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CHAPTER 065

This is on, man!

Riding his skateboard, Billy Cleever, angry sixth-grader, came ripping off the playground with an old-school aerial, came down into a backside three-sixty with a tail grab, then heel-flipped onto the sidewalk. He did it flawlessly, which was good, because he was feeling he’d lost some of his cool today. The four kids following behind were quiet, instead of yelling like usual. And this was the big downhill run to Market Street in San Diego. But they were quiet. Like they had lost confidence in him.

Billy Cleever had been humiliated today. His hand hurt like a mother. He told the stupid nurse just to put a Band-Aid on it, but she insisted on a big white thing. He ripped it off the minute school was out, but still. Looked like crap. He looked like an invalid. Something sick.

Humiliated. At age eleven, Billy Cleever was five-nine and 120 pounds, solid muscle for a kid his age, and a good foot taller than anybody else in the school. He was bigger than most of the teachers, even. Nobody messed with him.

That little skin-shit Jamie, that nimrod doof with buck teeth, he should have stayed out of Billy’s way. Markie Lester the Pester was throwing him a football, and when he went back to receive it he tripped over Bucky Beaver and fell, taking Bucky with him. Billy was pissed and embarrassed, sprawling like that in front of everybody, with Sarah Hardy and the others giggling. The kid was still lying on the ground, so Billy gave him a couple of kicks with his Vans-nothing really, just a warning-and when the kid got up he smacked him a little. No biggie.

And the next thing he knows, he’s got Monkeyboy jumping on his back, yanking his hair and growling in his ear like a fucking ape, and Billy reached back and grabbed for him and Monkeyboy took a bite like-whoa! Pissing pain! Seeing stars.

Of course the monitor, Mr. Snotty NoseDrip, does nothing, whining, “Break it up, boys. Break it up, boys.” They put Monkeyboy in detention, and called his mother to come and pick him up, but his mother obviously didn’t take him home, which was too bad for him. Because there they were now, walking along at the bottom of the hill, starting to cross the baseball field.

Jamie and Monkeyboy.

And this is on!

Billy hits them side on, moving fast, and the two go flying like bowling pins, right next to the dugout by the side of the field. Jamie skids on his chin on the dirt, raising a cloud of brown dust, and Monkeyboy bangs into the chain-link backstop behind home plate. Off to one side, Billy’s buddies are yelling:Blood! We want blood!

The little kid, Jamie, is moaning in the dust, so Billy goes right for Monkeyboy. He charges him with his deck, trucks out, swinging the skateboard hard, and catches the little black fucker back of the ear, thinking that’ll teach him a lesson. Monkeyboy’s legs go out, he flops on the ground like a rag doll, and Billy kicks him a good one, right under the chin, lifts his ass off the dirt a little, that one does. But Billy doesn’t want to get that monkey blood on his Vans, so he comes back swinging the deck again, figuring to whack the monkey square in the face, maybe break his nose and jaw, make him even uglier than he is.

But Monkeyboy springs to one side, the deck clangs the fence,kawang-kawang-kwang, and Monkeyboy sinks his teeth into Billy’s wrist and bitesfucking hard! Billy screams and drops his deck, and Monkeyboy hangs on. Billy is feeling his hand get numb, there’s blood pouring down from the arm, down Monkeyboy’s chin, and he’s snarling like a dog, and his eyes are popping out, staring at Billy. And it’s like his hair is raised or something, and Billy thinks in an instant of pure panic:Shit, this black fuck’s gonna eat me.

By then his skateneck buddies run up, all swinging their boards at the monkey, four boards whacking him downside the head, while Billy is yelling and the monkey is growling-it takes forever until Monkeyboy drops the hand, springs at Markie Lester, and hits him full in the chest, and the Pester goes down, and the others all chase after them as they roll in the dust, while Billy nurses his bleeding arm.

A few seconds later, when the pain is bearable and Billy looks up, he sees the monkey has scrambled up the chain-link backstop and is maybe fifteen feet in the air above them. Staring down at them. While his buds all stand below and yell and shake their decks at him. But nothing is happening. Billy staggers to his feet and says, “You look like a bunch of monkeys.”

“We want him to come down!”

“Well, he won’t,” Billy said. “He’s not stupid. He knows we’ll kick the shit out of him if he comes down. Least, I will.”

“So how we get him down?”

Billy is feeling mean now, blind mean, he wants to hurt something, so he goes right over to Jamie and starts kicking the kid, trying to hit him in his little nuts, but the kid is rolling and yelling for help, fucking baby that he is. Some of the buds don’t like it, “Hey, leave ’im alone, hey, he’s a little kid,” but Billy is thinking,Fuck it. I want that monkey down here. And this will do it, nimrod kid rolling in dust. Kick and kick…kick…the kid yelling for help…

And suddenly the buddies are screaming, “Aw,shit! ”

“Shit! Shit!”

“Shit!”

And they’re running away, and then something hot and soft smacks Billy on the back of the neck, he gets the weird smell and he can’t believe it, he reaches back and…Jesus. He can’t believe it.

“Shit! He’s throwing shit!”

The Monkeyboy’s up there with his pants down, heaving crap down at them. And never missing. Deadly, the kids are all covered in it, and then another one hits Billy right in the face. His mouth is half open.

“Ooo-uk!” He spits and spits, wipes his face, and spits again, trying to get that taste out of his mouth. Monkey shit! Fuck! Shit! Billy raises his fist. “You fucking animal!”

And gets another one right on the forehead. Splaat!

He grabs his deck and runs away. Joins his buds. They’re spitting, too. It’s disgusting. It sticks to their clothes, faces. Shit. They all look to Billy, it’s on their faces:Look what you got us into. It’s the moment to step up. And Billy knows how.

“Guy’s an animal,” Billy said. “Only one thing to do with animals. My dad’s got a gun. I know where it is.”

“Big talk,” Markie says.

“You’re full of shit,” Hurley says.

“Yeah? Wait and see. Monkeyboy won’t make school tomorrow. Wait and see.”

Billy trudges home, carrying his board, and the others drag on after him. And he’s thinking,Oh shit, what did I just promise to do?