Becky's Kiss by Nicholas Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

of her fingers, leading herself on like an idiot, thinking the dream-trick was way more suave than the reality, and she tipped it again, her feet making splashes, and someone honked at her long and loud.
    It was the school bus, and she’d run right in front of it. The stone fell away, bouncing to the far curb, and she walked around the front fender, head down, never more embarrassed in her entire life. People were laughing and saying things she couldn’t really distinguish as she trudged up the treaded stairs. The bus was pretty much filled, most of the students in hoodies, some gray, some off white with stripes, some black, some with American Eagle logos and Gap insignias. The only empty space was beside a handsome but rather uptight Asian boy who had an umbrella resting across his knees. He politely moved in for her, and she sat, feeling a lot of eyes from behind her burning a hole in her head. She stared at the seat in front of her.
    It seemed already that this was going to be one of those long, uncomfortable days.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Becky got to class a few minutes early, 7:19 a.m. to be exact, and to her surprise, most of the students were already there. Clearly, Mr. Marcus had frightened everybody, and they didn’t want to make him mad even though rainy days usually formed an automatic recipe for stragglers. He was at the board, and he was making a joke about squeaky chalk, playing the laugh, everyone’s Mr. Nice Guy and ready to turn on a dime if you rubbed him the wrong way. He’d clearly shown that side yesterday, making it known loud and clear, right here in the first week of school, that he was the boss, the chief, the president, and king, and while the laughs were forced and nervous, he knew it and didn’t seem to care. He’d turned the whole class around in one day and was proud of it, you could tell.
    “Michigan,” he said, not turning from the pre-class prompt he was writing. “Your new seat is over there by the window, second down from the front.”
    “But—“
    “Uh-uh,” he said with a short laugh, looking at the board. “Uncle Marcus say, student do, that’s the way of things here in the nuthouse.” She just stood there for a second, and his voice got a bit louder and clownish.
    “C’mon, Michigan, don’t be shy.” He was motioning at her now with overly exaggerated “C’mon-ins,” his arm doing big cartoon bull dozer scoops. “That’s it, march, like you’re in the army, hut-two-three-four, five-seven-nine-twelve.” She walked past him through the spatter of classroom giggles, unable to do it outside of his rhythm. That made her laugh a bit herself, and she moved quickly to her new seat next to the weird girl with the red librarian glasses, she who was wearing a flowered dress today that seemed far too soft for her abrasive personality.
    Marcus was good, Becky had to admit it. Kids hating switching seats, like it was a badge of failure or something, and he’d handled it quickly and effectively. He’d guessed she’d be the easier one to budge, and successfully split her from Cody Hatcher in one fell swoop. The problem was that sitting next to someone was easier than sitting across from him, and now she’d have to work extra hard not to look at the jerk, making sure he wasn’t looking at her.
    “Darn,” Mr. Marcus said. He’d broken his chalk in two and was left with a nub. “I have to go get a new box,” he said.
    “Oooh!” Hatcher spouted, hand shooting into the air. He was wearing black jeans today and a rather dirty looking army jacket. He’d cut himself shaving and had left the little toilet paper square there on his cheek with the tiny red dot in the middle. “Can I go get your box of chalk, Mr. Marcus?” he said.
    “No,” Marcus muttered. “It’s got to be signed for by a faculty member.” He turned, looked back at the board, and shouted,
    “Whoa!”
    Everyone jumped in their seats a bit, and Mr. Marcus’s voice had a big smile in