Sully Messed Up

by Stephanie Simpson McLellan

  Winston was already at the locker as Sully and Morsixx approached. He ran his pudgy index finger slowly over the letters.

  Sully gave Morsixx a dark look and put a hand on Winston’s shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Winston.” He tore the heart sign off the locker. “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Hi, Bella.” Winston unscrewed his face from intense concentration. “That’s funny. Also dumb.”

  “Just some punks.” Sully darted a look at Morsixx for help. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “They got it wrong.” Winston turned back and pointed at the signs. “How silly.”

  “You’re right,” said Morsixx. “They’re just brainless, aren’t they, Winston. You’re much smarter than they are.”

  “Yes!” said Winston. “I’m smarter! Elmo is not a frog.”

  “That’s right.” Sully tried to steer Winston away from the locker. “Wait, what?”

  “Ellll-mmmmmo. Frrrrr-oggggg.” Winston drew out the pronunciation as he ran his finger over the words again.

  “Ah,” said Morsixx. “There’s no fooling you, is there, Dude.”

  “There’s no fooling Winston,” Winston grinned, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. “Kermit is the frog, not Elmo.”

  “The whole thing’s just silly, isn’t it, Winston,” said Morsixx.

  “Yes. So silly,” said Winston. “And dumb, too.”

  “You got that right,” said Sully. “Well, see ya later, Winston.”

  “Bye Bella. Bye Mor . . . Mor . . . ”

  “Later, Dude.”

  “Predictable.” Morsixx tore down the rest of the notes when Winston was out of earshot. “I’m surprised it took them so long. But hey, you handled that better than I thought you would, Dude.”

  “I’m not handling anything.” Sully’s angry, bulging eyes made his chin shake. “I’m not handling anything. I told you this would happen. You have to stop this. Stop dressing like that.”

  “Chill, Dude,” said Morsixx. “I figured it would happen, too, but I can handle it. I’m almost a foot taller than Tank’s flunkies, and I could take Tank if I had to.”

  “I’m not talking about you,” Sully said. “Have you given a second thought to what this might be doing to me? Drawing attention to yourself is drawing attention to me, too, and I don’t want it!”

  “Thanks for the support, Dude. Remind me why we’re friends again?”

  “I don’t know . . . Morsixx. ‘Morsixx’—what kind of name is that! I agreed to share a locker with Morty. Morty didn’t go around with a kick me sign on his back. You’re going to get us killed. Worse, you’re going to get one of us strung up, and it’s not going to be me!”

  “Relax, Dude. I don’t like it, either, but I’m not going to let them push me around. I’m tired of punks telling me who I should be. I really don’t care what they say or do.”

  “Well, I do care, okay? You’re not going to drag me down.”

  “No offense, Dude, but you’re dragging yourself down. You can’t pin that on me.”

  “And another thing. You’re forgetting that I’m several inches shorter than any of them. I definitely don’t have the strength to take them on.”

  Sully glared at Morsixx’s black eyeliner, all black clothing, and chains and skulls. His flaring nostrils made his temple throb.

  “It’s not about that, Dude. It’s inner strength you need. Like the frog said, ‘Life’s like a movie . . . write your own ending.’”

  “Well, it’s not a movie, is it? It’s real life. My real life.”

  “Find your inner Kermit, Dude,” Morsixx said, smiling. “Winston could teach you a few tricks.”

  “Whatever,” said Sully. “Lock the locker. I don’t want to be late for class.”

  But if Sully had known what was waiting for him in English class, he would have been glad to be late.

  CHAPTER 8

  With only two years of data, it was difficult to nail a definite trend, but the stats were that Tank staged the Naked Niner within thirteen days of administering the Black Spot. Both Gerald and Billy had been marked during the sixth week of school.

  Sully made a decision on the way to Ms. Wippet’s English class. If Morsixx wanted to put himself on Tank’s shortlist, that was his problem, but for the next three to four weeks, or as long as it took, Sully planned to avoid both Tank and Morsixx. Morsixx was just going to have to understand that some things, like self-preservation, were more important than friendship.

