Peter's Little Peter

What the Hickey

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.