I've gotten used to the taunts and teasing as I walk the hallways of John Wayne High School. In fact, I've kind of learned to block them out, like all the insults are just the background music to my shitty existence. But this morning is different. Kids still call me Little Peter and tease me as I pass them in the hall, but now there's a new element - a trail of hickeys running down the left side of my neck. 

For kids like Nick Spears, hickeys are a badge of honor, a sign of some sexual conquest. But that's what's so annoying about the hickey jokes, the staring, and the giggling. On me, a hickey is an invitation to ridicule. I'm not sure why that's the case, because my hickeys are just like the ones the cool kids get. But somehow the idea of a cool kid making out with someone is, well, cool. But when I do the same thing, it's a joke.

Speaking of jokes, there are a dozen tiny dicks drawn on the front of my locker. This is actually a slow day for the school's resident dick artist, Simon Shaw, who must've had something better to draw over the urinals in the boy's bathroom. In any case, the janitor will clean the graffiti off the locker after school, and Simon Shaw will be back at it again tomorrow. Draw dicks, erase, repeat. 

But for some reason, I find the dicks Simon Shaw drew today to be especially annoying. They look smaller. I want to scream out, but I resist the urge because I know it'll only draw attention to me, and that's the last thing I want. So, I dial in the combination and open my locker.

Inside, there's a bag of baby carrots. Like the dicks, the baby carrots are an everyday thing. The difference is that I know Simon Shaw is the one drawing dicks on my locker, but I have no idea who keeps leaving me a bag of baby carrots. Which means I have no idea who has access to my locker besides me.

Not that I leave anything personal in there. It's just books. And while it might feel like a violation for a stranger to have access to your locker, I tell myself that in the grand scheme of violations, it's nothing compared to the entire school seeing my dick.

I reach for the baby carrots and throw them in a nearby trash can because I don't want them to sit in my locker and rot. But as I do, some kid I don't know calls me, "Peter Rabbit." I guess this is supposed to be funny - because rabbits like carrots and my name is Peter! - but it strikes me as an especially childish dick joke. I mean, does this anonymous idiot still watch kid's movies? Grow up, I think. 

So, I shrug it off and return to my locker. I collect my books, place them in my backpack, and the shut the locker door. But a second later, I feel a strong hand grab me by the back of the neck and slam my face against the locker. 

"These dicks are so tiny you'd need a microscope to see them."

I recognize the voice. It belongs to Nick Spears. His hand is tight around the back of my neck like he's gripping a football.

"Can you see these little dicks, Peter?"

Nick moves my face around the locker from dick to dick. The metal against my skin hurts and so does his angry grip on the back of my neck, but the real pain is the humiliation. I know kids have stopped to watch the bully put on a show, and I know that I'm supposed to play the role of the victim here, but something inside of my just snaps in that moment. Maybe it's the dicks drawn on my locker, or the baby carrots, or the endless memes and hashtags that have run me off the internet, or just the fact that these assholes have been telling the same lame joke forever, but I just can't take it anymore. 

"See the dicks, little Peter."

I let my backpack fall to the floor, and as I do I ball up my hand into a fist. I know Nick Spears can destroy me in two seconds, and I know that's something my classmates would love to see, but I just don't care. In that moment, I can feel myself channeling all of my pain into a tight fist of rage, and I'd like nothing more than to deliver that tiny but powerful package right into Nick's square jaw.

Suddenly, the crowd begins to chant.

Little Peter!

Little Peter!

Little Peter!

Despite the fact that they're calling my name, I know they're not chanting for me. They're echoing the bully's taunt, cheering him on. Nick Spears is a powerful guy, I realize, not because he lifts weights and has the strength of a grown man poured into a high school kid's body, but because every dipshit in this dipshit school blindly accepts the fact that the ability to throw a football to some other dipshit makes you a god. He has power because the powerless give him power.

"Is that a hickey, Little Peter?" I hear Nick Spears yell into my ear. "Hey everyone! Little Peter has a hickey."

Suddenly, the crowd begins a different chant.

Hickey!

Hickey!

Hickey!

Which only proves my point. The dipshits at this school will cheer for anything as long as Nick Spears tells them to. 

I try to turn around so I can face Nick Spears, throw a punch at his jaw, and get it over with, but I can't move. Nick still has me pinned to the locker, my face against the metal.

"Who gave you the hickey, Little Peter?"

