1642734778_punk-57-pdf

that right, Manny?” I call out, kicking the leg of the boy’s chair in front of
me a few times, drawing the Emo kid’s attention.
Manny Cortez jerks but keeps facing forward, trying to ignore us.
Trey and his friend keep laughing, but it’s focused on the weak kid now,
and I can’t help but feel a sliver of satisfaction.
The other feelings are there, too. The guilt, the disgust at myself, the
pity for Manny and how I used him just now…
But I amused Trey, and now Manny and any shame I feel is far below
where I sit. I look down at it. I know it’s there. But it’s like seeing ants from
an airplane. I’m in the clouds, too high for what’s on the ground to be of
much concern.
“Yeah, Manny. You going to prom with my girl?” Trey jokes, kicking
his chair like I had done. “Huh, huh?” And then he turns to me. “Nah, I
don’t even think he likes girls.”
I force a half smile, shaking my head at him and hoping he’ll shut up
now. Manny served a purpose. I don’t want to torture him.
Manny is ninety pounds, at most, with hair so black it’s almost blue, and
a face so pale and smooth that, with the right clothes, he could easily pass
for a girl. Eyeliner, black nail polish, skinny jeans, cracked and dirty
Converse sneakers... Check to all.
He and I have gone to school together since Kindergarten, and I still
have the heart-shaped eraser he gave me with a Valentine’s card in second
grade. I was the only one who got one from him. No one knows about that,
and not even Misha knows why I keep it.
I raise my eyes, seeing him quietly sitting there. The bones under his
black T-shirt are tense, and his head is bowed, probably hoping we won’t
say anything else. Probably hoping if he stays still and quiet, he’ll become
invisible again. I know that feeling.