I Hate Stupid Mason

(Mason)

My parents were dead. They were dead, and they were never going to come back. No matter how hard I squeezed my eyes shut. No matter how good I was. No matter how many mall Santas I visited, even the elves at the North Pole couldn’t bring them back.

They were gone.

Dead.

And nobody else understood what that meant.

They tried, but nobody really knew.

Tucker said he was sad when his dog - Trixie - died over the summer, but screw him. A dog was stupid. Four legs, big tongue, a stupid tail. Dumb animal got hit by a car.

My parents died in a car accident… so maybe they were just as dumb.

I squeezed my pencil tight as my hand started to shake.

The school made me stay home for a while. Then I had to go see doctors. They asked me questions. Wanted me to draw pictures. Wanted to play some board games that I never heard of before. Some weird dude on the edge of a couch with the sleeves of his sweater pushed up, trying to be my f-ing friend.

I had no friends. I didn’t need any friends. Video games were boring. Action figures broke too easily. Riding a bike? For what? To where? Around the block? Man, if I was going to leave on a bike, I was going to never come back.

I pressed the top of the pencil with my thumb.

It cracked, easily.

“Whoa,” a kid next to me said.

I looked at him. “What?”

“You’re really strong.”

“Damn right,” I said.

I loved cursing. I loved being strong. Strong meant I controlled things. And maybe I could get strong enough to control death. Keep it away from me. Or at least fight harder than my stupid parents did. Why’d they have to go out to the movies? They couldn’t have stayed home? Ordered pizza on Friday like we used to do? No. They needed a change. Mom used to say that to Dad. We need a change, Tom. Or we’re in trouble here.

“Give me another pencil,” I said to the kid next to me.

“I only have one.”

“Give me yours then. Or I’ll break your finger like I did my pencil.”

The kid’s face turned a deep red. He gave me the pencil.

I broke that one too.

Then I pushed the math test away.

Another F was coming my way.

F for failure, but I had another F word I liked better.

Everyone in the class was working hard on their math tests. But not me. Math couldn’t bring my parents back. Math couldn’t make things easier. Not a chance.

I wiggled in my chair, making the metal feet on my chair scrape against the floor. It squeaked just enough to be annoying. I knew how to do it so the teacher thought it was just someone adjusting in their seats.

The chirping kept going and going.

“Mason,” Mrs. Ritz said. “Are you feeling okay?”

I looked at her as she looked at me over the top of her glasses.

I didn’t like her. You know why? Even her parents were still alive. She was old and her parents were alive. I was young and my parents were gone.

When Mrs. Ritz set her sights back to the papers on her desk, I went back to work, wanting to annoy the entire class and make them all fail their math tests.

I felt something poke my back.

I ignored it.

I rolled my eyes.

I felt something poke my back again. This time, harder.

I turned around and looked at Becca. The class princess. The smarty pants. Her Dad was a lawyer and her Mom baked cookies all the time.

Becca put her pencil to her lips, telling me to shhh without making a sound. She had super blue eyes and messy blonde hair. She was super smart, knew everything in advance, and never got more than a single problem wrong on a test.

I made sure Mrs. Ritz wasn’t looking and I slowly lifted my middle finger. I put it to my lips and grinned.

Becca’s cheeks blushed.

I turned back around and called it quits for the moment. I put my head down to take a nap. I couldn’t sleep at night. Not since… well, you know. It was just hard to sleep. I was waiting to hear the rumble of the garage door opening. The slamming of the car door. The squeak of the door in the kitchen.

But those sounds were now (and forever) silent memories.

I felt something poke my back again.

I looked over my shoulder and Becca had a note for me.

I took it and opened it up.

In her perfect handwriting… I hate you, Mason.

It made me smile.

I’d always make it easy for the world to hate me.