Chapter 5

“Hey, Cracker Jap.” Get it? Because I’m white and Japanese. I think it’s supposed to be like that popcorn snack, Cracker Jack. The guy who says that to me is white too, so I guess it’s just more of an insult to my Japanese heritage.

He gives me strife about Pearl Harbor too. I just ignored him today, just like any other day, and went towards my locker.

I guess because it was Friday he wanted to bother me even more. It’s funny that he likes to mess with me so much. I mean, he’s not much bigger than me and I may not have friends, but people actually hate him.

I could see why. He was a jerk, but I wasn’t about to fight him. How could I? Natural ability? I always saw fighting as something you learned.

“Stop it.” I said firmly. He kept closing my locker after I’d open it. He acted like a damn sixth grader. I really didn’t like him. For a second I thought about threatening him with Clay, but that was stupid. Clay didn’t even know Sam Hummel.

“Or what?” He smiled at me and I felt my face go hot. “You’re gonna beat me up?” I opened my locker again and he slammed it closed on my hand.

My right hand, which was the hand I wrote with…and bowled with. It hurt so badly. I couldn’t move the fingers and I felt my eyes well up with tears.

He gave an uneasy smile. Like he felt he won, but not the way he had wanted. He was that type of bully. The one that doesn’t fight with fist, but with insults, racial slurs, and verbal abuse.

He walked off after that and I tried to get all my stuff together with one hand.

I tried to ignore how bad my hand was still hurting when I met Clay. We greeted each other and went to Lane Heaven. It was small and relatively empty. I liked it, nobody would see my non existent bowling skills.

Clay had large hands. The fingers were thick and meaty and the bowling ball he chose was well over fifteen pounds.

Mine was a bit below eight and my fingers were in serious pain. The one thing that kept me from dying of agony was the fact that it was just me and Clay.

“Are you alright?” He asked. I must have been grimacing. I walked over to him and sat next to him. “What’s the matter?”

“I think my hand is broken…or sprained. Is that even possible?” I felt my words trail off. He looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“From bowling? The bowling ball?” I felt myself smile.

“No, it happened at school. My hand got slammed in my locker and I should have been paying more attention.” I sighed. “And I should have known with how stupid Sam was and that this was inevitable.” I held up my hand.

“Hmmm, Sam what?” He asked.

“Oh, Sam Hummel. He is such a jerk…” I hadn’t noticed I was complaining about Sam Hummel. “He calls me Cracker Jap all the time. He’s so racist.” I liked telling Clay this. It’s not like I could tell my mom.