Ethan Parker

Ethan Parker saw Marcus Hayes's punch coming even before he felt the sharp sting of knuckles against his cheek, but he didn't realize the real battle had only just begun. The hallways of Crestview High School had emptied, leaving the two boys in a silence filled only with the echoes of their struggle.

Ethan's backpack lay discarded on the floor, its contents spilled out in a chaotic mess, mirroring the turmoil within him.

The last two weeks without Marcus and his buddies had been the best. Ethan had spent time with his cousin Aditya, who was visiting from India. They had learned from each other, and Ethan had even met Wassel, the boy he had a crush on, on his way to skating classes the previous evening. Things had been perfect until Marcus showed up again. Marcus was back.

Ethan knew it right away when he saw the light in those window panes last night. He watched a figure moving about occasionally, his Sunday night consumed by the distraction of those yellow-tinted window panes. He wondered if Marcus would suddenly appear at the window, grinning. The thought made Ethan furious.

Wassel Fringemark's text brought him some distraction. There was something mutual between them. Both seemed to have a crush on each other, and it seemed like only a matter of time before one of them asked the other out.

It was rare to hear from Wassel, as he was busy preparing for a competition. Ethan had watched him skate last year, during a winter sports competition and had been captivated by him ever since. Wassel's lean body, rippling limbs, and constant smile had left a lasting impression. Ethan had cried last year when he saw Wassel at a party with his boyfriend.

Ethan had aggressively punched his pillows out of joy when he learned of their breakup. He felt embarrassed and guilty but furiously joyful.

Wassel seemed like the love that might finally come true for Ethan—in no time. He didn't want to rush any part of it. The pace of this relationship was breathtaking. Every time he passed by Wassel, the world seemed to go mute, and only Wassel's bright smile occupied his mind. He'd smile at him, and Wassel would smile back. As soon as his bicycle passed by, the ugly world and its sounds returned. He wanted to relive that nanosecond moment again and again.

It all vanished in a puff of air with one voice. "Who taught you to speak like that?" Marcus said. "Must be your mother, huh? Why don't you go and tell her about this as well? You and your mother, you people irritate me."

Ethan couldn't tell whether he was scared or just tired by this point, waiting for it to be over. Some days he'd get punched, other days verbally humiliated, and sometimes Marcus's anger at Ethan's mother projected onto Ethan.

Miss Oleander, a biology teacher, had known Marcus since he was a toddler, just as Ethan had. Miss Oleander wouldn't tolerate Marcus's behavior. Some days she would make him stand in front of the class, humiliate him, and bash him for his shameless, ungrateful acts. Other days she'd have him and his boys stand and lecture them about life ahead and the discipline it required.

Not many hated Miss Oleander, for she was just as warm as a yellow oleander. As long as there was no need to scold a kid, she wouldn't. Apart from her actions, Ethan was another example of her pragmatic advice, not just high-and-mighty words to impress but tested with time and then advised to young boys and girls who would soon enter the real world.

This after-school bullying had become a predictable routine that Ethan had learned to endure. He didn't like it, nor did he want to escape it. Did he pray to get away from it? Did he mutter a prayer as he passed through that hallway? It wasn't anything like that. By now, he was used to it and just waited for it to be over. He had turned thick-skinned, which agitated the boys. They turned to new ways, new words, and new insults to make him cry—as he once did.

Tears had trickled down his face many times. He had put his hand between those who hit him and his face. There were even times when he had run like a drenched mouse, trying to find a hole to hide, and they had chased him on their bicycles.

He used to be a young boy; now he was almost on the verge of youth. The idea wasn't to become a man; that went over his head. The idea was to not be a coward anymore. The idea was to not let them enjoy laughing at him—like when they threw stones at him as he walked on the sides. If he tried to run, they'd let Jitters, Marcus's dog, chase him.

