Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,46

the loser? What higher order had sent down that judgment of fate? I wanted to ask a god, any god, but he was blackout drunk and had left the great wheel spinning abandoned and free for millennia now.

I flexed the leather cuff on my wrist. I wanted to punch a hole in the air. I probably could; such a move probably would look pretty cool. But was it even my move to own, if it was stolen to begin with?

I punched my palm instead, earning a Look from a boy peering out from behind a book.

I turned a corner, and walked right into Gunner.

“Now you?” I said. “Great.”

Gunner held a tray with both hands.

“Nice pants,” said Gunner through sphinctoid lips.

“Nythe panth!” cried Gunner’s glistening sidekick.

Gunner gestured with whatever he was holding. “Are all those zippers for all the, like, the tiny dongs all growing all over your legs?”

In the pre-Cirrus, pre-lie era, my normal response would have been to inaudibly whisper Go away and flee with my eyes fixed upon the ground.

Oh, but isn’t that just the perfect loser response.

Maybe we could run away from Gray, too.

And Cirrus. Don’t forget her.

Yes . . . just run away into our little room and hide among our white storage containers.

Why, we could probably fit inside one of those containers if we made ourselves really small.

“Enough!” I said, and punched a hole in the air.

“Huh?” said Gunner.

I examined the thing in Gunner’s hands. It was not a tray. It was a science project.

Gunner saw me look, then attacked again. “Your [sic] wearing a total girl shirt.”

I took a step forward and squinted.

“Oh no,” I said. “Is that supposed to be a cell model sculpture?”

Gunner gripped the board’s edges. “You wanna flip my board? I dare you. Flip it.”

“Flibbit!” said his milky translucent-skinned sidekick with a low monkey-hop.

I took a step forward. Gunner took a step back. “It looks like five different animals took turns defecating on the same doormat,” I said.

“I know you want revenge,” said Gunner. “For all the cafeteria trays. Go ahead, flip it, I double dildo dare you.”

I waved a lazy fingertip. “No hypothesis, no research, no conclusion synthesis,” I said. “This crap salad’s getting an F, and you know it. Your fourth, right?”

Gunner’s nostrils quivered. He looked at his work. I knew that he knew that I was right. “You shut up.”

I turned to leave. “Have fun repeating junior year again.”

“I know what you’re doing, Sunny Dae,” said Gunner.

Something about his tone made me stop and look back. Gunner was furious.

“I’ve known you since middle school,” Gunner sneered.

My fingers twitched like a nervous gunslinger’s. Where was Gunner headed?

“I know you’re copying your big brother,” said Gunner.

The sky flashed. Blood emptied out of my heart.

“Gyahahahaha,” said his repulsive sidekick. “Luzer!”

“You’re a big faker,” said Gunner. He took a step, made the air rumble. Surely he could smell my spike in fear. To my endless disappointment, I cowered.

“I know why, too,” said Gunner. “You’re trying to be cool for her.”

“Go away,” I muttered, barely audible.

“Goway-goway-goway!” sang the sidekick.

“Okay,” said Gunner, fully in control now. “I’ll go away and tell Cirrus.”

The sound of her sacred name excreting forth from Gunner’s moist abhorrent lips made me wish with all my heart that I could utter gladius sanctus! and summon my paladin character’s holy sword (special attack: « DEMONKILL ») straight from the astral plane into my open palm to slay this despicable duo as! Well! As! the unsatisfactory schoolwork.

Instead, Gunner smiled, turned, and began taking his leave. The sidekick scampered ahead of him off into the cold wet.

“Wait,” I said.

Gunner stopped and turned as if he’d been expecting me to say exactly that word.

“Yes?” crooned Gunner, with the dark charm of a backstabbing, conniving court eunuch.

I pointed at his cell sculpture. “Is that thing due today?”

“Mhm,” said Gunner.

I flopped my arms with defeat. “Can you get an extension or something?”

“I can get pretty much anything I need,” said Gunner, victorious. He flung the fragile ugly sculpture into a nearby rain puddle, where it began dissolving with each pelting drop.

“Southeast corner of Emerald Ave. and Sapphire Street,” said Gunner. “Let’s say Sunday afternoon.”

“Can we just get this over with tomorrow?” I said.

Gunner shook his head quickly. “I got practice.”

I blinked. Did this guy do anything but football?

Gunner gave his hands a big smug clap. “Bring that brain of yours, Dae.”

* * *

—

It was now somehow Saturday night. I was back in my room.

I sat at my workbench and scowled at my white storage