1A Chapter by Keevan1
I can't get the image out of my head, that morning when I came downstairs and I saw dad dressed up like a girl. "Dad, what are you doing?" I asked him. "Fisher, sit down," he said to me, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table. I stayed where I was standing, bedhead and rocketship PJs and all, wondering what the hell was going on. Dad was wearing a pink skirt, red blouse, something in the blouse to make him look like he had breasts, and a long blonde wig. He was even wearing makeup. "Fisher," he said. "I know this is weird, but you'll get used to it. I know I've waited a year since your mother left to tell you, but I'm...well, I'm bisexual, honey, and I think it's time you knew." "Bi...sexual...?" I asked, not knowing then what the term meant. I was only eight, after all. "It means that I like men AND women," he explained. "and daddy has to dress like this for his job." "Why?" "You'll understand when you get older," he said. And he was right, I did. I got used to the women's clothes randomely on the floor all over the place, and the strange people he was bringing home after work. Now I'm fifteen, and I understand pretty much everything now, except why he feels the need to get breast implants.
"School's out, Fishie, my boy!" my best friend, Kat, said at my locker. The final bell had rung, and that meant 8th grade was finally over. It had been a slow, terrible year, full of late or missing homework assignments, failed tests, and snubby teachers. "Glad it's over?" I asked her as I loaded my backpack onto my shoulder and closed my as-of-now empty locker. "Bet your a*s, I'm glad," she said. The assistant principal had walked by just as she said that and gave her a death glare, but didn't say anything. Kat was a frequent visitor to the office all throughout middle school. That was how we met in sixth grade. The first time I had gotten sent down to the office was because I threw a corndog at someone I hated, and a teacher had seen it. When I got to the office, Kat was sitting, slumped in one of the chairs. I got sat in one next to her. "What're you in for?" she asked. "Threw a corndog." "Use condaments?" she asked. "Ketchup, mustard, the works?" "Yeah," I replied. "Nice," she said, holding out her hand for a fist pound. I tapped her fist with my own. "What're you here for?" I asked her. "You know that midget kid in the eighth grade?" she asked. "Yeah...?" "Gave him a wedgie and made him stick his tounge onto the flag pole," she said, grinning. It was the middle of winter. "Nice," I said, grinning as well. "Name's Fisher." "Katherine," she said. "but, most people call me Kat. I hate the name Katherine. It's too long." We had become friends that day and have been inseperable ever since. "What're your summer plans?" she asked as we exited the school building and headed towards the bike racks. "I've got nothin'." "I'm free until August," I said. "Marching band for the high school starts in August, remember?" "Excuse me for not playing a stupid instrument," she grumbled. "No excuse for you," I said, approaching my bike. "There he is!" shouted a voice that I knew. "Mister Fisher Korbelle! Eighth grade graduate!" He was my other best friend, Chugga Stakeman. His first name was Adam, but everyone called him Chugga because he chuged at least three or four cans of either Mountain Dew or Monster every morning by the flag pole. Besides all that, he was your average skater-dude with the plaid shorts, Vans, some T-shirt with a brand on it, and pale blonde hair that was always covered by a knit hat when he wasn't in school. "What does that make you, then?" Kat asked him. "You're leavin' eighth grade, too." "That makes me the flunkie," he said, dropping his longboard on the ground. "Crapps flunked me in Spanish and is making me go to summer school." "Why?" I asked. "Make fun of his last name again?" "Yeah," Chugga said, grinning. "that, and I completely failed the last three tests and was too lazy to go in and retake them." "Your folks aren't going to be happy with you," Kat said, unlocking her bike. "Nah, my folks don't care," Chugga said, swinging around his backpack and pulling a can of Coca-Cola out of it. "Where do you get all that soda?" I asked him, unlocking my bike and twisting it around my bike seat. "My secret, and mine alone," he said, opening it and taking a big drink. "Let me guess," Kat said, alraedy sitting on her bike and waiting for us. "you bought a six pack this morning from that gas station you pass on the way here, right?" "Actually, I snuck out and bought 'em during lunch," Chugga said, giving me a high five. "Never got caught. I dare you to do something that daring, small stuff." "Excuse me for being the shortest one in our group," I said, annoyed. Even Kat was taller than me, and I was at least five-two. "Men,," Kat grumbled, shaking her head. "Well, hurry up, we gotta meet B.B. at the coffee shop. He's gonna be pissed if we're late, you both know that." "We know," Chugga and I said together. I pulled my bike out of the rack as Chugga started to sing the chorus of "I Write Sins Not Tragedies" by Panic! At The Disco, a band that the four of us have been completely obsessed with over the past three years. I started to sing along with him, and then Kat chimed in as well. I mounted my bike and followed Chugga, who was on his longboard, as usual, who was following Kat. We made our way down the sidewalk, past cars that were leaving the school with their spoiled kids that were too lazy to walk or take the bus, and quickly crossed the street, a very busy street we called Hell's Gate because so many kids have gotten hit there. Why kids are always getting hit, we don't know. The crossing guard was yelling at us to turn around and go back, but we ignored her, singing louder and reaching the other side of the street, aiming to get to the coffee shop to meet up with our good friend, B.B.
