The Butterfly Cycle
By: Vienna Price
Tags: Coming Of Age, Friendship, High School, Loss

The hallways were flooded with students the moment the bell buzzed; pushing against each other in a hurry to get to their next class. The loud footsteps clambered up and down steps, harsh hands pushed open doors or against students, and no one apologized for hitting someone else. Nobody wanted to be here anyway.

Basil clutched onto his schoolbag and watched as the stream of high schoolers propelled around each other. Their voices were loud and coarse. It was difficult to keep up with the rotating movement of their feet. Basil felt overwhelmed.

He had moved to Wisconsin last year with his family. It had always been his dad’s dream to move to the United States, and now they had finally done it. Once they finished the paperwork, Basil was enrolled in Bell High School in the tenth grade. He was supposed to be in his junior year, but since this was a new country his father decided to hold him back.

He looked at the sheet that had his class names and teachers. It was difficult to understand what they meant. He faintly recognized the words of lunch and literature. The warning bell rang. Looking frantically at the sheet, he looked at the time and matched it with the number of the classroom that was next to it.

He eventually found the right room and walked in. No one was sitting at their desks. Some were standing on them throwing crumpled pieces of paper, and others were drawing on the board. Basil silently chose a seat in the back and kept his head down. He did not want to attract any attention.

A group of girls stood next to the windows and were laughing and stealing glances at the boys. Basil opened his notebook and began sharpening a pencil.

“Hey, are you the new kid they said was comin’?” a boy called out. Basil looked up. The boy was standing on a desk with a pencil tucked behind one ear. His hair was gelled up and he was chewing a toothpick.

“I-I’m sorry,” stammered poor Basil. “I no understand. I no speak English very good.”

The room burst into peals of laughter. Basil wanted to evaporate into thin air. He could feel his ears turning pink.

The boy standing on the desk began to mock him.

“I no speak English,” he said in an exaggerated accent. “Me stupid!”

His friends broke into fresh waves of laughter. The door opened and the teacher entered the room. Everyone snapped into order and took a desk.

The teacher was a tall man with a serious face. He set his briefcase down firmly and looked around the room. Setting his coat on the hook, he rolled up his sleeves and selected a piece of chalk.

“My name is Mr. Davis,” he announced, writing it on the board. “I will be replacing Mr. Moore. From now on, we will be doing things differently. No more games, no more wise guy jokes. We will have structure.” He slammed the chalk down after enunciating that word.

Basil looked around frantically. He had understood two words Mr. Davis said. Mr. Davis began pulling papers out of his leather briefcase.

“We will be starting this class on chapter one of Robinson’s New Algebra,” he pulled out a book that looked ancient. The class groaned. The boy who had been mocking Basil had the courage to speak up.

“But we’re used to using Crandall & Seymour,” he protested. “That book looks like something you dug out of a tomb.”

He leaned back with a smirk of satisfaction for making the class laugh at his joke.

Mr. Davis straightened his spectacles and looked at the list of student’s names.

“What’s your name, boy?”

The boy flinched slightly at his stern tone, but replied defiantly, “Brian Walker. My daddy is Cedric Walker. He runs the biggest shipping company in the city.”

“Does he now? Well, then I’m sure he will be disappointed when he gets a call from me and hears that his son is a wise guy. Not to mention he uses so much gel in his hair that if I were to light a cigarette it would start a fire.” Now the students were laughing at Brian. He scowled.

Mr. Davis was writing something down next to Brian’s name.

“Does anyone else feel like making some clever remark about the course I’ve chosen? If so, speak up.”

Silence.

“Good. Then stand up and take a copy from the shelf. I expect them to be returned exactly as you found them. I will not tolerate any dog eared pages or dirty finger marks. Is that understood?”

They agreed.

Basil stood up and followed them to the shelf. He selected a copy.

“Open to chapter one and we will begin,” Mr. Davis picked up the chalk again.

When class ended, Basil gathered his things and headed for the door. He had always been gifted when it came to arithmetic but it was extremely difficult to understand what Mr. Davis was teaching when he spoke so quickly.

“Wait,” said Mr. Davis, just as he reached the door. Basil looked over his shoulder.

“You’re the Greek transfer, right?” he asked. Basil only understood Greek. He was not sure if he should nod or not.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he faltered. “I no understand. I no speak English very good.”

He waited for an amused smirk from him. Every time he attempted to speak English, he always had the feeling he was making a fool out of himself.

