Beyond Crazy Year

By Robby Robertson

BEYOND CRAZY YEAR: A Contemporary Coming of Age Novel
 

Bry, a 15-year-old boy, is devastated after missing out on the chance to play in the Little League National finals. Disillusioned, he escapes into the world of professional online gaming, intent on shutting out reality. However, real life doesn't make hiding easy.

 

2020 brought a whirlwind of challenges to us all. In Bry's case, a Japanese girlfriend new to the U.S. who faces racist threats, mean girl drama through texts, and a local polluter who poisons Bry's beloved dog. Bry soldiers through it all until the COVID-19 pandemic forces his school to shut down and quarantine. When his parents fall ill from the virus, they're forced to seek treatment across the country in Texas.

 

Now truly overwhelmed, Bry realizes he needs to get his act together one last time. He must find the strength to fly to San Antonio and help his ailing mother. In this turbulent coming-of-age story set against the backdrop of 2020's chaos, can Bry rise to meet the challenges?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis Robertson
• Release date: Jul 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223075615

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS A Deathmatch, a crazy free-for-all. No time for fear. Besides, I had only myself to worry about. Nothing but moving, shooting, and swearing.

I did all three and kept scraping by. Barely. But I was doing better and would soon—my bedroom door bumped open. Focus lost, I was instantly dead. Damn-it! Flew out of my mouth before I realized it was Willy. I swung around to see the dog bolt from the room. Sorry, mutt, I whispered as his claws scraped down the staircase.

Taking a deep breath to get control, I smelled a mixture of brown sugar, warm butter, and chocolate. My stomach growled.

Time for a quick button push on the mouse. The screen flicked off and I jumped to my feet, moving fast. Christy was baking Mom’s chocolate Oreo cookies.

Four big hops and I was down the stairs on my way to the kitchen. Is something good happening down here? I yelled.

Yep, she shouted back.

Three long steps and I’d crossed the kitchen to where she’d placed a cookie covered baking sheet. I slid one into my hand, and then my mouth. Delicious! A cookie definitely worth pausing my first try at using the new Valorant agent.

Christy gave me her stern, older sister look. Bry, you need to get out of the house more. Get real friends, dump that stupid computer game. Get a life!

A good Valorant gamer doesn’t need friends. Or family. At least not pain-in-the-ass sisters like you. I was half kidding. But only half. Christy baking Mom’s chocolate chip Oreo cookies did not make her Mom. Your cookies always taste better than your advice.

Christy laughed before handing me another cookie. Switching back to bitchy mode, she said, Bullshit Bry. You’re fifteen and planning to spend another weekend at home. Alone. Playing nothing but dumb online games. You know that’ll get you nowhere. Prepare you for nothing.

Ignoring her stupid big sister talk, I turned to head up to my room to resume practicing. Had to practice a lot more if I wanted to use Valorant’s new duelist agent at the Competitive Mode level. But…I couldn’t let Christy get the last word in, either.

Turning back, trying to smile, I told her, I was trying out a new game agent. It worked well and with a little more practice it should be perfect. I’d noticed her nose wrinkle, eyes narrowing. She was giving me her big sister disgusted look.

Did you know that the average professional Valorant player earns fifteen to twenty-five thousand per month? Per month Christy!

She ignored my Valorant comments. Instead, after taking a small test bite of a cookie herself, she said, You gave up on everything after your Little League team fell apart.

Frowning, I told her, Our Senior Division Tournament Team didn’t fall apart. Taggart, our coach, had some problem or other and quit. That’s all. I moved on to playing Valorant. Something I only need me to win at.

Christy shook her head. Okay, maybe it was time for Little League to end for you. Her eyes still on me, but half closed, she leaned back against the counter. Valorant’s hard, from what you say. What’ll you do if you start losing?

I grabbed another cookie. Not going to lose. But if I did, I swallowed half the cookie and mumbled, I’d just eat cookies and watch TV with Gramps.

That’s what worries Mom, Christy said, her back to me while she pulled another great smelling tray out of the oven. Then slid it onto the far counter, out of my reach.

That pissed me off. Leave Mom out of this.

Now facing me, Christy painted a fake worried look on her face. If you’re the brave Valorant player who never quits, the loner who doesn’t need family or baseball, why’d you get so upset yesterday when Dad called? Called from the cruise ship to tell us they were quarantined. He said not to worry, that they didn’t have the Coronavirus and weren’t sick.

