by Phil Earle
Bubble wrap.
They’d covered me up in bubble wrap.
“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Take it off now, will you?” I begged through a mouthful of gravel.
They laughed their response.
I tried to stand again, bending onto my knees.
Another round of popping followed, like firecrackers being set off at my feet. The guys were so amused they could barely stand up.
“It’s really funny,” I gasped, trying to make a joke of it myself. “Bubble wrap, I get it, I do. But please take it off—I’m baking in here!”
I found Dan and Stan in the crowd, my eyes begging them to end the game, but they were helpless, wiping tears from their stupid smirking faces.
With anger simmering beneath the bubbles, I tried again to stand, forcing my legs to bend against the padding. It took longer than I wanted it to, but eventually I felt myself rising from the ground, and was just about to step toward the exit when they pushed me back to the ground and rolled me across the park.
Every second, every rotation, was humiliating. Every inch I rolled meant more popping, and more popping meant more laughter. I couldn’t believe what was happening, couldn’t believe that Mom’s comment could lead to this.
They toyed with me for another few minutes: more photos were taken, some of the guys lining up to be snapped next to me like a fish they’d caught at sea. Strangely enough, I found it hard to manage a smile for this photo album.
Eventually, when they got bored, they guided me through the gate and pointed me toward home. As a parting gift, they taped the new board to my chest, just so I wouldn’t lose it on the way.
“Hang on,” I begged. “You’re not going to leave me like this, are you? I can’t walk home—it’s miles!”
The final words came from Stan, who patted me on the back, bursting a few more bubbles in the process.
“We owe it to your mom, dude. You know that. She knows how dangerous skating is. All we’re doing is following orders.”
And with a gentle shove, my new walk of shame began.
It was actually less than a mile from the park to Special Fried Nice. I’d done the walk a hundred times in my life, and it had never taken more than ten minutes, but today, bamboozled courtesy of my “friends” at the ramp, it was taking forever.
An apathetic sloth with a wooden leg would’ve made better time than me.
For starters, they’d wrapped me up so tight that I could barely bend my legs. I was reduced to walking in baby steps. I dreaded to think what I looked like, but from the reaction of everyone I passed, I guessed it was hilarious rather than terrifying.
People smirked, laughed, pointed, and did huge double takes. One toddler cried before hiding under his mom’s skirt, while the braver kids did what everyone does when they see bubble wrap. They popped it.
It was like being pecked by a flock of ravenous chickens. Every inch of me seemed to be under attack, even the wrap on my face got blitzed. I was like a tire with the air slowly being let out and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The most annoying thing, though, was that while people were happy to deflate me, no one offered to remove the wrapping. One old lady I begged for help grimaced before lacing into me with her umbrella. It was the one and only time I was grateful for the padding.
I mean, what was wrong with people? It wasn’t as if they’d taped my mouth up. They could hear me asking for help, so why wouldn’t they help?
I was only halfway home when it all got too much. A group of ten-year-old thugs had taken to walking behind me, picking me off bubble by bubble, until in the end I snapped, roaring in a voice that I didn’t know I owned, words I barely knew the meaning of.
Did it work?
Not a chance.
Instead, they swarmed on top of me, forcing me into the gutter, snapping the few bubbles that remained.
And the sad thing was that I just lay there and let them do it, hoping they’d get bored before all the bubbles had burst. I had no fight left. Not for them, not for the kids at school. Not even for Mom and Dad. I was exhausted.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait that long for the indignity to end, as a car screeched up beside me, horn blaring. The kids scattered and the rear door opened, a pair of arms pulling me into the backseat. With a screech of tires we were off, and as the hands pulled the bubble wrap from my sweating head, I had to hope the ordeal was finally over.
Although my mouth had never been covered, I still found myself gasping for air as the last of the wrapping was yanked from my head.
It could have been relief or shock that had me hyperventilating, not that it mattered. All I could feel was the sweat that had been trapped against my forehead tumbling down my face and onto the padding below. I felt like a burst water bed.
Slumped against the car seat, I swiveled to thank my rescuer, only to be confronted by the last person I’d expected.
Sinus. He might not have spoken to me in weeks, but here he was now, picking impatiently at the Scotch tape around my wrist, like it was a run-of-the-mill thing to be doing.
“Interesting look you’re rocking today,” he said without looking at me. “Urban skateboard chic?”
“Linus!” barked his mom from the driver’s seat. She peered at me through the rearview mirror, a look of puzzlement and concern on her face. “Are you all right, Charlie, dear?”
“Never better,” I answered, pasting on a smile. I liked Sinus’s mom. She was okay. Interesting-looking, but I suppose she’d have to be, with sons like Sinus and Bunion.
In fact, that’s a bit of a lie, as I didn’t really know what she actually looked like. Her face was always caked in so much makeup that I had no idea if she was pretty. I had to presume not.
She did that weird thing that some women do where they smear as much orange onto their face as they can, until it reaches their chin, where it stops dead, leaving a pasty neck beneath. Her head looked like a lollipop on a stick: so sickly orange that I always expected a swarm of wasps to surround it in summer.
