Ever since I was about eight I craved running.  The day I found out there was a sport centered on sprints, on the thrill of passing worthy opponents in a quick dash of word, I wanted to be a star.  My aunt had tried to caution me “practice is tough, Lyss, not like softball” she’d say, but who was I to listen?

Finally the bell coughed out a droning clang, and a horde of twenty students began fighting for the door like beasts on some wild mission.  I hung back, being small I know how easy it is to become suffocated in crowds. I raced to the locker room and out onto the track, just in time to realize I was way over my head.  Two miles, they wanted two miles.  It was impossible.  I had never run so much in my life, nor had any of the freshmen.  Meggie and I started walking after just three laps, running at intervals.  Within a half-hour people were finishing, and a junior had gotten sick on the north side of the track.  It was, needless to say, a horrible beginning.

As we rounded our seventh lap and began walking again, an overweight, short, dark haired guy with a black Soilwork® t-shirt sprinted to catch up with us.  “You know him?” Meggie asked, but I shook my head as he walked between us, pushing us both to separate lanes.  My friend and I flashed each other a “whodoesthiskidthinkheis” look and moved into the outside lane together.  He didn’t get the hint.

“Hey, girls.  You’re freshmen, right?” he looked at the track as he said this, averting his eyes.  He looked like a souring banana running, with his short neck wedged between his shoulders, his back hunched like he was hiding something in his shirt.  I nodded to acknowledge his question.  “Did you hear me!?” he raised his voice so nearly the whole field could hear.  I flashed him a dirty look, “I said we’re freshman, idiot.  Yell at me again and I’ll gouge your eyes out.”  Giggling, I whispered an aside to Meggie "He gives new meaning to 'deaf and dumb' children."

“Feisty!” he mocked, and started laughing like a hyenas cousin.  His name was Brock, we soon came to find out, and we weren’t the only ones he had an affect on.  As the season wore on and we commenced running in the stuffy indoors to escape the cold, rumors circulated about his mental ability and criminal record.  I felt unclean to be in the same room as him.  Heaven help me the time I was locked in the store shed with him. “C’mon Alyssa, just a kiss!” Memories I’d rather have erased.

I confided to my friend Ian about my expectations of his name appearing in the local newspaper five years from now for rape or child molestation.  “Oh my God, Alyssa, how could you think that!?” he’d laughed when I told him.  He told me afterwards that he was only nice to Brock because no one else was.  All I could say was that I got a feeling from Brock.  Something about that boy was not right and never would be.  I started asking my mom to pick me up at a different location so I wouldn’t be stuck waiting in the Shapiro center with him nearly every afternoon.  If you walked away, he’d follow.  If you shouted, he’d growl.  There was no escaping him.

The second time he asked me out was beyond beyond the breaking point.  I don’t have a short temper, I can hold a grudge for weeks.  Brock was the only one on track i had a problem with.  Chelsea had her whiny moments, but that was heaven compared to the world according to Brock.  I think he finally got the picture when I screeched at him “No, you oversized, brainless, blue armadillo turd!  I’d rather be shot twice in the foot!”

Nevertheless, the season progressed until it had nearly reached its close, and I’d learned for the most part how to keep out of Brock’s path.  At times, however, encountering his sinister bulk was unavoidable.  One practice we ran a ladder and skipped the weight room, so I was out of track fairly early in the day- about 3:30.  My mother didn’t get out of work until four o’clock.  I took my time in the locker room and dragged my feet sloth-like down the stairs where lost pencils, homework, and cookie-bits littered my path.  It was warm enough outside that Spring felt within my reach, as if I could pluck its spirit from the puffy clouds floating temptingly above my weary head.

Outside the school Liz indolently tossed her hair out of her eyes.  I tossed a glance at a Softmore sitting on the stairs before turning again to face Liz, “I would kill for your hair,” I laughed, pointing to my unruly, curly mess.  She ran her fingers through her own and grinned, “And I want yours!”  In the end (as per usual), we decided we’d have to trade someday, which sent us both into a blatant laughing fit.

“Need a ride?” she asked once our laughter had subsided.

I shook my head and leaned gingerly against the concrete wall.  “Nah, the madre’s gonna be here in a few.  Thanks, though.”

Behind us the door banged open and someone noisily cleared their nose.  “Snot-rocket!” he boomed proudly, and Liz and I sighed in disgust at Brock’s looming presence.  “Hey, Alex,” he said to the girl on the stairs and threw his backpack against the railing.  A few pens fell out and he felt the overwhelming urge to holler “DAMNIT!” at the world. He and the girl began talking in bored voices, though about what I've no care to know.

Liz and I turned out backs to them and took a few steps further towards the curb.  His very sight had me seething.  "Seriously, how could you possibly want to speak to that kid?  I mean yergh!  Isn't it bad enough having to see him during track?!"  I made no attempt to hush my voice; if he heard then so be it, but he was too obvlivious to understand the subject anywho.

An amount of minutes later he collected his bag and went inside, leaving the softmore on the steps.  She watched the door close behind him with an almost worried look across her brow.  Hugging her white hoodie closer to her, she placed her books hurredly beside her and moved her feet quickly to join us.  "Oh my god, i'm so scared of him, yknow Brock?  He scares the crap out of me.  He's creepy and i keep telling him i have a boyfriend but he doesnt get it.  He wont leave me alone, keeps trying to touch me and i keep shying away.  Im so sorry but can you please, please come sit with me it would make me feel so much better.  He's just freaking creepy!  I swear to god there's something wrong with him."