Stepping closer, I glared at her. I did not.

Head cocked to one side, she smiled sweetly. You called for Willy and went outside and threw the ball in the pouring rain. For half an hour, at least. Her smile disappeared. Bry, when you’re worried, you should talk to someone. And Willy, he’s a good dog. But he doesn’t count.

Screw you. All it does is rain in Seattle. I grabbed a glass of milk, slid past her, and stole two more cookies off the baking sheet before leaving. Halfway up the stairs to my room, I stopped.

Twisting around, I took a deep breath preparing to shout, ‘I only miss Mom because my older sister’s such a lousy cook.’ But didn’t. For two reasons. First, I didn’t want to wake Gramps. He was asleep in his old man chair in the living room. Second, Christy always doubled the amount of crumbled Oreos Mom had in her recipe.

---

February was always a miserable month in Western Washington. This day was no different. Cold rain lashed the windows in a high school principal’s office. The gloomy rain matched the dark brown eyes of the pretty, fifteen-year-old girl inside. The girl was dressed in new, but casual looking high top tennis shoes, jeans, a blue, soft cotton shirt that buttoned, and a heavy down coat. She was wearing a subtle, apple scented perfume.

A tall, middle-aged woman, the high school principal, moved to stand in front of the girl. The application says your name is Shizuka. That’s a charming name. Did I pronounce it correctly?

Shizuka smiled and nodded.

Her name means quiet child, the girl’s father standing beside her explained as he handed a business card to the principal.

The girl flinched.

The principal read the card and turned to the father. Mr. Tanaka, it is good to have you attend your daughter’s tour. Starting a new school in a strange country must be a little unsettling.

The fifty-year-old-man in an expensive business suit bowed before reaching out to shake the principal’s hand. Thankfully, that is not so. And, I came to tell you how pleased we are you would consider her attendance here.

The principal placed the business card on a side table. We are honored to have Japan’s Seattle Consulate-General want to send his daughter to our school. She asked if they would like to talk for a few minutes before going on a school tour. Perhaps Shizuka has questions I can answer?

The three of them sat.

My daughter will have few questions, the father explained. She has studied English for two years and my late wife arranged for an American college student to live with them for a year when Shizuka was twelve. Shizuka has also spent the past thirty days in our new West Seattle home studying everything possible about American life, especially your school.

The principal looked amazed. Eyes twinkling, she suggested, Perhaps Shizuka can give me some pointers on how to improve things here?

Shizuka swallowed. Looking down, she shook her head.

Her father laughed. Then he described his daughter’s previous, very exclusive, private schooling in Tokyo. In great detail. He focused on her achievements in the fields of biological and environmental science. I expect Shizuka to be our family’s first scientist.

He took a deep breath. I know you recommended that the grade she be placed in be based upon her age, the father gave the principal a long, steady look. But I would like your agreement that if that ends up being a mistake she will be advanced one or two years.

Shizuka’s expression did not change.

The principal’s face hardened as she turned to face the father. Of course we will consider that. Then she smiled at the girl. The more complex issues at this age are social, not academic. Teenagers, especially girls, are not easily accepted within a school’s culture. Shizuka is new to the United States, let alone our school.

The principal gave the father a cool look before adding, We must try to help her succeed socially as well as academically.

The father frowned. She has been your equivalent of a straight A student. Her entire life. He twisted to face his daughter. And she will continue to be a perfect student to ensure that myself and her country remain proud of her.

The principal, who had been watching, noticed a slight grimace from Shizuka. Her father also saw the grimace. He frowned and reached out to touch his daughter’s arm.

The principal stepped in. We have an active Vashon Island history organization and website. One of their major areas of activity has been the ‘Japanese American Research Project.’ Perhaps you have heard of it?

The father nodded. I have. That is one of the reasons, other than academic standards, that I chose your high school. Also, there is interest at the Consulate for more involvement in projects such as Vashon Island’s Mukai Farm and Garden since anti-Asian hate incidents have been increasing. Ignorance always leads to problems.

The principal agreed. Then she glanced at her watch. It’s lunch time. If we hurry, we will catch Mrs. Wilson, one of our science teachers, before her class starts. She loves environmental sciences and would enjoy meeting Shizuka.