I liked her, though. Her smile might have been fluorescent red, but at least it was sympathetic.
“What’s been going on?” she asked. “You being bullied?”
“No, he always dresses like this after school,” deadpanned Sinus. “Especially when he’s trying to impress his new friends.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, not quite sure to whom or for what I was apologizing. After all, he’d been ignoring me too.
“Do you want me to call your mom? Tell her what’s going on?”
“No!” I shouted, a bit too urgently. “I mean, she’s in an exam. She’ll have her phone switched off.”
“Well, you’d better come back to our place, then. You look like you could use a drink.”
I spotted my face in the mirror. It was as red as hers was orange, and no more appealing. I did need a drink, although I thought I had three pints of water trapped between the bubble wrap and my skin. Didn’t want to drink it, though.
Sinus harrumphed next to me, but still picked away at the tape. It meant he didn’t have to lift his long nose and actually look at me. It suited him fine all the way back to his house.
The towel was dripping by the time I’d dried myself off. The bubble wrap lay at my feet in a monumental heap.
“I think I preferred you with the padding on,” said Sinus, more sarcastically than ever.
“I look like a prune.” I showed him my fingers, which were shriveled and puckered like I’d been in the bathtub for a day and a half.
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Well, don’t ask for a hug, because you’re not getting one.”
I sighed. Why did it have to be Sinus who helped me out, when things had been so tense between us? I knew there was a massive “I told you so” moment coming.
“Are you still pissed off because—”
“Whatever gave you that impression?”
“Let me finish, will you!” I barked. Too much had gone on today to leave me any
patience for Sinus. “Are you pissed off because the kids at the park laughed at you that time?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Do you really think I care about any of their opinions?”
“Then is it because I’ve been busy practicing? Is that it? Not involving you?”
He shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”
Good grief, he was like a sulky toddler.
“Because if I have ignored you, I’m sorry. I suppose I might have gotten carried away with it all.”
“Whatever.”
“I got excited, you see. You would too, you know, if you had something you cared about, something you were good at.”
He jumped off his chair and straight down my throat.
“Who says I’m no good at anything? Who? And based on what? Anyway, how would YOU know what I care about!”
“Whoa, ease off, will you?” Sinus was fuming, doing this funny little dance of anger in front of me. It looked like he needed to pee. “It’s just…well, you’ve never told me about anything, that’s all. You’re my friend, but it’s not like we talk about anything, is it? Not really…”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t feel the need to shout about things I’m good at. Maybe it’s enough for me to know. I don’t need to feel popular, unlike some other people.”
All right. It was a cheap shot, but it was true. Hurtful too. I was sick of being the clumsy kid from the Chinese place. I wanted people to notice me for once. But look where it had gotten me. I couldn’t tell Sinus that, though. Couldn’t let him off the hook that easily.
“Well, I’m not like you. And, anyway, it’s not like you’re happy, is it? Whatever it is you’re so good at, it’s not like it fills you with joy. You spend all your time these days with your nose in that dumb notebook.”
A cringe flashed across his face until he shook it off. I’d wounded him. I’d never so much as pierced his armor before.
“It may be stupid to you, but I know what’s in it.” He sounded so immature I expected him to blow a raspberry at me.
“Show me, then,” I fired back. “If it’s so impressive, show me what’s in it. Dazzle me.”
“Nobody looks in my notebook but me.”
He was driving me mad. And I wasn’t up for it anymore.
“Do you know what, Sinus? I’m grateful for your help today, I really am, but I can’t figure you out. You sit there, all smug, laughing at me for putting myself out there, but you’ll never do the same for yourself. You do realize what the other kids think of you, don’t you?”
He shrugged like he didn’t care, but for once I knew he did.
“They think you’re a head case. That your brain doesn’t work properly. You stand there, staring at walls for hours on end like some kind of block of wood. I mean, doesn’t that bother you at all?”
The words fell out of my mouth too easily. Never in my life had I ever been that direct with anyone. I suddenly worried I’d been way too harsh and backpedaled furiously.
“But I don’t think you’re weird, because you’re my friend. So if there’s something amazing going on in that notebook, then show me. Because if you’re not prepared to show everyone, I am. Because that’s what friends do.”
I saw his hand linger by his back pocket where the legendary notebook lived. But nothing came out. Instead, he smiled and shook his head.
“Can’t do that, Charlie. Not the book.”
I groaned and thought about leaving, but he stopped me.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you exactly what I can do. Full throttle.”
He had this mad look of confidence on his face. He looked more smug than ever before, which, given his usual, misplaced arrogance, was saying something.
“Go on, then.”
Again, his head shook fiercely.
“Nope. I’m not going to tell you when. You’ll have to wait. Keep your eyes open and you’ll see it.” His eyes widened with excitement. “Thanks to your little escapade today, you won’t be able to miss it.”
In that moment, I wondered if all the other kids were right, if maybe Sinus’s brain had fallen out of his nose when he was blowing it.