Liz looked towards the rocks across the street, around which brown trees reigned.  I closed my eyes for a moment, conteplating.  THe last thing i wanted to do was spend more time with it, but her pursed lips and furrowed brow changed my mind.  Liz wasnt coming- i dont blame her.  Reluctantly i shouldered my North Face.  "Let's go, i'll sit with you.  I'll survive."  I smiled to reassure her and she fell into a chorus of thanks.  "Dont sweat it, i know him.  He's the creepiest person i've ever met.  He does the same thing to me too, so you're not alone."  I laughed a bit at the end, it seemed appropriate.  She seemed a lot more serious about the situation than i generally was.  Brock creeped me out, and he can be intimidating to those who allow him to be.  But the simple truth is i'm more concerned for his safety than mine when he's near me.

As i sat with Alex on the stairs, she continued on about how frightening Brock was to her, her words slurring together in a mass of what I think was English.  "I dont know, my teacher says to be nice to him, but it's really hard.  He's not nice to me, or anybody.  I dont get it.  Is he mentally handicapped?  He's in the normal classes-"

"Alex, slow down.  It's OK.  Give me your hand."  My fingers on the back of her hand, I pushed my palm upwards on her thumb until she cried out.

"Ow!  Hey!  What the heck?!

I grinned knowingly.  "Brock comes too near you, do that to him.  Here, try it on me," I stretched out my hand to her, "You do that once, he'll leave you alone for good.  He's basically a wimp.

Alex flashed me a confused look for a moment, but the nervous creases in her forehead smoothed out when she watched me twist my arm funny ways to my thumb out of her grasp.  "I'll have to remember that," she announced finally, testing it again on herself.

I smiled and turned my head away for a moment, just long enough to glimpse Brock watching us from behind the wall.  "He thinks he's invisible.  My breathing was becoming somewhat labored. 

“Huh?!”

"He's watching us from behind that wall before you go into the band room.  He evidently think's we cant see him.  He's invisible.  Shhh, dont tell anyone.”

"Hahaha, are you serious?" she paused, "How about now?”

“Now he's walking a little closer, ‘ope’, he's still invisible.  Yup, a regular Pierce Brosnan."

The James Bond guy?" It was the first time i'd seen her really smile.

"The one and the only.  The new guy they got to play him just isn't Bond material."

"Oh my God I know.  He's too thin, and too non-serious.”

"Now that I actually have a chance to look at him, he still has the same black shirt and grey sweatpants he's had for three months now, and I know for a fact his school and gym clothes are interchangable. Creepy and disgusting, win-win combination."  I straightned my shirt and he began opening the door.  "Alert, freak at eleven o'clock.”

Her face went stoic.  It was the most startling transformation I'd ever seen. A second ago she'd been laughing with me.  Now Brock had come between us, between our fun, and between her security.

He had something hanging from his nose, which he wiped off with one hand and smeared into the other.  "Hi, girls.  Hi, Alyssa.”

"Brock, you're in my seat." I said firmly.

"Not-uh, youi're sitting right there.  What does this chick think I am?  Alyssa, you freaking commee."  I gagged; his body reeked of overprocessed beef and sweat.  Essence of Medieval peasants?  I think so.

"No, my bag was there.  I was in the middle of a conversation with my good friend Alex into which you are not invited.  So unless you'd care to your have exasperatingly insensible, malodorous self locked up in a national high-security mental facility in the disquieting company of a straight jacket within the next fortnight I fervently insinuate you to abscond instantaneously."  I wasn't budging.

"What in the hell did she just say?" I didnt know it was possible for a guy to laugh that high-pitched.

First of all, there are seven hells, not just one.  And second, i'll translate for whatever you have up there in place of a brain.  I said get out of my way.  Leave me alone, leave her alone, and if you touch me again you wont have any finger's left to eat your chilidogs with.  Get it got it good.

"What!?" he rounded up.”

"Your ride's here." I informed him, throwing his bag at his chest.  Walking away he was still mumbling "what" repeatedly.  Alex took my cue and waited until he was out of sight to break out into laughter.

"Oh my god!" she hugged me, "thank you so much for sticking up for me!  I love you!  Hahaha, I'm free!"  she twirled around in front of the door a few times before slumping against the wall, grinning like she wasn't afraid to show her braces.  "Oh my God I'm so lame.  But seriusly, thank you.  I probally shouldn't be afraid of him, but I just am.”

"It's no problem.  And don't be afraid of him.  My baby cousin could beat him up.  I just have no idea whatsoever how i thought up that many big words in a sentence.”

Within a few minutes her ride came as well, and i was left on the steps alone.  I twisted my head towards where Liz and I had been standing, but she'd gone while i was distracted with Brock.  Bye, Liz.  I thought silently to myself as if she could hear me telepathically.  Placidly I envisioned a practice without Brock stepping on my heels.  I leaned back on the stairs but my shoulderblade caught on something sharp.  "Ouch!" I cried out, and contorted to find the culprit of my discomfort.

My mood fell as i read the information on the student ID:  Brock Doge, Grade 11, Graduating Year 2007.  It must have fallen out of his bag when he first sat down.  Knuckles white, I destroyed it within my clenched fist and felt a sharp, stinging sensation beneath my eyelids.  I can’t beat him.