Before we go, the father said, I have one last, very critical request.

The principal’s eyebrows raised. Oh?

The father said, It is very important for Shizuka’s safety that no one other than yourself knows about my occupation. That means all school district and high school staff as well as students.

---

It was Friday evening and things weren’t going well.

Gramps was already in serious trouble when light flooded my darkened room. I swiveled from the monitor to the now open door.

Turn the light off. I yelled. Or Gramps is going to die. I swung back to the game monitor. Too late!

Damn-it! bellowed Gramps, I can’t see the screen.

Willy, from somewhere down the hallway, gave a loud, startled bark. His claws scratched against hardwood as he slid around a corner on his way to investigate.

Wide-eyed, my sister Christy slumped, her hands covering her mouth. She squeaked, Oops. I didn’t know you were in here, Grampa. She dropped to a knee and swung an arm around Willy, the black and white blur of an English Pointer trying to scramble past her.

It’s okay. No real damage done, Gramps said as he put the controller aside and climbed out of his chair.

I blurted, I was teaching Gramps to play Valorant and now we’re like, I glanced at the monitor again, both dead. Slamming my controller down, I spit out, Why can’t you mind your own business?

Christy stopped hugging Willy and jumped to her feet. Mom said you’re only allowed to play one hour a day, Bry. You’ve been in here the whole time since we got back from school.

What I do, I yelled at my sister, is none of your business.

You can’t just keep playing that dumb game. Do something worthwhile. Like I've suggested. Practice being a catcher with Gramps. It’s not raining. You said he’s a good pitcher and you’re trying out for the school team. Or, and Christy gave me a wicked grin, maybe find yourself a girlfriend.

You’re worse than Mom—and you’re just a dumb sister!

Gramps grabbed Willy’s collar and headed for the door mumbling, If Bry played too long, it’s my fault.

Brow furrowed, Christy spun towards Gramps. I’m sorry. It’s just someone has to monitor Bry while Dad and Mom are away.

You’re not the boss of me. Who do you think you are, Dad? I shouldered my way into a nose-to-nose confrontation with her.

Gramps mumbled, Sorry about this. Towing Willy, he side-stepped around us to leave the room. It’s no big deal. Bry thought I might enjoy the game. But it looks a little too complicated for me.

See what you’ve done? I told my sister.

I am so, so sorry, Grampa, Christy whispered. Her words were too late. He was gone.

At the bottom of the stairs, I heard him say, It’s not raining. Let’s head for the park and a walk, Willy.

The front door slammed shut. Christy hurried to open the shades in my window and peered out. At least Willy’s happy. Think he’ll find the covey of quail? I sure hope so. Grampa loves walking with Willy. It makes him remember life’s worth living.

I elbowed Christy out of the way to look. Willy’s tail was wagging with excitement as they headed toward Fauntleroy Park, a wooded, wild park a couple of blocks away. I hope so, too. But, I spun to face her, you told me I should find something for him to do. Something other than sitting in his old man’s chair dozing and drinking coffee.

I know, she whispered. Then, giving me another dirty look, added, I told you he needed to be outside, doing real things like playing catch with you. Not locked in a dark room killing make believe creatures on a dumb computer screen.

Feeling down, I realized she was right—but that didn't change anything.

You don’t know the game, so shut up. Gritting my teeth, I turned to watch Gramps and Willy. The mutt was dancing on his toes as they walked down the street. Suddenly, Willy calmed. Now sure they were clearly going to the park, he’d turned into a well behaved hunting dog.

Grinning, I told Christy, Willy isn’t just a pet going for a walk in the park. He’s a hunting dog and he’s going hunting.

---

The following Monday on the ferry, Mark, the guy I’d started sitting with last month, elbowed me. He pointed at his phone. Like, where’s your head Bry? It’s sure not in the game. You okay?

Yeah, guess so. I glanced around. Everything looked, but didn’t feel normal. The other two hundred kids riding the West Seattle ferry to school were texting, talking, or doing last-minute homework assignments. Ignoring us as usual.

I took several deep breaths. Didn’t help. I still couldn’t get rid of the feeling Christy had set me up.

Mark glanced at his phone. Your guy’s dead.

I shrugged and jammed my phone into a pocket. So?

Mark looked surprised, then laughed. God, and we were like, like close to being the last duo left.

