1kaday

The world is not kind to those who are different, Jim reflected, and nowhere in the world is this clearer than in high school. This is especially noticeable when you are surrounded by three larger boys who can sense weakness and wish to exploit it.

Jim was not a very weak person on the surface. He was sixteen, on the tall and slender side, with sandy brown hair that pretty much defied all attempts to keep it combed. Dark green eyes were set in a blandly handsome face—the type that looks good and is forgettable minutes later.

Socially, however, he was very weak. He tended to keep to himself, which in his school was an unforgivable sin that would mark a person as easy prey. The loners didn’t have a social group to help defend them from the slings and arrows of the others in the school. Of course, he had what he felt were good reasons to avoid people. Most people didn’t like the sight of needles, or of people using those needles, even if it was on themselves.

Jim didn’t have the luxury of avoiding needles. He had to be aware of how much and what type of food he was putting into his body, and based on that figure out how much insulin he needed to take. He didn’t want to get a pump, to wear all the time and give him regularly scheduled injections; he preferred having more control over when and how much he took.

When he first started going to this school, he made the mistake of taking his insulin in the cafeteria, and noticed that he was getting looks from amusement to shock, all of which led to him being called to the principle’s office. Things were cleared up quickly—the nurse was able to confirm that he was diabetic, and not taking anything he shouldn’t—but it had been embarrassing, and while it wasn’t a problem with the school, it had made a permanent mark on his social record.

So he knew he couldn’t count on his friends to get him out of this situation; he didn’t have any. The teachers and staff were, as usual, absent. He had to rely on his wits.

He felt like he was doomed.

“I said, give me your lunch money, creep!” The bully was bored, too bored to come up with anything clever. He and his friends just wanted to collect a few dollars, so they could spend the afternoon at the arcade. Some of the students felt that giving them that money was a small price to pay—not only did it keep them from being beaten up, but it meant that the trio would be away from the school the rest of the day.

“I don’t have any,” Jim replied calmly. “I brought my lunch today.” He held up the brown paper bag lovingly packed by his mother that morning. She packed most of his lunches, since that way she had more control over what he ate. You couldn’t keep a teenager away from eating things that aren’t good for him, she reasoned, but you could at least make the effort.

The bullies eyed the bag with disapproval. The alpha bully reached out and grabbed the bag. “Maybe we’ll consider this your contribution, then,” he said, pulling out the sandwich. He sniffed at it. “What the hell is this?”

“Um, peanut butter and jelly?” He wasn’t completely sure; it could have been tuna.

The bully rolled his eyes in disgust, dropping the sandwich to the floor. “I hate peanut butter. If you’re going to brown bag it, start bringing better lunches.”

“Hey, I’d love to, but you try telling my mom something…” He knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say. The bully closed what distance there was between them, bending his neck so that his forehead was touching Jim’s. Jim coughed a little—apparently the bully had been smoking.

“Don’t give me any back-talk, creep. Bring money tomorrow, or we’ll throw you in the dumpster.” His fellows nodded, liking that idea.

“When you put it that way…” Jim coughed. “Okay. Money. Sure.”

Jim felt better when the trio walked off, but it was only because he could breath more easily. He felt like a wimp. He knew he should have stood up to them, but he didn’t really want to get beaten up, and that was the likely result if he tried to fight all three of them.

He picked up his sandwich, putting it back in the bag. He confirmed that it was, indeed, peanut butter and jelly. Low-fat peanut butter and no-sugar-added jelly, of course. He didn’t blame the bully for rejecting it; he wished he could, too.

Jim started toward his next class, rubbing his forehead. He felt another migraine coming on, which would make the third one in five days. It was already the headache equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. If it got worse, he reasoned, he’d have to go to the nurse, or home. He hoped it wouldn’t be the latter; if it was, his mother would be called to get him, and he wouldn’t be able to go to the comic book store on the way home.

He brightened at the thought. Wednesday–new comic book day–was the best day of the week, because he could catch up with old friends. He could learn what Peter and MJ were up to.

Jim related to Peter. They were both highly intelligent people, and Peter’s high school life read a lot like Jim’s. The only difference was that Peter had superpowers, and Jim didn’t. He envied Peter that. But then, Jim wasn’t a comic book character, and that sort of thing only happened in the comics.

Jim nearly stumbled as he walked into his classroom just ahead of the bell. The migraine was getting worse, but wasn’t at the point where he felt he should go to the nurse yet.

Filed under: HERMES Project, fiction, kayble