But Mr. Davis did not smile. He straightened his spectacles and looked at the list of names. After reading them over for a moment he spoke slowly.

“Are you sure you want to be in this class? Algebra is hard enough to learn when you can speak English.”

Basil had a faint idea of what he was trying to get at.

“I must learn,” he said steadily. “I must improve myself.” He pointed at his chest. Mr. Davis nodded.

“Alright, son. If you’re struggling, feel free to ask for help. You seem like a decent kid.”

He dismissed Basil.

The lunch bell rang. The hallways were crowded again. Basil tried to push through but ended up getting jostled around. He finally made it to the cafeteria. He crept cautiously into line and inspected the rows of food that was set out.

A blonde girl behind him tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around. She was surrounded by a swarm of her friends. They giggled to each other behind their hands.

“Do you speak English?” the girl asked. “I can order your lunch for you if you want.”

He smiled at her. She was really beautiful with long, curling hair and bright blue eyes. She held out her hand and took his tray.

“It must be so hard to join a new school in a new country,” she spoke rapidly. “You don’t have any friends here, and you can hardly understand a word we’re saying. I can’t even imagine. I would have just stayed in my own country.” Her friends chuckled.

“He wants the string beans,” she told the girl behind the counter. “And cauliflower, some pieces of lettuce, and maybe a few pieces of that tomato.”

The girl behind the counter looked at her and then back at Basil. She sighed and selected the required items. After plopping them on Basil’s tray, she let out another sigh and motioned for them to move on.

Basil looked confusedly at his tray.

“I-I no understand,” he said pitifully. “I no want this.”

They laughed at his accent and poor English. One of them mimicked him.

“I think this is good for you,” said the blonde girl, patting him on the head. “You look like you could go on a diet. Time to cut out all that pasta.”

She turned to her friends and remarked, “We can say whatever we want to him. He can’t understand us.”

Basil fled to the bathroom. He stuffed his tray in the garbage can and locked himself in a stall. There was a loud chatter of voices as a crowd of boys entered the bathroom. Basil covered his mouth so they could not hear him. He tucked his feet up on the toilet.

“Did you see Katie’s skirt?” one of the boys was saying. “If Mr. Rayes sees her she’s going to be dress coded quicker than you can say asking for it.”

“Well, we get to enjoy the view in the meantime,” another voice laughed. They chuckled.

They began talking about football. Basil wished they would leave so he could cry in peace.

“Hey, Peter, come on, I heard Mary Ann was looking for you. Don’t wanna keep your sweetheart waitin’!” they began making kissing noises.

“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.” Peter replied. They continued laughing and making immature sounds. The bathroom door slammed behind them. Basil waited, holding his breath. Peter turned the sink on and began washing his hands.

“I know you’re in here,” he said. Basil jumped.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to bug you. I saw you run in here after what happened with Mary Ann. That was rotten of her.”

He turned the sink off and reached for a towel. Basil was shocked. Judging by his tone, he could tell that Peter was not like everyone else he had encountered so far.

“I heard you’re joining the football team. If any of the guys try to bully you about your accent or anything, just let me know, okay? I’m the team captain so they have to respect me. And I don’t think it’s fair to pick on someone because they’re different.”

Basil could only pick out a word here and there. But he knew that Peter was one of those rare good ones.

“I’ll see you out there,” he left the bathroom.

Basil was not sure if he should continue his cry or not. He sat in the stall until the next bell rang.

The boys hustled around the locker room. Some were changing into their uniforms and others snapped towels at each other and cracked jokes. Basil walked to his locker and began changing into his uniform.

“Would you look at that?” one of the boys approached Basil. “We got an olive-picker on our team. You think you can play football, wog?”

The boys quieted down and waited to see what would happen.

“You won’t even understand the plays,” the boy poked him. “You can’t speak a lick of English. Do you think we’re going to translate everything into Greek for you? Why don’t you just hop back on whatever boat you came on and sail back to your little, pitiful country, you homocrat?”

He had backed Basil against the lockers now.

He was a gangly kid with a face splattered with freckles. His dirty blonde hair spiked up. Basil had had a long day. He was tired and just wanted to finish changing into his uniform.

“And look at you,” the boy continued. “You look like a pregnant woman! Though I bet a pregnant woman could throw a football better than you. Fat grease-balls like you can’t play football — “

In a quick movement, Basil had thrown a sharp right hook and left the boy sprawled on the floor. The locker room broke out into small gasps.

Basil looked around threateningly and held up his fists.

