after me.
    From the far stall I hear someone spitting. Irregular breaths and suppressed sobs. I try to open the door but hit a body on the floor. I make out hands clinging to the porcelain ring and wet hair trembling like fall leaves.
    “Keyon, it’s me,” I whisper.
    He doesn’t react.
    “Let me in.”
    My friend is kneeling on the floor and makes no effort to move. I’m skinny, so I manage to squeeze in through the crack anyway. I kneel too. Grab his face and raise it to me. He rips himself free and lets a sob out into his hands. Then he shakes his head, mad. “I’m gonna start taking classes.”
    “What classes? We’ll tell the principal.”
    “ Fuck the principal. She doesn’t know shit. I’m gonna take jiu-jitsu classes. Brazilian. And kick-boxing too.”
    “Self-defense?”
    “Oh it’s more than that. They teach you how to fuck people up, and you just watch: I’m gonna do that. No one’s gonna dare call you a fag hag anymore, that’s for sure.” He lifts his too-pretty face at me, eyes alight with purpose.
    “Gimme thirty days, Paislee. I’ll get there so fast you won’t believe it. See, it doesn’t matter that you’re short if you know how to break bones.”
    Keyon hasn’t spoken like this before. I should probably be worried, but his ire breaks his desolation and I feel my own fists close, agreeing with him and getting ready. “Good! Those asswipes need a broken bone or two.”
    He stands, the top of his head reaching my brow. Keyon will have to live with the curse of being too good-looking, but at least he has grown taller over the last few months.
    “I’ve signed up,” he tells me. “And Dad’s paying for it.”
    “You told your mom and dad how things have escalated?”
    “No, are you crazy? That’d be all hell breaking loose again, like last time. Ma would freak out and make my life a living hell, and Dad would sue them.”
    “Isn’t this already a living hell?” I point in the direction of the toilet he’s been dunked in and give him more paper towels.
    “Ha, it’s practically history. A few more dips and that’s it,” he says, sounding lighthearted like he believes it. “And when it’s my turn, I’m not dunking them.”
    “No?”
    “No. I’m smashing their faces in. They’ll be so scared of me they’ll piss their pants when they see me.” A smile stretches over my best friend’s tear-streaked, too-beautiful face.
    His shirt is wet. I open my backpack and hold out a spare. I sneaked it out of his closet last night knowing this could happen; it had been days since the last swirly, and it’s one of Tyler’s favorite punishments.
    Soap from the container by the sink. He rubs it between his hands and washes his bony chest and arms with it. I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping he’ll meet his goal of taking care of his bullies without parental help. Once he has dried off, he takes the shirt and pulls it over his head. When his eyes meet mine through the collar, they’re calm, focused, and filled with determination.

    Mom’s bussing tables herself. I forgot that Tuesdays are her big days with everyone from City Hall lunching here. I wonder if Keyon’s father came by too.
    “Need help?” I ask halfheartedly.
    “No, honey, you need your break too. I’ll be done in a minute. Head on up to the window and order some food, will you?”
    I do. Onion rings and calamari today. The chef doesn’t even blink at my order, because in this town he hears worse. With a look around, I verify that no bitchy owner is nearby before I serve myself a glass of fresh lemonade.
    “I’ll join you with my sandwich in a few,” Mom says and disappears into the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes.
    As I pull lemonade in through a straw, I think of Keyon and how excited he was when he came back from his first classes at the martial arts gym. Hope shone in his