2004 - Mississippi School for Mathematics and Science

Dixon GreyNyssa PerrymanSecond Place, Short Story Competition“Dixon Grey.” The immortal namestretched out across the main wall of the cafeteria,masking the chipped, mint green paintbeneath. From where Susan was standing, sheknew it was an act of defiance. Globs ofmashed potatoes, over-steamed broccoli, andHeinz 57 shaped the vowels and consonants ofscrawled infamy. Groups of curious ninth andtenth graders crowded around to gawk aschunks of the cafeteria concoction slid slowlyto the tiled floor below, leaving behind a verticaltrail of shiny slime. Susan cringed at thethought of cleaning the mess up, and evenmore at the punishment which loomed aheadfor the culprit. Yet, Susan had no doubts as towho was responsible for the atrocious act.Everyone knew in the back of their mind. It layright in front of them, spelled out in a colorfuldisplay for all eyes to see. But over the roar ofsecond lunch and the bark of staff and teachersdesperately trying to restore order in the lunchroom,Susan wished with all her strength forthe impossible, the fallacy of truth, an act ofsome higher being, or a miracle, even. Just areplacement for the one person it could be, theone person it had to be.“Dixon Grey, please report to the office,”the powerful voice of Mrs. Ballard, the NavarreHigh principal, boomed from the overheadspeakers. Susan felt her stomach take a sharpturn. Plopping down at a side table, away fromexhibition, she finished the stale fries and coldhamburger she had selected from the grill linebefore she spotted the food graffiti. As shestarted in on the sugar cookies, Susan glancedup to see a figure parting the crowds. His stridewas rhythmic, his stare firm and empty. A pairof battered Converses scuffed a heavy pathbeneath bulky second-hand jeans. In his handwas the only evidence of his C.D. player sincethe earphones were hidden deep inside thedark, fuzzy monster perched above his face.Frizz seemed to consume everything except thejet black jewels which sparkled beneath thefullest eyelashes Susan had ever seen on a guy.His complexion was also unique, being asmooth, milk chocolate cappuccino shade. Hiscolor was his downfall. He wasn’t light enoughto be white, nor dark enough to be black. Andthere was no band of brothers in the middle atNavarre High. No one was stuck in gray butDixon.As Dixon passed her table, Susan made certainnot to make eye contact. His presencealone was enough to throw a tremble intoSusan’s pale hands. It happened every time.Dixon struck her down with his frozen glance,then melted her with his sweeping lashes.Susan compared it to the process they putdrunkards through to sober them up. Enoughto make anyone sick.Pushing his way through the double-swinginghinged doors of the lunch room, Dixonshuffled on down the hall, out of Susan’s view.The noise subsided to the normal level as studentsfiled back onto long-benched picnic-styletables to scarf down as much food as timewould allow. Susan brushed her dirty plate andtray to the side while glancing up at the crackedbeige clock bolted to the wall above the doors.Fifteen minutes to contemplate the consequencesand why she even cared so muchabout what they were.This would mark the fourth, real “act ofrebellion” as the teachers referred to it, onDixon’s record. He had done countless of otherpetty acts such as trashing freshman lockersand putting washing detergent in the frontcourtyard fountain along with a few riskierstunts like locking the blonde cheerleadingcaptain in the bathroom and leaving her to bediscovered four hours later, an act which theydidn’t have enough evidence to pin on him.But everyone knew. Most of the time he madeit obvious. But his reasoning was an urban legend.Of course, students had some pretty crazyideas as to why he acted so brashly. Rumorsranging from “maybe he’s an only child” toS V1 2