I'm not going to answer this question, of course, but that doesn't stop Nick Spears from speculating. He rattles off the names of a few girls who the school has deemed undesirable for some stupid reason. I don't know these girls, but I feel terrible for them. Why should they be drawn into my mess, and why is it OK for their names to be tossed around as examples of something undesirable? But their parts in this sad drama don't last long, because Nick says that maybe the lunch lady gave me the hickey.

"She likes the baby carrots," he teases.

The crowd laughs, and Nick Spears, sensing that he might have a future in comedy, goes for the punchline. 

"No," he says. "I know who gave you the hickey, Little Peter. Your mom."

There's some unwritten rule about mom jokes that can set any guy off, and I guess I'm no exception. Because as the crowd laughs at my mom, I shift my feet and twist around so that I'm halfway facing Nick. This is my shot, my moment to strike a blow against this bully. 

But out of the corner of my eye, I notice Elroy. His is one of the only friendly faces in the crowd. There's a pained expression on his face. He looks worried for me. And in that moment, I know that if he could do something he would. But on closer examination, the pain in Elroy's eyes seems to run deeper. I don't know why he looks so upset, but I get the feeling that it's about me on one level, and about something else on another level. Maybe, I think, Elroy's reason for helping me goes beyond his entrepreneurial ambition.

"Tell me something, Little Peter," Nick Spears taunts. "Does your mommy like little dicks? I'll bet she does, because I'll bet your daddy has a baby dick too."

I can feel my face turning red with rage. But as I cock my fist I see Elroy shake his head. Without saying a word, Elroy has told me not to fight back, not to punch the bully. I assume Elroy is telling me this because he knows I can't win, and that I'll get hurt. But I don't care about winning, or getting hurt. I'm already hurt, and everyday at this miserable school feels like losing, so what's the difference?

"Baby dick!" Nick Spears yells. And a second later, the crowd picks up the chant.

Baby dick!

Baby dick!

Baby dick!

I steady myself, determined to carry on with my plan, despite Elroy's warning. My fist is ready, but as I turn to swing a bell goes off. 

It's the bell for first period. 

The noise startles Nick and he steps away from me. 

Just as Nick steps away and removes his grip from my neck, my body uncoils like a snake and all of my pent up energy sends me twisting toward Nick. Or rather, I'm twisting toward where Nick stood a moment ago. 

My fist flies through the air. But that's all my fist hits - air. 

The momentum swings me around and I topple over onto my knees at Nick's feet. Instantly, I hear laughter, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that Elroy is standing near the bell. That's when it clicks. Elroy set off the bell somehow. He did it to stop the fight. Or rather, he did it to stop me from throwing the punch. But the early bell has also drawn the attention of a teacher. Standing above me is Coach Krieger. 

"What's going on here?" Coach Krieger demands.

In a normal school, the arrival of an authority figure like Coach Krieger would signal my salvation. But nothing is normal at this school because nothing is normal in Texas. Here, everything is seen through the lens of football. And so Coach Krieger's question isn't directed at Nick Spears, his star quarterback, it's directed at me, the anonymous peon who has threatened to derail a football god.

"Just a little horseplay, Coach," he says. 

The way Nick Spears says little really ticks me off, but my anger at that remark is nothing compared to what Coach Krieger says. He leans down and tells me "watch yourself, young man." 

Me? I'm the one who needs to watch himself?! I'm the one who's at risk of being sent to principal's office? I'm the one who could get detention? Holy shit, Coach Krieger! Are you blind, or just stupid? Don't you see the dicks on my locker. Didn't you notice that your star quarterback started this fight? Come to think of it, didn't you notice that he started this entire mess when he pantsed me in front of the entire school? No, of course, you didn't notice, because your the king dipshit around here. You're the dipshit who thought it would be a good idea to give us all bananas so we could learn how to put on a condom. And then when Becky Spade made fun of my banana, you didn't do a damn thing. Not a single thing! But I have to watch myself. Screw you, Coach Krieger!

Of course, I don't say anything of this. Because even if I did, I know it wouldn't help. But when I see Nick Spears chuckling, I just can't take it. I ball up my fist again. 

Still, kneeling on the floor, I find my target. 

With all the fury I can manage, I hurl my fist straight at Nick Spears. 

And this time, I hit something.

This time, I hit Nick Spears as hard as I can.

 Right in his nuts. 

👏Thank you for reading!👏

🥊So Peter punched the bully in the nuts. What do you think is going to happen to him?🤕

Why do you think Elroy looked so pained?🗣

If you were in Peter's shoes, what would you have done?🗣

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