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We’d both just been busted for fighting.
It wasn’t the first time we’d met, or even the first time we’d been forced to spend time together, but I remembered very clearly that it was the first time I realized we were alike. That there was another kid like me, someone who could relate to all of the rage, all of the insecurity and anger I carried around with me every second of the day.
On the outside, we were opposites in almost every way.
I was skinny. He was strapping.
My clothes were too small and threadbare; his fit him perfect, and looked so expensive to my young, untrained eye that I’d have been afraid to touch them with my grubby hands.
Even his hair was perfect. Not short like the other boys, but not long either. Styled with gel and parted on the side. No other boys had hair like him, like a grownup tended to it every single day before school.
Mine was a long, tangled mess that I hadn’t brushed in days.
He smelled like soap, fancy soap, something spicy and pleasant.
I just smelled.
He was filthy rich.
I was dirt poor.
But we did have a few, crucial things that matched: Bad attitudes and worse tempers.
I swear I was born with a chip on my shoulder. Full of more hard things than soft ones. And so when there was a soft thing I was doubly defensive of it. Willing to fight for it. Hard and often.
Willing to pull that stupid girl’s hair until I ripped great big hunks of it out to make her sorry for pointing it out.
I looked down at my hands. I was still holding some of the long blonde strands, and I hadn’t even known it.
Glancing around, I gathered it all into a ball and slipped it behind my chair.
Like it mattered, at this point. I’d already been busted.
And I wasn’t sorry. The little brat had deserved it.
But boy was I in for it this time. My grandma would make me sorry I’d lost my temper again, there was no doubt.
“Were you fightin’ again, too?” I asked Dante.
We rarely spoke to each other. I had mixed feelings about him. My grandma worked for his mom and he’d always been standoffish to me and, well, everyone.
His family had more money than anyone else around. I figured maybe he thought we were all beneath him.
I was pretty sure he was probably a snob.
He grunted in answer.
“Why?” I continued. I felt a rare burst of friendliness towards him. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen him get busted for fighting.
It made me like him, maybe even respect him a little bit. I got caught fighting a lot too. So much so I was almost positive I’d get kicked out of school for it this time.
He shrugged, not looking at me.
“Were they makin’ fun of you for bein’ rich again?” I asked him, watching his face.
He shrugged.
“Were they makin’ fun of your nice hair again?” I tried, making my voice soft so he knew I wasn’t trying to knock him.
