HOSTAGE
Nicholas watched GeneWalker get on the bus to go home, head hung low so that his neck-length black hair hung over his eyes like curtains to hide them in shame. Juniors didn't typically ride the bus, at least, not by the second semester. In actuality, lots of juniors road the bus, and more seniors than would like to admit, but you didn't tell people that. You were supposed to divert the conversation if it got precariously close to cars and the question-"What kind of car do you have?"-had even a thirty-five percent chance of coming up.
Gene didn't have a lot of friends. He did have a persistent spirit though, masked by an irritating, high-pitched voice, and a dull sort of self-defense. He wasn't the cleverest one of the bunch, and he didn't make good grades, but that always means that there's something else more than enough to make up for people skills and academics. Nicholas did not know what that was.
Gene had a shirt on with some metal band's album title displayed on the front, below a hackneyed skull with pointy teeth and iridescent eye sockets. Maybe it was horned, too. He didn't carry a normal backpack, but rather a horizontal sports satchel with a shoulder strap, causing his right shoulder to sink under the burden, his forearm resting on the top of the up-curving black bag. Out of one pocket came a cord which split and attached to the headphones, hung on the back of his neck. Often you could predict his approach by the tinny static noise interspersed with a drum machine beat; or else your olfactory organ could allow you to locate him, on some days.
He stepped slowly up the steps of the bus and disappeared from Nicholas's sight. Farther back in the aggregate crowding around route 15's door was John Gardner. John was a football player. His parents donated a lot of money to Dower High School. There was no connection between those two facts, according to John. John's latest girlfriend was not a cheerleader, to the chagrin of many. She was a hard-working student who was interested in nothing but languages. She had taken her two years of Spanish, as well as one semester of German. The fact that she knew little of French had something to do with John's lame pickup line used when he asked her out on a date. She was in love with his car. The reason he didn't drive it to school was because he couldn't get a parking space, but he was on the waiting list for one.
Nicholas squeezed through the crowd and hopped on the bus. He sat behind Gene, a couple of seats up from the back. John Gardner sat across from Gene, who was leaning his head on the window, tapping his finger in synchronization with the song blaring into his ears.
Feeling dirty having to stoop as low as riding the Big Cheese, John Gardner's ego decided it needed to take out its misery on someone. And who better than the black-clad loser across from him.
"Hey," said John Gardner, in his slow, southern drawl, "you're gonna go deaf blastin' that in your head." He'd wasn't the most poetic football player of them all.
Gene glanced at him, turned his music up louder, and turned so that John Gardner was no longer in his vision.
There was a pause. Gene was foolish to believe that he had won so easily. A clumsily-crumbled wad of paper bounced off his head and rolled down to his crotch. He'd jumped when it hit him, startled. He pulled off his earphones and grabbed up the paper wad. "Quit it," he squawked.
"I was talkin' to you, stupid." He dubbed Gene with a new name, one as profane as it was nasty. It was somehow related to his black clothes and the "style" of person he was, but not ingeniously.
"At least I don't throw around the skin of a pig for fun."
Nicholas took a time out to analyze this debate to its present point. Gene had allowed John Gardner's juvenile to anger him, and had returned fire hotly with a retort that made little social sense. Yes, it was true in a sense, but as an insult, it clearly was not applicable. You couldn't just tell someone what they did and expect them to take offense at it. At least, not the way Gene did it. What he was thinking was beyond Nicholas.
"Shut up," said John Gardner, following up the laconic ammo with the foul name he'd made up for Gene. Gene returned by displaying for John Gardner a backwards, one-fingered version of the peace-sign, two handed.
Another round down. This time, Gene had not even given him the pleasure of hearing his annoying voice so that he could make fun of him. That was playing smart. However, he was augmenting a conflict which would inevitably lead to a black eye for him, or at least some public social shaming amongst the bus-riders.
John Gardner stood to his feet and gripped Gene's seat and the seat in front of him. He leaned down over Gene, looking bigger than ever, more intimidating than before. Gene could see the individual lines on his orange plaid over-shirt. He could smell the CK coming from his neck.
John Gardner looked as if he would squash Gene Walker like a bug. Nicholas reached in his backpack. "Boy," hissed John Gardner, with a sort of mock-furor that couldn't possibly be taken seriously, "I'm gonna knock that ugly nose around." Cocking an eyebrow, Nicholas couldn't decide what the significance of "around" was in that sentence. He wasn't being grammatically clear, that's for sure-was he going to hit it with his fist here and there? Or did he mean he was going to cause it by force to spin to the other side of Gene's head? Or was it going to spin on a different axis, like a game spinner?
The JupiSystems XT Alpha Model Intergalactic Multi-Use Sidearm was a very functional weapon to many space-faring beings. The Kalutzae were among the foremost. Almost every Kalutzae armed forces agent carried one of these, from the highest assault ship captain to the lowest deck porter. Even beings enslaved on ships impressed into the Kalutzae Naval Forces were given this weapon. It was the backbone of the Kalutzae rise to intergalactic power, some said, on the weaponry scene, of course. Obviously there were other political reasons as well. The weapon had many different settings, but instead of an ordered numerical setting configuration, you had to set it to setting that sounded about right for the intensity of the trionic energy burst you felt was appropriate for the occasion.
There was a click, and John Gardner was looking down the barrel of one of these weapons. It came from John Gardner's right. He followed the barrel to the hand that held it, up the arm, past the shoulder, up higher, to the face. It was unrecognizable. He had no idea who this kid was.
With his left hand, Nicholas toggled up until he'd set it to "Short, Swift Whack." The blaster's ready signal was a high-pitched hum, like old camera flashes used to make. Nicholas fired one shot of the trionic energy. There was a yellow flash like golden lightning, and John Gardner was landing on his back near the bus driver, groaning, the wind knocked out of him. It wouldn't do any long-term damage, nothing more than a good, hard punch would do.
Gene Walker was suspended from school for a week for throwing another student across the bus in a fight. He eagerly claimed that yes, he had knocked the tar out of John Gardner and gave him a toss. Gene framed the suspension papers.
John Gardner tried for a long time to explain what happened, to himself, to his friends, and to his girlfriend.
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Log:
Gene Walker and John Gardner: the biggest stereotypes of high-school acquaintances ever
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