“Who next?” he warned.

“Alright, easy, tiger,” a blonde-haired kid stepped forward. “Jefferson deserved that for a while now. About time someone taught him a lesson. Come on, guys, let’s hurry up and get dressed. Coach isn’t gonna be happy with all this dilly-dallying.”

He turned back to Basil and grinned.

“Well, looks like you don’t need me to defend you,” he chuckled. “I bet you broke his nose in two places. Serves him right.”

He shook Basil’s hand.

Jefferson was crawling to his feet and clutching his nose.

“That damn goatbang — “ he began, but Peter put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“Why don’t you go see the nurse about that? Maybe she’ll put some ice on it. I’ll tell Coach you couldn’t make it. And, Jefferson,” he tightened his grip. “Next time you try to attack him like that you’ll have me to deal with. You hear me?”

Jefferson was too beaten to argue. He hurried out of the locker room.

Peter slung his arm around Basil’s shoulder. Picking up their helmets, he passed Basil’s to him and they walked out of the locker together. Ever since that encounter, they became steady friends. When the coach made a comment about Basil’s accent Peter said in a good-natured voice, “He’ll learn, Coach. We just gotta be a little more patient. He’s a good player. You should see him throw the ball.”

There was something about Peter that attracted people to him. He didn’t even have to try. He was one of those guys who got along with everyone and made them feel comfortable and able to be themselves. Basil was glad that he had chosen to be friends with him of all people.

Basil proved to be a decent football player. He could throw and catch and run. Despite his weight, he was fast. But the coach still raised his eyebrows whenever he would fumble the ball or trip. After practice, he told Basil to stay back and train extra.

“You joined late,” was his excuse. “You have to catch up.”

Basil knew it was because he was foreign and overweight. But he decided not to make a fuss. He trained for an extra hour and went home exhausted.

Every day he would flounder through classes, trying desperately to understand what was going on. He endured insults flung at him, kept his head low, and began packing his own lunches. Mary Ann and her group tried to approach him again in the cafeteria on Wednesday.

“Are you sure you should be eating that?” she eyed his sandwich. “I heard coach telling the other players that you needed to lay off the carbs.”

Her friends laughed as if on cue. Basil looked at his feet.

“I brought you some lettuce,” she tossed it on the table. “Don’t forget to make healthy choices.”

“That’s enough, Mary Ann,” Basil looked up. Peter was balancing his tray on a stack of books. He picked up the lettuce and tossed it in the trash. “Why don’t you go sit down and leave him alone?”

“What? Is he your new boyfriend now?” she mocked.

“You’re only embarrassing yourself.”

She scoffed and looked around. Everyone was watching her.

“Fine. Have fun eating at the loser table. I thought you were better than this, Peter. Honestly. I guess it was a good thing I broke up with you when I did. Can you imagine if I was dating a man who ate with fat immigrants?”

“We both know I’m the one who ended things with you,” he replied. “Now go sit down before you embarrass yourself any more.”

With an arrogant toss of her head, she spun around and stalked off. Her friends scowled at Peter over their shoulders as they began complimenting and reassuring her.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he set the books down. “I don’t know why she has a vendetta against you. She doesn’t even know you.”

“You no have to do that,” said Basil quietly.

“I know. But like I told you, no one insults my friends and gets away with it. I can’t punch Mary Ann, seeing as she’s a girl, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate the way she treats you.”

“You are a good friend,” Basil finished his sandwich.

“Hey, that’s pretty good!” he grinned. “Keep it up and soon enough you’ll be a regular ol’ Yankee.”

He opened the schoolbooks and spread them over the table.

“I gotta study for my biology test,” he explained. “I’ve been a little behind because of all my practice. But it’s fine. I’m a quick learner.”

The rest of the football team had entered the cafeteria by now and had joined them at the table.

“What is he doing here?” one of them asked. “He’s not one of us.”

“So? He plays on the team just like any of us, and better than some of you if I’m being honest. And if you don’t like that, then you can sit somewhere else,” said Peter firmly.

They looked at each other and relented. Jefferson made sure to sit the farthest away. His nose was a lump on his face now.

They delved into a conversation about football and girls. These seemed to be the only two topics of interest. Peter was still poring over his books, taking notes and marking certain pages. Basil had to admit he was impressed. He was used to the stereotype of jocks being stupid and having low grades. He had never seen the rest of the team even crack a book.

