Chapter 13

I was feeling somewhat better by Tuesday evening. When Mike and Terry showed up with their guitar and amp, whoever answered the door just sent them to the basement without shouting for me to come get them. Mike took one look at my face and said, "What does the other guy look like?"

"The same as always, although he might have a stiff neck."

"What happened?"

"Al decided that I needed some color added to my face."

"And why would he do that?"

"I'm guessing he was jealous."

"About?"

"Kirsten Kennedy."

I could see the gears turning in Mike's head. Terry asked, "Isn't she the girl that Al is always going on about?"

"Yeah," replied Mike. "She's that stone fox who lives over by Jewel Staid Elementary." Mike seemingly knew the approximate location of residence of most of the attractive girls in grades six through nine within a four-square-mile area. "Arthur, are you getting it on with Kirsten Kennedy?"

"What? No! We're just holding hands and stuff."

They both had huge grins now. "Way to go!" Mike shook my hand and Terry gave me a couple of thumps on the back. "We all figured you would be the last of the bunch to get a girlfriend."

I couldn't help smiling along with them, but then I sobered. "It cost me Al's friendship."

"It sucks, but he wasn't doing anything about her."

After a few more words of wonder and congratulations, they set up the guitar, and we practiced for more than an hour with them passing the guitar back and forth as their fingers got sore. I taught them C major and A major, which I had started that morning. By the time we were finished, my own fingers were throbbing.

"When do you think we'll be able to play a song?" asked Terry.

"We should be able to start doing backing harmony for simple songs when we can smoothly change between three chords, so keep practicing several times per day."

Terry looked puzzled. "Any three chords?"

"No, they have to be the chords in the song. Lots of songs just use three chords, though," I replied.

"Dolt," said Mike. He was a connoisseur of insulting epithets.

"C'mon Mike," I said. "This is new stuff. Anyway, one of those books said that there are fifteen basic open chords that tons of popular songs use. I figured those are what we'd concentrate on for now."

"What's the difference between an open chord and a, what, closed chord?"

"They're called 'barre chords.' You have to lay your index finger across the strings to play them, and they are harder to do. I'm saving them for later."

Mike and Terry left. I was happy to see that they were maintaining their enthusiasm. Because I was ahead of schedule on my homework, I spent the rest of the evening reading while still practicing the guitar a few minutes every hour.

At the end of one of the practice pauses, Ursus thought, you read so much that you should enter the book report contest.

Why?

To impress Mrs. Kennedy, of course. Kirsten doesn't seem to be the kind of girl who automatically dislikes everything her parents like, so having her mother on your side is all to your benefit.

I'll think about it.

Another thing: we should create a protection spell for our body.

What?

I used to be surrounded by layers of them. In fact, they're probably what saved my life. We're nowhere near ready to do anything as complicated as those, but we might be able to come up with something that turns grazing hits into misses and lessens the impact of hits, now that you're going around getting into fights.

I didn't start either of those.

No, you didn't, but you still seem to be collecting enemies. Let's get ready for bed, and I'll explain what we need to do.

Al had a group of admirer's around him Wednesday morning. Kirsten gave me a hug and said quietly, "Please don't get mad, but he's been bragging about how he kicked your ass. But I know what really happened: You chose to turn away rather than beat the crap out of him when you had him hurt." "Ass" and "crap" were the two harshest things I'd ever heard Kirsten say.

I knew my response was partially informed by my continuing merger with Ursus: "It's OK; his pride was badly injured when you turned him down. More, he was a friend for several years, and if thinking he defeated me helps him feel better, it's OK." Kirsten gave my hand a squeeze.

Another thought came to me. "Let me know if he starts bugging you."

"Why would he do that?"

"If he thinks he kicked my ass, he might also think that he's vanquished a rival for your affection."

Kirsten frowned. "If he thinks he can win me by beating on you, I'll kick his ass myself. I am not that kind of girl."

I looked at her.

"I take jujutsu lessons every Saturday morning, and I have been since I was eight," she said in answer to my unspoken question.

I didn't get called to the principal's office that morning, either, so it looked reasonably certain that there would be no ramifications from the school over the fight. Lunch was a drag, though. Al sat at the end of the table farthest away from me, and he was still bragging.

Carl Flagler was sitting about halfway between Al's location and Sean's and mine. He leaned toward me and said, fairly loudly, "I heard Al Gallo kicked your ass. Man, I wish I hadn't missed that fight." Flagler didn't like me much. The feeling was mutual. His real first name was "Carol," but the kids had made fun of his seemingly feminine name.

"No, no," I said. "He didn't kick my ass. He punched my head several times."

"You're a fucking faggot; you know that?"

"I'm sure that would come as a surprise to Kirsten Kennedy, Carol."

"Are you saying that you're fucking her?"

"What? No! Nothing like that." It had honestly never occurred to me that someone might try to spin my statement that way. I was just thinking about the now-common knowledge that Kirsten and I were a budding item.

"Then shut your asshole, faggot." I decided to shut up; we were attracting attention.

The afternoon passed without incident until Kirsten pulled me aside on our way out of class. "Are you telling people that we've been having sex?"

I was surprised for a second, but then I remembered lunch. "No. No way." I then explained my altercation with Carol in full detail.

Kirsten looked relieved, and then she said something under her breath. I wasn't sure, but I thought it was, "That asshole." She spoke louder: "Would you like to come over to my house?"

"Right now?"

"Yes, if that's OK."

"I'd have to ask my mother."

"You can use our phone."

"Actually, Mom drives my two younger brother's back and forth. She parks her van on the way to your house. We can just go ask her." So we went over to the bike rack to get my bike and tell Sean and Mary the plan.

Well, thought Ursus, I guess the protection spell can wait until tomorrow. After all, this is Kirsten. I walked my bike, and we got to the van before it left.

"Mom, this is Kirsten Kennedy."

"Nice to finally meet you Kirsten. I've been hearing a lot about you lately."

Not from me, I thought. "Kirsten invited me over to her house. Can I go?"

Mom looked me up and down. Please, please, I thought, don't say anything about needing to change into my play clothes. "It's all right with me. Are you sure it's all right with your mother, Kirsten?"

"It's fine. I already checked."

"Are you positive you really want this big oaf around? He has a tendency to get in the way and jam things up."

Kirsten smiled. "He's been tolerable so far."

"All right then. Arthur, be good." I cringed internally when she said that. Then she noticed my schoolwork. "Would you like me to take your books home with me?"

I handed her the sack. "Thank you." After we started walking away, I said to Kirsten, "You can put your books on top of my bike seat."

"No, thank you, it's not that far. Your mother seems to have a sense of humor."

"She does. It tends to be rough, but it's certainly present."

"My mom mentioned that she seemed 'spirited' when they talked on the phone."

"I suppose that's accurate, too."

Mrs. Kennedy, of course, needed to make her own inspection of my face. "What are we going to do with you, Arthur?"

"Maybe a helmet," I said, "one with a faceguard."

"I don't think I'd like that," said Kirsten. "I wouldn't be able to see your face."

"Perhaps transparent plastic," said her mother.

"We'd have to make sure it isn't brittle," said Kirsten. "I'd hate to have it break and put out an eye, or scar his face."