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stretched my backpack to its limit. And only steps
down the hall, I was planted on my butt again: this time by Justin, who loomed
over and sneered down at me.
    “What
did I warn you about yesterday, Farm Boy?”
    I
stared blankly back up into his hate filled eyes.
    “What
did I tell you about stepping on my turf???” he demanded.
    “What
are you talking about?” I asked. “I didn’t do anything.”
    “You
didn’t have to do anything. I could tell what you were thinking just by
the way you were looking at us … trying to work up the balls to say something
to her.”
    “You’re
wrong. All I—
    “ You’re
wrong. All I —” he sniveled a mocking rendition of me. “I don’t care
what you think you were doing in there. It’s not what I said you
could be doing! Consider this your last warning, Farm Boy,” he pointed and
commanded. “Don’t even look at her! Next time, I’m not going to remind you so
nice.”
    I
sat on the ground, still collecting myself, as he turned the corner and
disappeared with his boys.
    My
backpack anchored me there like a piece of lead, and my first move to get up
was unsuccessful. And by the time I got my arms unhooked and rose to my feet,
she was standing in front of me.
    “Hey.
We haven’t had a chance to properly introduce ourselves yet,” she spoke with a
friendly wave of her hand, pulled tight to her body. “I’m Catee. Do you need
some help?” She looked to my bloated backpack, then up to me.
    “Naw.
It’s no problem. I got it.”
    I
hoisted it up and around my shoulders, steadied my balance, and returned the
introduction. “I’m Damian.” I could’ve waved or even reached out to shake her
hand if both mine weren’t already jammed deep in my pockets.
    “Looks
like you’re moving in … or out. What’s with all that stuff you’re dragging
behind you?”
    “Oh
this?” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder and referenced the mule-sized load I
carried. “Yeah. You know. It’s all about conditioning. This week it’s all about
my calves. Next, it’s lats and shoulders.”
    “Oh,
really?” I liked how quickly she caught onto the sarcasm of my reply. “And
what’s that going to look like?” And I liked her even more when she prodded me
to go on.
    “Well,
not so different, really. Same bag. A little more weight. But next week, I’ll
be carrying it over my head. And after that, I’m going to start running the
stairs.”
    “I
don’t mean to come on too strong or anything, but that’s really hot,”
she answered and broke into infectious laughter. “You’re pretty funny, Damian.”
    “Thanks.
You too, Catee.”
    “So,
why are you carrying all that around with you? You really only need a
book at a time around here. You look like some sort of Sherpa.”
    “Eh.
Well, I had this locker conflict earlier.”
    “Oh
yeah?”
    “Yup.”
    “How
so?”
    “Well,”
I began to weave another twisted tale for her. “It seems we’re just incompatible.”
    “You
and your locker partner? That sucks, but I get it. They can be a total bummer.
I’ve had one since the sixth grade.”
    “No,
no, no. It’s nothing like that. I’m the most popular guy in school,” I grinned.
The one she returned made me lightheaded, but I pushed forward to the punch
line. “It’s not my partner who I’m incompatible with …… It’s my locker.”
    “Your
locker!?” she gasped dramatically.
    “Yeah,
my locker. You see, every time I’d put stuff in it, I’d come back, and it’d be
spit right back in the hall.”
    “Really!?”
    “Really!”
I exclaimed, and took note of her bantering prowess. It was a bigger turn-on
than any superficial thing that’d first drawn me to her.
    “Seems
she’s still not over her ex. Some sophomore.” I gave my story added layers of
lunacy.
    “Wow.
He must’ve been some guy.”
    “Right?”
I could’ve gone on forever if it weren’t for the bell, screaming that we were
already late for class—the empty halls should’ve been indicator