When Jitters died, Marcus went missing for two days. It was a big deal then. His parents went mad at their nanny, who was supposed to look after him that night. There was a lot of chaos, and he was sitting in the closet. No one knew, and he spent two days inside there, renouncing the world. Who found Marcus finally? That was Ethan. It was an accident.

Young Marcus, whose pimples had just popped on his face, couldn't stand the fact that this weak, meek Ethan had seen him crying for a dog.

Ethan kept looking at Marcus. Now, he wasn't scared of looking at him or any of the other four boys. Anytime Ethan looked up at him, he recalled that one night when he spotted him through his window. People were so worried, making so many speculations about little Marcus being kidnapped or having run away after writing that messy letter he had left for his parents next to Nanny Fanela Green—no one thought to look into the attic, where the old cupboard had turned into Marcus's hideout.

"What are you looking at?" Marcus said, turning to one of the boys in polo shirts. "Why don't you teach him not to stare at people too much? That's rude."

Jamie waited no more. "That's rude, definitely rude," he said, approaching Ethan. Ethan accepted that this time Jamie would knock him down and abuse him with his poor words. Some of them didn't make sense. He repeated things for so long, wouldn't drop a question or even an insult, clutching to it as long as he could in an argument.

"What did bitch Oleander say Tuesday morning?" Jamie said. "What was it, Ethan? 'There is a difference between kneeling for prayers and when someone makes you kneel as punishment.' Show us the difference, Ethan."

Jamie's hand went to Ethan's shoulder. "Kneel," he said. Ethan didn't. He had stopped taking orders long ago. This was not new to him nor to them. He didn't.

The result: Jamie got agitated and kicked Ethan. The pain in his knee almost stopped Ethan's breath. He contracted his face, his jaw clenched. He hissed with pain and furiously rubbed his knees, jaws clenched and eyes shut tightly.

Ethan's oval face turned red, and his earlobes, which turned red the most easily when he exercised a lot, got angry, shy, embarrassed, or in pain. The excess of any emotion first showed up on the end of those two earlobes—the white-pale skin turned crimson.

"Is it painful?" Marcus asked from the wall he stood against, with the other three boys next to him. Jacob Watson didn't bother to attend to what was happening in front of him, as usual. The screen of his spectacles showed the lights of the phone screen he was consumed with. Jacob walked here with them, stood in the corner, waited for them to finish their usual entertainment, and walked away with them—still pouring into his phone screen. This was usual, just as Ethan's being bullied by them.

The question agitated Ethan. The voice itself caused most of it. Ethan didn't straighten up yet, still rubbing his knees, glaring at the sneakers—blue and red streaks—Ethan's favorite colors, weren't they?

"It's rude. You don't speak when someone speaks to you," Jamie said, crouching down on his knees, and looking into Ethan's face. "This is what Oleander taught you, the good boy?"

Ethan had grown used to so many things. There was a time when one of them mentioned his mother's name, insulted her, and he had thrown sand at them, and run like crazy out of mad anger.

That night, each of the parents came to Oleander's place to complain about him throwing sand in the faces of their kids. They could have gone blind. Also, what kind of behavior was it to display with his schoolmates?

Oleander Parker talked to Ethan about it, but he wouldn't speak up. She punished him by making him write his journal for the next 35 days instead of watching TV. It was a punishment at first until Ethan discovered he had found a place to vent his anger. There was no other place in this world, at least at that time when he was a young boy, to vent what he went through.

Now he didn't react when they brought Oleander into their insults. Oleander was a strong lady. "People talk way more shit than you are aware of about me, son. Can you go about reacting to all of them?" she'd say. "Soon they'd be tired, but I can't be. I need to work. You too need to work. The best thing to do is, you know what it is?"

Ethan ignored or endured; he found these two ways out to be the best, or perhaps they were just working for now.

The upcoming camping trip loomed large in his mind, a source of both excitement and unease. So did the end of the school year on the horizon, Ethan dared to entertain the possibility of a fresh start. Perhaps, once the summer break began, he could leave behind the shadows of his past and embrace a brighter future.