Page 111 of Once in a Lifetime, Part 2

“Did I say you could go?” The boy grabbed his hood, yanking him back. “When I talk to you, you look at me.”

Mano raised his eyes to him.

“After school. Backyard. Don’t even think about leaving.”

The bell rang. They let him go, already turning away. “See you later!”

During class, Mano didn’t pay attention. He filled page after page with music notes, fragments of lyrics.

The room went quiet. Mano looked up. Everyone was staring at him.

“Good morning, Jones. Glad to see you’re awake,” the teacher mocked. “Exercise five. Tell us what you wrote.”

Mano glanced at his book. “Uh...”

“He’s gonna take five minutes again,” a girl muttered.

“Good. Less class for us.” Someone laughed.

“Well, Jones?”

Mano stared down at the page.

The teacher sighed. “If you keep this up, you’re going nowhere in life. Do you hear me, Mano?”

“Why not? He could be a garbage man,” someone said.

Laughter spread through the room. Mano didn’t look up again.

During breaks, he stayed in the classroom with his hood up, head lowered over his notebook. He wrote lyrics no one would ever read, crossing out one line after another. Voices filled the halls. Outside, groups formed, friends called to each other and footsteps rushed past. No one called his name.

When the bell rang again, they came rushing back in, loud and careless, while Mano kept his eyes on the page.

After classes, he walked to the backyard. He paced, gripping the straps of his backpack, until he saw them coming. Grinning.

“Glad you listened,” the dark-haired boy said. His fist slammed into Mano’s cheek, sending him to the ground. “What are you supposed to say?” A kick drove into his ribs. “Huh?”

Mano curled in on himself, arms over his head as the blows kept coming.

The boy dropped on top of him, grabbing his shirt. Mano forced his eyes open.

“I’m not asking again. Answer me!” The punch knocked a cry out of him. He yanked him up by the collar. “What are you gonna say this time?”

Warmth slid past his lips. Blood.

“That I fell...” he managed. “Got hurt.”

“That’s right.” The boy shoved him back down.

The others closed in. Kicks drove into his ribs, his side, his back. Mano curled tighter, pulling his knees in as broken gasps escaped him.

“And don’t talk back again like you did last time,” the boy said. “Next time, I’ll bring more people.”

One last kick and they were gone.

Mano stayed on the ground, barely moving. Then he pushed himself up. Pain shot through his side, forcing him to hunch as his hand pressed against it.

The walk home felt longer than usual. By the time he reached the house, his steps had slowed.