Mark loved Fortnite. Especially the Battle Royale game he talked me into playing last week. The ferry ride from West Seattle to Vashon Island took twenty-five minutes. Enough time for us to slaughter a ton of other players.

Staring out the ferry window didn’t help my being setup feeling. Nothing but dark gray clouds outside. I mumbled, Sorry. My science teacher, Mrs. Wilson, called Saturday. Christy took it. She said I gotta drop by and see Mrs. Wilson before class starts this afternoon.

Mark stopped playing. Oh?

Yeah. Christy burst out laughing when I asked if the teacher said why.

Mark studied the game on his phone, made a face, switched it off, and shoved it into his backpack. He had three older sisters. So he thought he knew everything about sisters. Big deal. Christy’s in high school, and your older sister. She’s supposed to be a bitch. Besides, your parents get home this afternoon. Everything will be normal then, right?

I shook my head. No, they’re stuck on their crazy cruise ship.

Mark looked like he was going to ask why, so I blurted, What’s so important the science teacher has to see me special?

Mark stood. Ferry’s docking. He took a couple steps before stopping. You’re afraid the teacher will give you something else to write about. Aren’t you? Something other than that dream science project you’ve been bragging on.

I pushed myself out of the seat and the two of us joined the mob exiting the ferry.

How you got to be the only student doing a project by yourself, let alone have it be about online computing games, Mark shook his head, has to be a miracle.

It’s about the science behind online computing games, I bragged. I wasn’t going to do a dumb biology or environmental report like everyone else. And, since there’s nineteen students, someone had to be by themselves.

I’m glad I don’t have Wilson for science, Mark muttered. And you sure got lucky. I heard she normally makes everyone do environmental junk. Looking jealous, he added, The best part is you don’t have to do any research. You already know more about online gaming than any science teacher.

The ferry docked, and we made our way down the ramp with the other kids. A minute later, Mark pointed at a slim, dark-haired girl getting on the bus in front of us. He whispered, Hey. Isn’t that the new Japanese girl we saw in the hallway Friday?

Huh? I looked. She’s pretty. Then I dropped my head. God, I hope Mrs. Wilson isn’t going to screw up my science project.

---

Lunch time. I followed four girls into the lunchroom. They headed straight to the table in the front where Mark and I usually sat. Led by Pammy, the four were the meanest girls in our ninth-grade class. Always texting nasty stuff about everyone.

There were empty seats left at the table, but I didn’t go there. No way. I stepped off to the side and waited for Mark.

The new girl, the one from Japan, came in by herself. She stopped at the table the mean four were at. The four girls looked up. Then away. Head down, the new girl sat at the far end of the table and started eating from her tray. They continued to ignore her. So mean. Shouldn’t someone—

Hey Bry. Mark had come in. I nodded towards the five girls sitting at our table. Mark swore under his breath. We bought milk and found another table. Mark started asking about Valorant. He was just starting to play the game and had lots to learn. I explained what I could. How it was more about being tactical than just fast. But it was hard to teach someone a game when you weren’t sitting in front of a screen.

My two milks, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apple, final two chocolate chip Oreo cookies, and a few potato chips didn’t last long. I wished Mom and Dad were getting back today. Someone in our house needed to go shopping.

Mark ate while he stared at his cell phone. He looked up. You still worried about what Mrs. Wilson wants?

Yeah.

If it was bad, Christy would’ve told you. Sisters gloat over things like that.

There was a soft apple scent when the new Japanese girl walked by on her way out of the cafeteria. It sure smelled a lot better than the sharp, flowery grapefruit smelling crap Christy wore.

I checked my phone. Lunch was over in ten minutes. Time to go find Mrs. Wilson. I told Mark I had to go and headed out.

I was surprised to see the new Japanese girl waiting by Mrs. Wilson’s classroom. The door opened and Mrs. Wilson came out. She motioned for the girl and me to follow her down to one of the little meeting rooms. Rooms used for private conversations between teachers and students. Rooms reserved for when we were in trouble.

My hands clenched, I followed the two inside. Oh God. What was going on?

Bryson, this is Shizuka Tanaka, a new student in our class. Then Mrs. Wilson motioned for us to sit on the other side of the small table. The girl pulled out a chair and sat. I did the same, trying to ignore her dark eyes and soft scent. Why did the girl bother me so—

Mrs. Wilson sat up straight, facing us, now focused on me.