We call him B.B., but his full name is Benjamin Buckley. Kat came up with his nickname. Everyone in our group had a nickname, it seemed, though Kat was the only one who called me 'Fishie.' B.B. looked to be your average hot nerd, I'm not kidding. Black hair, so black it looked purple in the sunlight, black rimmed glasses, and bright green eyes that made any girl instantly fall in love. He had a face that wasn't too bad to look at, and he was a bit muscular. Whenever you saw him, he seemed to have his face buried in a book. You'd think he'd be popular with the ladies, and he is. He just doesn't know it. He's dense, and doesn't have a very good social life. He's socially awkward, and his only friends are Kat, Chugga and I. But we've heard girls talk about him, and it gets pretty hilarious at times. Once, in seventh grade, Kat said she found B.B.'s name written in lipstick in the girls bathroom. The next day, there was a heart around it in black Sharpie, and the day after that, there were three lipstick stains. Kat told all of this to B.B., and he hit her with his book, saying, "Don't make such absurd comments!" We all talk like nerds. It's just something we do. "B.B.!" Kat called when we entered the coffee shop. He was sitting in a corner booth, reading one of his favorite books, The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. He looked up and grinned, waving us over. Chugga and I glanced at eachother, and then made a mad dash over to the booth, trying to shove eachother out of the way and try to make it there first. At the last second, Kat shoved us both out of the way and made it there before we did. "And this victory belongs to Katherine Q. Abernathy!" she said victoriously, getting up and standing on the table. "Take that, sissies!" "Kat, get off the table," B.B. said, tapping her shoe with the straw from his coffee. "You're going to kick over my coffee and spill it on my book." "Yeah, Katherine," Chugga said. "consider the book's feelings for once!" "Oh, blah," she said, jumping down. "I'm getting a smoothie." "Get me one, too," I said. "Mango strawberry." "Chugga, want anything?" she asked. "Already got a few Cokes," he said, taking a seat in the booth and holding up his Coca-Cola can. Kat left to get the smoothies, and I took a seat in the booth sliding in next to B.B. "So, how'd your year go?" I asked him. "Boring as usual," he said, putting a bookmark in his book and sliding it into his backpack, which was between his legs on the ground. "How about you guys?" "Chugga flunked again," I said, pointing my thumb at him. "What'd you flunk this time?" B.B. asked him. "Spanish," he said. "cuz I made fun of Mr. Crapps's name and because I majorly bombed the last three tests." "How do you fail Spanish, of all things?" "You tell me!" he shouted, laughing. "Tell me why I had a solid 'A' in Geometry all year!" "It's true," I said. "I've seen his report cards." "That's amazing," B.B. said, trying not to laugh. He always says he hate's his laugh because it's high and gaspy. We always try to make him laugh because his laugh makes us laugh. "I'm back," Kat said, suddenly at the booth with the smoothies. "That was quick," I said, taking mine. "How much do I owe you?" "This one's on me," she said. "y'know, last day of school, and all." "To the last day of eighth grade!" Chugga shouted, holding up his Coca-Cola can. I held up my smoothie, B.B. held up his coffee, and Kat held up her smoothie as well. "To the last day of eighth grade!" we all shouted. "And the first day of July marks my last day with Mr. Crapps!" Chugga added. "To Mr. Crapps!" we shouted. We all took really big drinks and Chugga closed us out with the first burp of the summer. © 2011 KeevanAuthor's Note
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Added on June 13, 2011Last Updated on July 18, 2011 AuthorKeevanMNAboutThis account is active from time to time, but not much. If you send me a message or friend invite, odds are I won't respond. Since I"m in college, I'll be here from time to time but there are abso.. more..Writing
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