sjsprWriting

He didn’t believe me. What a surprise. He may as well just have had a chalk board attached to his forehead that said, “I’m insecure about my own problems and want you to empty your pockets in a pointless attempt to humiliate you so I can feel better about myself and have enough confidence to drive home in my Toyota Shit Box, lie in my bed, and use the time I’m obviously not spending having sex with my wife to think of more ways to make your life harder.” Ha, I wish. So, as usual, I did what he told me. I put up with it because I knew he was just hoping for an off chance; the day I’m actually too careless to hide everything I’ve stolen from the school in a safer place than my pockets. Yeah, right. I stuck my hands in my pockets and emptied them. His eyes peeled over every little thing. I could tell that his brain was doing backflips; trying to remember a pretty substantial list, if I do say so myself, of missing items from the school. Unfortunately for him, I just had the usual, day-to-day stuff: chewed pencil, couple of expo markers, crumpled cheat sheet from my math test, pack of Marlboro Reds (because if you ain’t smoking Reds then you’re just not smoking), spare dice, earphones, and his wallet. Oh, shit. How the hell did I forget to put his wallet in my locker? Damn it. Well, whatever, he can’t do shit to me if I put on my upstanding citizen routine that he just loves.

“Boone! Is that my fucking wallet?” He screamed looking redder than my blind aunt’s face when she tries to put lipstick on. Seriously, she gets it everywhere, eyelids and everything. I mean, she’s blind, but the how the hell does she not realize that she’s completely missing her mouth?

“Boone! I’m talking to you! You better answer me before I beat your head in.”

“Yeah, yeah Principal Peachy. I heard you. No need to get all Breakfast Club on me. Of course, if you really wanted to, this would end in my favor.

His official title was Principal Preetchy, but anyone who hated his guts- so that’d be a grand total of everyone – called him Peachy because he was just so…you got it.

“You know I can expel you for stealing my wallet you little shit?”

“For stealing your wallet? Why, sir, I was merely on my way to return it, of course. I found it over by the girl’s bathroom. You wouldn’t happen to have been peaking in on the girls again, would you?

I couldn’t help but smile right in front of his smug face. About a month ago I caught Peachy trying to get a glimpse of Giulia Cevasco after her gym class. Giulia is by far the sexiest broad I have ever been so blessed by the good Lord to lay my eyes on. Of course, that’s all I or anyone else could lay on her. She’s straight off the boat from some big city in Italy where everyone is born beautiful. I think it’s Florence, but I really don’t give a shit. She could be from Pizza for all I’m concerned. Anyways, her family is very, uh, Vatican. So sex is a big no-no for her. I would say ‘we’ll see about that,” but it’s just so damn hard to talk to her. She speaks almost no English whatsoever. One time I tried to talk to her and the conversation went something like this:

“So, Giulia, I was wondering if you wanted to go to this Italian joint off of Park Street. It’s got some pretty good spaghetti and shit.”

“Spaghetti!”

“Yeah, yeah! So you down?”

And then she started bawling and ran off. Apparently, she had a cousin nicknamed Spaghetti for his lanky, noodle-like figure that got him to fall down stairs faster than an overenthusiastic slinky, or hit the floor if a leaf hit him in his sweaty face. And who had legs that basically threw themselves over the boat and drowned him on the way over. Now, honestly, who could’ve possibly figured that?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Boone. In fact, I thought we had an understanding that, uh, that incident never happened, so long as I cut you loose once or twice. Which I think I’ve already done if you would recall you throwing a brick at my car the other day?”

“First of all, your car looks a whole lot nicer now. I mean, I don’t think you bought it with a brick, and now you got one. Congratu-fucking-lations. No thanks is needed. And think of this as me exercising the “-or twice” clause of our agreement.”

Peachy got so red if my blind aunt could see him she would’ve thought she was looking in a mirror.

“Fine, but do not fuck me with again, Boone! This is your last warning.”

“Don’t worry, sir, I don’t think anyone’s going to be fucking with you anytime soon. I mean, what with you having a brick through your window. Shit is just not classy.”

“GET TO FUCKING CLASS RIGHT NOW.”

“Yes, sir.”

Peachy snatched his wallet out of my hand and walked away, steaming, if I might add. Guess he didn’t bother to check if his cash was still there. All in all it appeared to be a good day’s work. I was about to head to class when I remembered I was the infamous Salvador-fucking-Boone, and then decided to go light up a cig instead.