Have I done something wrong? I blurted.

Mrs. Wilson answered with a quick, No. Not at all. I just didn’t want you surprised in class today. She folded her hands in front of her. We need to discuss several changes to your science project.

Oh, I answered softly. Why was the girl here?

I called Saturday to talk to you about this, but your sister said you were on a walk with your grandfather.

I nodded and made myself study the almost blank wall behind the teacher. There were two calendars taped to it. An old, heavily marked-up one from 2019 and a new, 2020 one.

I know Christy from two years ago when she was in one of my classes. An excellent student. A thoughtful, kind girl. You’re lucky she’s your sister.

I glanced at Mrs. Wilson’s smiling face and almost mumbled, ‘bullshit.’ Instead, I swallowed and went back to studying the calendars. Very little was written on the 2020 calendar. Yet.

I will introduce Shizuka in our science class today. That means we will have an even number of students. Understood?

I quickly looked to the still smiling teacher but said nothing.

Do you mind partnering with Shizuka on your science project? Mrs. Wilson asked. 

Oh God! All I could think to say was, Sure. No problem.

I met Shizuka and her father last Friday when they visited. He is a very important, nice man. They also live in West Seattle, close to where you live.

I managed to nod. Somehow.

And, since she is new to our country, and possibly to computer gaming, it seems better if you two would do a normal project. A more standard one. Perhaps one concerning a problem associated with our local, natural environment. She looked thoughtful. How about a report on how to report pollution problems?

Mrs. Wilson paused, and I didn’t look up. This was turning out to be my worst nightmare. Going from a dream project to one I knew nothing about while partnering with someone who might not even know English. A girl with crazy perfume, and…

You haven’t spent too much time researching the computer gaming topic. Have you Bryson?

Face frozen, hands clasped tight in my lap, I mumbled, Not really.

Christy thought it might work out well since you and Shizuka ride the same ferry to-and-from school. You two could work on the project then.

---

CHAPTER 2

MRS. WILSON LED us into the classroom. She’d arranged all the single user desks into pairs at the start of the year. I’d taken the desk next to the only empty seat.

The teacher pointed to the empty desks. Shizuka worked her way across the room and sat down at the one I’d been using. The friendly chatter in the room ceased. Head down, Shizuka ignored the quiet until Pammy, leader of the bitchy four, whispered loudly, You’re in Bry’s seat. You can’t sit there.

Please, I sorry. Shizuka stood, her wide eyes now on me.

So mean. Should I—I hurried closer saying, You’re fine. I gave Pammy my meanest glare as I pushed past Shizuka to sit at the other desk. Shizuka seemed fixated with the top of her desk.

Not Pammy. She obsessed over giving me the meanest ever glare back. How dumb was I? Now I had Pammy mad at me as well as a crazy project with a girl new to school and America and…oh God!

We have a new classmate to welcome today. Beaming, Mrs. Wilson pointed to Shizuka. Shizuka Tanaka is a transfer student from an excellent school in Tokyo. Her father works in Seattle. Please give her a warm welcome.

All kinds of welcomes, etc. echoed across the room.

Okay, time to get down to work. Mrs. Wilson started one of her standard, boring lectures on the science behind climate change and environmental issues.

Shizuka took copious notes during the lecture. I peeked, and some of her notes were in English. But most were in what had to be Japanese, or maybe Chinese from the way they looked. I scribbled a few words in my notebook but Shizuka’s perfume and hands flying around taking notes were distracting. I couldn’t get into the lecture. The science project change had ruined my life, and I was going to get even with Christy. What right did she have to agree to it? Worse, she didn’t even warn me.

Mrs. Wilson finished her lecture and answered a few questions. The bell went off. Class ended, and all of us got up to leave.

Hand raised, Mrs. Wilson hurried over and stopped Shizuka and me. Will you two have time to talk on the way home on the ferry?

Shizuka’s frozen smile changed to a blank look. I muttered, I guess so.

Good, Mrs. Wilson said. You are now a week behind the other kids, so I expect a draft outline for your report on Wednesday. That gives you two days to work something out.

---

Gramps, Christy and Bry’s grandfather, was in the kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when his cell phone rang.

Wonder who would call me? he muttered. Willy ignored the call, staying focused on the sandwich being made.

