Furious - By Jill Wolfson Page 0,38
no longer than a typical change of heart. I see that all the time. Someone feels terrible about something they did and they vow never to do it again, but then break their own resolution the next day. That kind of thing happens every January 2.
“What’s in it?” Alix asks, still hands-off.
Pox assures her. “It’s okay. Peace offering. Go ahead. Take it. It’s for Simon.”
“You stick your face into it first,” she orders, and he does. Then she looks, too, and emerges with a half smile. “What is it?”
Pox, perky as a five-year-old girl at her own birthday party, pulls out a gadget still in the plastic shrink wrap. “It’s a Six-in-One Outdoor Survival Mini Kit.” He ticks off each item on a finger. “Whistle, compass, magnifier, flashlight, thermometer, and something else. I had one just like it when I was a Cub Scout.”
Alix smirks. “You were a Cub Scout.”
Pox looks sheepish. “Yeah, until I got kicked out for my bad attitude.” Pox, eager to please: “Do you think Simon will like it?”
“It’s cool. He’ll go totally nuts over it.”
“Nuts! That’s great!”
The warning bell for first period rings. We start walking across the lawn toward the front entrance, Pox in front facing us, moving backward, practically skipping. “So Alix, anything else Simon might like? I can’t stop thinking about what a jerk I am. I couldn’t sleep last night.”
I get an idea and tell everyone to hold up a minute. “Pox, there’s something else you should do.”
“Of course!” he gushes. “Anything.”
I motion to my left. “You should apologize to Raymond for … for what, Raymond?”
The look on my best friend’s face shifts from detached amusement to personal interest. Raymond has done so much for me; this is my chance to finally do something for him. He deserves it. He’s described some of the awful stuff Pox did to him starting in middle school. Raymond tries to make it sound like it wasn’t that big of a deal. He can turn anything into a joke. But I know that he downplays just how bad it got. I picture a younger version of Raymond—still Raymond, but even more trusting and not as sure of himself, Raymond before he learned not to care what other people thought about him. Pox must have made his life hell back then.
“There are so many grievous insults in our shared history together,” Raymond begins. He motions Pox to his side, like he’s calling a disobedient puppy, and that’s how Pox responds, shamed and repentant, with an invisible tail tucked between his legs. “How about the time you pushed me into my locker and superglued it shut? When was that? Seventh grade?”
Pox winces at the reminder. “Gee, Raymond. Superglue. That was a super jerky thing to do. Will you accept my apology?”
Raymond puts his hands on his hips, exaggerating the stance of a disappointed teacher. “That was such a pedestrian act of bullying, definitely not your finest moment. I exonerate you for the prank, Pox, but not for your lack of imagination.”
Pox turns to me, puzzled. “Did he accept?”
“Not quite.” Raymond’s features shift again, this time into something darker and more serious. His voice no longer has its playful, sarcastic edge. “Pox, it’s not only me you tortured. I got over your bullying. I figured out how not to let it hurt me. But there are other kids, kids who never get over it and walk around ashamed of who they are, and they have no reason to be ashamed. They hate themselves. Because of you. That’s who you need to apologize to.”
I think I see tears forming in the corners of Pox’s eyes. His chin drops to his chest.
“Start with the gay kids. And then the kids you call homo or faggot even if they aren’t gay. And the short guys. And the flat-chested girls. And the handicapped kids. And the Danish foreign exchange student. And the geeks and the freaks and the Mexican—”
“And you, Meg!” Pox adds. “What I said about you and your family. I’m an asshole.” He bangs his forehead with his palm. “Asshole! I will apologize. I will! I won’t miss anyone. Promise. And after that, Raymond, will you forgive me?”
When Raymond nods, Pox lets out a big puff of air. “It’s gonna feel great to get this off my chest.”
The late bell rings, so we make a mad dash to get to first period just in time. Raymond slides into the seat next to me. “That was my dream come true. How