  Tank would be more difficult. Green had posted all the assignments on the board, and Sully’s presentation on menstruation loomed like a blind pimple.

  While Sully had only one class with Tank, he was unlucky enough to have the same English class as one of Tank’s sidekicks, Dodger. As a result, he’d strategically selected an inconspicuous seat halfway back and off-center. There was an empty desk in front of him, and two forgettably normal kids on either side. Dodger sat in the back row on the other side of the room, far enough away, Sully reasoned, that he likely wasn’t even aware that Sully was in his class.

  “Lord Alfred Tennyson was one of the foremost poets of the nineteenth century.” Ms. Wippet made this announcement like she was an anchor on the evening news. “As we think about the role of art in life, let us consider one of Tennyson’s most famous poems, ‘The Lady of—ʼ”

  “Is this English 101?”

  A girl stood in the doorway, her left arm flung dramatically before her, sweeping from Ms. Wippet and the blackboard to Dodger and the shelves of books behind him.

  Ms. Wippet peered over her glasses at the interruption.

  “It is,” Wippet said. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Blossom. My name is Blossom. I just moved here.”

  “What kind of name is Blossom?” someone cracked from the back of the room.

  “It’s not a kind of name at all.” Blossom paid no heed to the laughter and stares. “It’s just my name.”

  While slight of frame, there wasn’t anything else about Blossom that was slight or minimal. Her dark curly hair, streaked with shades of red, purple, and aqua, hung in thick waves past her waist. She wore a long, flowing, bright pink skirt, a purple scarf, and a tie-dye messenger bag. But even these things were not the most remarkable traits adorning her. Visible beneath the sheer fabric of her long, silver sleeves, and prominent on her face and neck, were intricate tattoos of flowers, leaves, and vines, painted against the light brown of her skin. She was a bright web of color, like a walking tapestry, casting her open gaze around the classroom as if bestowing God’s grace.

  Sully immediately despised her.

  “So, I’m in the right class?” She removed her scarf and tucked it in her messenger bag.

  “So it would seem.” Wippet punched some keys on her laptop and scanned her screen. “Have you checked in with the office, Miss—”

  “Just Blossom,” the girl said. “Yes, they know I’m here, thank you. I’ll find a seat, then, Ms. Wippet.”

  Blossom moved like a river, her skirt and her hair flowing around her as she swept across the classroom on her way to claim one of the empty seats.

  Thinking quickly, Sully hoisted his backpack onto the empty desk in front of him. As she started down his row, he leaned forward and rested his head in his hand.

  “Is this seat taken?” she said.

  “Yes.” Sully flushed a fuchsia that rivaled her skirt.

  “By whom?” Blossom’s dark eyes darted between Sully and the empty chair. “Are you sure this isn’t your backpack?”

  “No,” said Sully. “It’s not mine. There’s a seat over there.”

  He pointed vaguely around him and then slouched sideways and away from her.

  Blossom didn’t move.

  “I don’t think you’re being truthful.” She reached for the backpack.

&nbs
p; “No,” said Dodger, who came up behind Sully. “Sally’s not lying. I wondered where I’d left that.”

  “No, wait.” Sully grabbed for the bag, which Dodger, smiling broadly, had shouldered.

  “Are you three quite finished?” said Wippet.

  “Seat’s all yours, Buttercup.” Dodger made a flourish with his hand toward the empty seat.

  “Blossom,” said Blossom.

  “Wait a minute.” Sully swept his hair away from his forehead to ensure he was heard.

  “Enough interruption,” Wippet said. “Blossom, take your seat. Class, turn your eyes back to the board. Now, where were we?”

  Blossom swished into the seat in front of Sully. She lifted her hair away from her neck as she settled, so it rippled in waves down her back.

  “But—” said Sully.

  “Thank you for finding my bag, Sally.” Dodger patted the bag protectively. “I’ll take good care of it from now on.”