Gramps reached for the phone, reminding himself to never say ‘yes.’ Nope. No matter what was asked. Not after he’d heard about the dirty scheme the telephone company played on thousands of users. The one where they asked if the customer understood their sales pitch for extra services—then recorded the yes for later use defending themselves when they upped the customer’s service and bill on their own.

Gramps looked, then pushed the button. You home early Son?

Dad, is that you? The voice didn’t sound like his son’s normal, calm voice. Maybe they’d gotten off the cruise ship as originally planned? Were they at SeaTac airport needing a ride home?

Yeah, it is. You need a ride home from the airport?

Damn-it, no. We have a real problem.

Oh? Gramps responded.

Dad! You there? His son yelled, sounding almost panicked.

Yeah, what’s going on? was yelled back. Now worried himself, Gramps dropped the knife next to the bread, splattering drops of jelly across the counter. A couple landed on the floor and were tongued up in half a second by the dog.

Sorry. Cell phone connections are terrible from here, his son said before coughing several times.

What’s the problem? Gramps began worrying he might not have enough time to pick the kids up at the ferry if his son expected him to run some kind of silly errand.

We’re still stuck on the ship in Oakland Bay because of a crazy virus scare. Out in the middle of the damn harbor where there’s lousy cell service. They’re now saying we may be quarantined for at least two weeks at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas and… His voice was fading in and out. Please tell the kids that Mom and I will call as soon as… The phone went dead.

Huh? Gramps mumbled. He tried to dial his son’s phone three times before giving up. He even asked Willy, Who can I call? Who would know what he meant by quarantine? Two weeks? What’s going on?

Willy, his head twisted to the side, gave Gramps a puzzled look.

Gramps took a deep breath when he remembered his son had said they were being quarantined at Lackland in Texas. God, the mention of Lackland AFB brought back some old memories. That’s where I went through basic training, Willy.

The dog stared at him with interest. But, he was looking for more food scraps, not talk. He quickly stared to the counter where the bread and jelly were.

Gramps laughed and then had an idea. He ran for the living room and the TV. He switched it on and searched for a news channel.

Sitting on the couch, Gramps watched the news for almost twenty minutes. Fifteen minutes more than he’d watched the news all year. It was all about some crazy coronavirus called COVID-19 from China that was showing up worldwide. The first U.S. deaths were even in Kirkland, Washington. Just thirty miles from where they lived!

The worst part was a brief, three-minute news bit about a cruise ship stranded in Oakland. They called the ship the Grand Princess, and it had thirty or more cases on board. The city, or state, or some pompous national official wouldn’t let them dock or leave for another port. They kept the cruise ship anchored in the middle of the bay while trying to figure out what to do.

God, Willy. I can’t remember the name of the boat they’re on. But it’s probably this one—what do I tell the grandkids? Gramps jumped to his feet. Christy, she’d know the ship’s name.

That made him remember he had to pick the grandkids up. He had just enough time to take Willy out to pee before leaving for the ferry the kids took to-and-from school. It would not look good for a retired bus driver to be late picking up grandkids. Besides, they were going to be upset when he told them what was going on with their parents. How would he—he remembered being scared himself as a young man. Scared for his mother.

He spent a little time worrying about what he was going to tell the kids. But mostly, he couldn’t stop remembering the 1968 influenza pandemic and how his mother almost died. He’d been in Viet Nam and getting the telegram about them taking her to the hospital was the worst moment in his life. He couldn’t let that happen to his son’s family.

No way! he told the dog sitting in the van’s back seat. He drove fast, but carefully because of the heavy rain storm blowing in.

---

The last class ended. Mark hurried to meet me where the ferry riding mob gathered to board the buses. He grabbed my arm and towed me to the first bus.

Hey Bry, loosen up. Get out your phone. Let’s play Fortnite. Let’s kill someone.

Can’t, I answered. If I was going to kill anyone, it’d be Christy. Now I have to plan an outline for some dumb report on our local, natural environment. Whatever that means.

Do the outline later. Like at home so we can play Fortnite.

We climbed on the bus and found an empty seat.

I’m supposed to sit on the ferry with that new girl from Japan. We have to work up the science project outline.

Huh?

Mrs. Wilson gave me the girl as a science partner. Worse, she made me change my project to something about the local environment.