Peter slipped in and out of the conversation when they would address him. None of them said anything about him studying. If he was not embarrassed about it, then they did not find a reason to mention it.

As the weeks passed, no one even said a word when Basil would join the table. Occasionally they would bring him up in the conversation and wait for him to understand what they were saying. The ones who resented him, especially Jefferson, ignored him. They did not dare to pick on him, at least not in front of Peter. Basil knew this, and he stuck around Peter as often as he could.

The school year slithered by. Basil improved more and more at football. Peter offered to stay behind and help him practice his throws after everyone had left.

“You can go home, Owens!” the coach called out. “I only asked Basil to stay for extra training. He needs to catch up with the rest of the team!”

Peter threw the football to Basil and ran off to speak with the coach.

“All due respect, sir, I think he’s ready,” he said. “He’s been training longer than any of the other guys. If you would just give him a chance — “

“Go home, Owens,” sighed the coach. “You’re a good team captain, but it’s not up to you to decide when he’s ready. Just look at the kid. Does he look ready to you?”

“Listen, I know he isn’t exactly in perfect shape, but he’s a good player. Better than most of the guys on the team in fact. All this extra training is exhausting him. It’s…well, it’s torture, coach.”

“It’s not torturing. It’s building character. Now stop arguing with me and go home. I’m sure your mother is wondering where you are.”

“I’m sure his mother is too,” said Peter bravely. No one ever sassed the coach.

“His mother is not my concern!” the coach was beginning to get upset, mainly because he knew Peter was right. “You watch your tongue, boy. Now I respect you because I know your parents are respectable people, but talk to me like that, and I won’t let it slide. Stop worrying about Basil, alright? He’s not your responsibility.”

Peter murmured a respectful apology. He stormed off and threw his helmet against a locker. Basil came in after him.

“It is good!” he told Peter. “I am improvement. I will be better.”

“You don’t have to be better, Basil,” said Peter. “You’re already good enough. You’re more advanced than half the team. He’s just holding you back because he hates anyone who isn’t American. It’s wrong! It’s just downright wrong!”

“No be mad. I am okay.”

Peter slumped down on a bench.

“Everyone in this town is just so goddamn prejudiced,” he muttered. Basil began changing out of his uniform. It had been another long day.

“Basil,” he said slowly, getting a sudden idea. “Why don’t you let me train you?”

“I no understand.”

“Not just football, but everything. Everything that people bully you about. We can start by exercising. I’ll help you. I have a lake near my house. We could go swimming, running, and anything else it takes. And I can help you with your English.”

“You is crazy.”

“Just hear me out, okay? We can work all throughout the summer. And when the coach sees you in shape, speaking English, and playing football he’ll have no choice but to move you off the bench!”

Basil shrugged. He understood what Peter was trying to say.

“Why you help me?”

“I-I don’t know. Maybe cause I’m just so fed up with everyone running you down all the time. Nobody wants to grow around here. They want to stay old-fashioned and xenophobic…and I’m sick of it. It’s time to show them that you’re just the same as anyone in this town!”

He stood up.

“You’re going to come to my house after practice, okay?” he nodded. “We’ll start training. I’ll have to write up a set schedule, but it’s going to happen. I’m going to turn you into a star, Basil! No one will even recognize you.”

He began to get more and more excited about his own idea.

“And we’ll train all through the summer. And when you come back for your junior year, you’ll have all the girls you could want,” he rambled on, mainly to himself. “And then you can take my place when I graduate. Someone has to keep these boys in line. And the way you stood up to Jefferson proves that you have what it takes to be strong.”

Basil could hardly keep up with his stream of consciousness.

“Now come on, let’s go grab a milkshake,” he pulled on his coat. “I know this twitchin’ diner that’s not too far away. Come on, I’m drivin’.”

Basil followed him out of the school.

The school year ended with a bang. Basil sat next to Peter and the rest of the football team as the graduates crossed the stage and seized their diplomas. Peter had a new girlfriend named Jessie. She was a cheerleader with permed, ginger hair. She never talked to Basil if she could help it.

“My mom told me to ask her to prom,” said Peter. “Even though she’s on the cheerleading team, she doesn’t seem too bad. And she’s not as loud as Mary Ann so that’ll be a relief. What do ya think of her, Basil?”

“She is nice,” lied Basil. Secretly he hated Jessie. She always wore too much perfume and winced when Basil looked at her as if he had a disease.

When summer officially began, Basil spent most of his time at Peter’s house. It was a comfortable house only a mile away from Lake Wissota. