Free Stotan! by Chris Crutcher Page B

Colleen, and then calling her a tease because she wouldn’t respond.
    Colleen tried to handle it herself, but couldn’t get the guy to back off. So Jeff went into his room with Colleen one night after school and they asked him together to lighten up. He said he would, but things just got worse. Jeff called him down in a Chemistry class one day, and when the guy told him to “grow up,” Jeff mopped the place up with him. It might have ended there, but Jeff threatened to light the guy with a Bunsen burner and somebody went for the principal, who at the time was a real hard-ass named Petrie. To make a long story short, Petrie expelled Jeff and told him he would never graduate from Frost—that he was a disgrace and a troublemaker. Jeff probably could have enrolled someplace else—I mean, by law they have to give you an education—but the opportunity for the trip came up and he and his parents jumped on it, figuring he could sit out a year while Petrie lost some of his fervor. To make an even longer story even shorter, they shipwrecked off the Virgin Islands and Jeff was back byChristmas—too soon for Petrie to have cooled off. So, mostly on a whim, Jeff lied about his age and joined the Marine Reserves, figuring he could get the tough part out of the way in the six months between then and summer, then have an obligation for just one weekend a month and a short stint each summer. That way, he figured, with the draft reinstated and prospects of the U.S. sending the cream of its manhood off to collect bullets in some Central or South American country looming, he’d have a better chance to stay away from unfriendly fire. Reserve units go last. He pulled it off as planned and started with us the next year when Petrie was nothing but a miserable memory and Mrs. Stevens was The Man.
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    â€œThis is a Marine Corps story, son,” Jeff said. “Listen up.” He settled back with a sandwich, his audience captive in every way.
    â€œWhen I got to boot camp, I was as cocky as they come. I knew some of these guys were tough, but they didn’t have a lifetime of Max in their history. I was in great shape and actually bigger and stronger than most of the guys there; and gung ho? Yes, boys and girls, your redheaded hero was ready .
    â€œWell, I really aired it out, taking everything theycould hand out and jumping to attention for more, and some of the guys started looking up to me, because I was beating The Man at his own game. Three or four days into it I was tough .
    â€œThen one night the sergeant came into the barracks after lights out to rag on us. He did a little impromptu inspection, and those who didn’t pass, which was everyone, did pushups and listened to a raft of his crap. Then he moved right up in front of me, which was the reason he was there in the first place, and said, ‘Well, Mr. Hawkins. I guess you think you’re pretty hot stuff around here,’ and I said, ‘No, sir. I don’t, sir.’ He said, ‘Don’t call me sir , you little pimp! I’m a sergeant and you will address me that way!’ So I said, ‘Yes, Sergeant!’ and he said, ‘Mr. Hawkins, I want the rest of these men to see you for what you really are. A sister. A warm, wet sister.’ I didn’t know what to say, so I stood there in my shorts at attention.”
    â€œJeez,” Nortie said, “were you scared?” It’s hard for Nortie to imagine Jeff afraid of anything.
    â€œScared drizzly,” Jeff said, “but I was still cocky enough not to show it. Sarge pulled his bayonet out of a scabbard stuck in his belt and for a quick second I thought my number was up, but he balanced it on its handle against the wall, blade straight up, and orderedme to come over, lean my back and butt against the wall and slide down to a sitting position just above the blade—like sitting erect in a chair, only there’s no chair.”
    â€œThat sounds