  “Is your name really Sally?” Blossom turned around and whispered louder than necessary, given that she was mere inches from the ear in the middle of Sully’s face.

  “No,” said Sully. “It’s—”

  “Blossom. Mr. . . . uh . . . B . . . ” Wippet scanned her class list to find Sully’s name. “Mr. Brewster. Sullivan. I have a class to teach. Save your fraternizing for after class and turn your attention to Tennyson’s ‘Lady of Shalott.’”

  Blossom winked at Sully as he gritted his teeth and clasped his hands tightly in front of him.

  “Sorry about that, Mr. B. Wait. No,” Blossom said, reconsidering. “Not Mr. B. Bee Boy. Yes, I like it. It has a nice ring to it.”

  Before turning to face the front, she wrapped her hands over his whitened knuckles and smiled.

  “You’re not actually my type. But I can tell we’re going to be friends.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Come to our next class prepared to talk about what you think Tennyson is saying in this poem,” Wippet said at the end of class. “Without giving too much away, I ask you to consider what the Lady’s curse is. How does she see the world and what are the implications of that?”

  Sully bolted for the door as soon as the bell rang, leaving room 211 and taking an uncustomary left turn. Morsixx had Sex Ed next period, meaning he’d be ascending the central stairway off the open atrium at the same time that Sully descended it. The easiest way to avoid him was to use the west stairwell, which Sully darted for now.

  Dodger leaned casually against the west stairwell door frame and waggled his fingers at him, while hugging Sully’s bag to his side.

  “Give it back,” said Sully.

  “Give it back,” Dodger mimicked, his voice pitched high and whiney.

  Sully made a grab for it, but then saw Tank in the stairwell behind Dodger.

  He stumbled backward and through the flow of students on his way to the east stairwell, but veered back to center when he saw that Ox blocked this alternate route.

  Still bent on evading Morsixx, Sully shrank into himself, and joined the crowd that flowed down the broad central stairway like lemmings.

  His timing was terrible. Halfway down, as the students in front of him began parting left and right, Sully found himself face to face with Morsixx. Well, almost face to face. Even one stair down, Morsixx was taller than Sully, and in a lucky break, he was looking at someone over Sully’s shoulder.

  Sully took a step to the left and made his way back up to the second floor. He stole slowly, keeping his head down and his shoulders braced, ready to slip away if Morsixx called his name.

  He almost made it.

  With his foot on the top step, plotting his escape down the right hallway, he heard his name shouted above the din.

  “Hey, Sally, catch!”

  Sully had just enough time to raise his hands before his backpack hurtled toward him.

  “Whaddya know,” said Dodger as he bumped past him. “This is your backpack after all!”

  Sully staggered backward from the force and landed awkwardly. His unzipped backpack opened wide and spilled its contents down the now nearly empty middle of the stairway.

  “Eww . . . you’re disgusting.” This from a girl four steps down on his left.

  “Perverted newb,” said another girl.

  “Hey, Booster!” catcalled a boy from his middle school. “Your time of month?”

  “Taking your Sex Ed presentation a little too seriously, aren’t you, kid?” said a boy from his Sex Ed class.

  In the ensuing cacophony of whistles, laughter, and shouting, Sully scrambled to his knees and swiped at the surprising quantity of paraphernalia his bag had dumped in a strange swath down the stairs. As he shoveled things back into his pack, he searched through the blur of faces, and then looked back at his bag, as his scooping efforts met with abrupt resistance.

  On the first-floor landing, Miss Winters stomped her high heel on the end of a little white string, the other end of which was in Sully’s hand.

  “Mr. Brewster!” she said. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Sully looked from the chilly sharpness of Winters’s scowl to the tubular white item in the palm of his hand.

  It was a tampon.

  But not just one tampon. Looking from his hand to Winters’s face, and then back again, Sully next let his eyes surf the trail that connected them. An alarming number of snow-white tampons were tied together, end to end, marking the middle of the stairway like the passing line on a highway.