But there was something about the steel in his eyes that made me stick with him, tell him that I looked forward to it.
“Walk to school tomorrow?” I asked him.
“Nope,” he answered. “Things to do tomorrow. Stuff to plan. I’ll see you there.”
I’d undoubtedly stirred something up in him. So without another word, I gathered up the soggy rolls of bubble wrap and headed first for the trash can, and then for home.
Despite his being annoying and way too smug for his own good, it was fantastic having Sinus back on my side. The weeks that followed the bubble wrap incident would’ve been horrific to survive on my own. The ribbing after my public run-in with Mom at the ramp was nothing compared to this.
Kids openly laughed in my face. Poems and songs were penned in my honor, portfolios of photos were downloaded and taped to every surface imaginable, even toilet seats.
Nowhere was safe.
Camera phones were undoubtedly my nemeses. There were at least thirty different images available: you could’ve made a slide show out of them.
In fact, someone did, and had it playing on the plasma screen TV in the cafeteria. Never before had there been so much laughter about something other than the excuse for food being offered. I sat and watched through my hands, feeling my world end yet again as I rolled around on the ground on screen, every inch of me popping and bursting.
Cue Sinus, cape practically billowing behind him as he strode toward the TV.
He got within a couple of feet before running into two teen gorillas from our school.
“Switch it off and we’ll do the same to you,” one grunted.
Sinus cocked his head and looked them in the eye. “Interesting image,” he said. “But it doesn’t really make sense as a threat, does it? Why not just tell me you’ll deck me if I touch it? Far more effective that way, isn’t it?”
They looked at each other, completely baffled by this lesson in bullying, before both throwing their fists in his direction.
Strangely, Sinus understood this threat clearly, and ran toward the exit, pulling the TV’s plug out of the wall as he went.
I’d never seen him move so quickly, especially when they threatened to pick him up by his nose.
They could’ve fit a fist up each nostril with ease. Not that I bothered telling them myself; I was in enough trouble as it was.
Sadly, the ribbing wasn’t limited to the cafeteria. It started when I stepped inside the gates at eight a.m. and didn’t stop, even when I was taking orders over the takeout counter in the evening.
I had a nickname too, one to rival Sinus. But it wasn’t the Pocket Rocket, as it had once been.
Nope, I was now the Bubble Wrap Boy to anyone who knew me, and to plenty who didn’t.
Sinus and I hid our way through the school day like a couple of outcasts, trying to find humor in the new and varied ways they found to ridicule me, but every minute of every day physically hurt. Especially since I’d been so close, for once, to some kind of acceptance.
I felt their taunts whacking me on the head, pressure building, making me feel shorter by the second, but each time I was in danger of disappearing into the mud, Sinus picked me up and told me not to worry.
“It could be worse—you could be our Bunion,” he’d offer, and that would keep me going to the end of break, at least.
He was no less weird than usual, though, still as obsessed as ever with his notebook and walls.
He became really fixated on one massive expanse of brick just outside the school gates, the side of a row house that overlooked the classrooms. It loomed large enough to remind me of the skate ramp, and was visible from pretty much every part of Bellfield Academy.
It was, in short, his kind of wall, and so when some graffiti appeared on it, he took a particular interest in it.
Well, I say
graffiti. At first it was just one letter, a huge, thirteen-foot-high B that had been crudely sprayed. Someone either had very long arms or a freakin’ big ladder.
“What do you make of that?” he asked as he stared critically at it.
“What?”
“That!” He nodded, like he needed to debate the merit of it.
“What, the graffiti?”
“Is it graffiti?” he asked. “Is that what you think it is?”
“Well, it’s not the Mona Lisa, is it? And unless we’re living on Sesame Street, then what’s the point? We all know what a B is.”
He didn’t say anything else, just stared at it over his shoulder as we walked away, pausing for one last look before we turned the corner.
“Is it all right if Sinus comes in for a bit?” I asked Mom from the other side of the counter at Special Fried Nice.
She eyed my friend suspiciously, Sinus returning her stare with the most innocent one he owned. He knew Mom didn’t like him, but as usual, he didn’t care.
“We’ve got homework to do. A project.”
“I say he can,” chipped in Dad, eyes watering as he skillfully diced the biggest onion I’d ever seen.
Mom glared at him, leaving Dad to shrug and continue chopping.
“As a trial, yes,” she said eventually. “But don’t think I’ve forgiven you or your brother for lending our Charlie that skating board.”
I cringed at her mistake.
“Skateboard.”
“Whatever. Death trap is what it was. A noose on wheels.”
She shook her head and pulled her scarf around her neck.
She must have guessed what had been going on for me at school those last few weeks. Maybe this minute softening was her way of telling me she was sorry for what she’d caused? Doubtful, but in my position you’d be scrambling for consolation too.
“You off to college?” I asked.
“Not tonight.” The look of sadness returned to her face. “Night off. But that doesn’t mean I’m not busy. Those kitchen cupboards don’t fill themselves, you know.”