Should’ve known. Shaking his head, then laughing, Mark hauled out his cell phone, turned towards the window, and started playing Fortnite by himself.

I glanced around trying to spot the girl. I didn’t see her anywhere. She must be on the second bus. Mark was deep into the game. I still mumbled, I’ll like, text you tonight about what’s going on.

Mark mumbled, Sure, as his fingers danced across his phone.

At the ferry, I waited for the second bus. The last person off was the new girl. She slowly climbed down the steps while staring off into nowhere. She had said almost nothing all day as far as I could tell. Did she even understand English? How were we going to get the outline done? Should I just do it myself?

She glanced my way—nothing showed on her face. I nodded, pointed to the ferry, and the girl followed me.

Once onboard, I found a small bench away from the other kids and plopped my butt down. Shizuka sat next to me and God, I liked her gentle perfume. And she sure had pretty eyes staring into mine. I turned away. 

We needed to work on the project meaning we needed to talk. I swung back to face her.

She had both her hands up. Palms out towards me. Please, Bryson, we speak?

Surprised, I laughed. Sure.

A slight frown showing, Shizuka waved now clenched fists. Bryson, tell me, please, why you are mad with me?

Huh?

---

I’m not mad at you.

She frowned and clenched her fists tighter. Please. You angry at me when I sat in your desk. Hands now open, she touched just below her shoulders with her fingertips when she said ‘at me.’

Shizuka wasn’t saying things quite right, but her face and hands were so alive. Frowns, shocked surprise, then pretty smiles had flown across her face with constantly moving hands emphasizing every word. Wow! Now she was frowning again, staring at me, waiting…

I shook my head. No, I told you it was alright—like no big deal where you sat.

Pursed lips, she now frowned even harder. Bryson, you made a… a angry face with me.

Huh? I thought for a moment before laughing. No. My angry face was for Pammy, the girl behind you. I grinned at Shizuka. The one that said you were sitting in my chair.

I remembered the cold, mean scene in the cafeteria. The same girl that led the other three bitchy ones in ignoring you when you sat at my lunch table with them.

Shizuka now had narrowed eyes and deep furrows across her forehead. Again, she put both hands up, palms out towards me. Bryson, your lunch table? Can you please speak slow?

Oh lord. How can I explain… I realized I was now bobbing backward and forward, my hands clenched between my knees. Man, I must look so stupid. I sat up straight, leaving my hands in my lap, and leaned towards her.

I concentrated on speaking slowly. This must sound crazy. But, but the mean girls got to the table my friend Mark and I usually sit at and took it over. So… I tried to smile at Shizuka as I found myself extending my open hands, palms up toward her. I dropped my hands.

So… like we moved to another table. Then I saw you sit with them. They were so cold and mean. Last year Christy, my sister, told me to stay away from Pammy and… Does this make any sense? I was out of breath. Explaining this to her made me feel like I’d been talking for hours. God, I hated talking.

Four bitchy mean girls? Shizuka whispered as she brushed a couple of strands of hair behind her ear. She slid closer on the bench. You want protect me? From them?

Our heads were almost touching and she smelled so good. Yeah, I guess.

How could I explain better? Did I need to talk even slower? I’d never talked like this with a girl and Shizuka was Japanese and maybe didn’t understand—I heard a sound. A harsh giggle followed by loud laughs.

I glanced up. Pammy, along with some of her friends, had come over. They were now sitting only a row away. How long had they been there? Didn’t matter, their phones were up, cameras going, whispering and watching Shizuka and me.

Oh, God.

I slid away from Shizuka. Frozen with the mean girls laughing for what seemed like forever.

That will be enough mean texting!

I spun to see Christy and Clark, Christy’s boyfriend, the varsity soccer captain, standing behind Shizuka and me. Why was she saying I was mean? Oh God. What could I say to Christy with Pammy and her crowd watching? Besides, I wasn’t texting.

But Christy wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she ignored me and pointed to the other side of the ferry. Get your asses out of here. Now!

Five or six other seniors from the high school joined Christy and Clark.

Pammy jumped to her feet. Eyes squinting, she spit out, Who do you think you are?

Christy waved her own cell phone and laughed. The nasty big sister laugh I knew so well. Someone sent me screen copies of your texts. If you don’t move your butts and stop this shit, she paused and laughed.