  “I . . . I . . . I—”

  The area was silent in anticipation of Sully’s explanation.

  “I . . . I—”

  Winston emerged from the group. He walked up the stairway to where Sully stood and put his arm around him.

  “I think it’s pretty, Bella,” he said. “They look like little sausages. Only white.”

  “The office, Mr. Brewster.” Winters removed her foot from the little white string. “And bring your little art project with you. The rest of you, move along.”

  The rest of the students, most smirking, some scowling, filed past Sully. Not one of them gifted him a scrap of privacy.

  As Sully descended, scooping the tampons into his pack as he went, the only faces that didn’t show ridicule were those of Morsixx and Blossom. They stood on opposite sides of the stairwell below him, like mismatched bookends, and shot him concerned and sympathetic glances.

  Waiting in the hallway outside the principal’s office, Sully noticed his reflection in the darkened glass.

  His face had rearranged itself again.

  CHAPTER 10

  Correction. His face was in the process of rearranging. The scene in the dark glass of the office window played out like a macabre Shadow Play. Sully’s eyes wobbled uncertainly up the left side of his face. As if to avoid a collision, his nose slid away from his encroaching eyes. It accelerated around his jawline like someone stealing home, and then wavered precariously on the tip of his chin.

  Sully leapt to his feet. He placed his palms on the window and leaned closer to get a better look.

  His eyes did a full revolution, in opposite directions, around the circumference of his face, before launching a two-pronged attack on his ear, which darted to his forehead. This caused a chain reaction that dislodged his mouth, which ricocheted off his hairline, before meandering sideways to rest vertically on his left cheek. Raising his eyeballs, now fixed one just above the other in the middle of his face, Sully watched his other ear slip from the top of his head and make a precipitous drop to the right side of his neck.

  Sully raked his hair back from his scalp and pawed his face. Little strangled noises escaped his mouth. Which was now on his left cheek.

  “Mr. Brewster.” The principal’s door swung inward, and Miss Winters ushered Sully inside. “This is not kindergarten. Stop making those ridiculous faces.”


  “But . . . but . . . but—”

  “Speak up, young man. I’ll need an explanation for that offensive spectacle on the stairwell.”

  “With respect, Ma’am,” said a voice behind him. “The Dude was framed.”

  Sully spun to see Morsixx and Blossom approaching from behind.

  “Most definitely framed,” said Blossom, as she took a step toward the principal. “Another boy confiscated his backpack in Ms. Wippet’s English class. He clearly spiked it with that ridiculous display.”

  “Is this true, Mr. Brewster?”

  “Um . . . yes?”

  “Is that a question or an answer?” Winters arched an eyebrow.

  “An answer, Ma’am?”

  “And just who is this other boy who framed you?”

  “I just joined the class today,” said Blossom. “I don’t know the other boy’s name.”

  “Mr. Brewster?” Winters scrutinized his face.

  “I . . . it . . . I—”

  “Yes?” said Winters.

  “I’d . . . rather not say,” he said.

  “If you won’t give me his name, I’ll have to hold you responsible. I’d advise you to think a little harder.”

  “Well, I can point him out,” said Blossom.

  “No,” said Sully. “I should have kept better track of my things. I don’t want to get anyone else involved.” The last thing he needed was to draw more attention to himself by tattling on one of Tank’s lackeys.

  Because his peripheral vision was severely compromised by the current location of his eyes—which crowded close to each other in the middle of his face—Sully had to turn his head to see the confused expressions Morsixx and Blossom gave each other.

  “If that’s the case,” said Winters, “report to room 111 for a one-hour detention after school.”

  “Yes, Miss Winters.” Sully rose and took the slip of paper Miss Winters handed to him.

  Morsixx and Blossom opened a space between them to let Sully pass.

  “What’s up with that, Dude?” said Morsixx.

  “That boy deserves to get in trouble!” said Blossom.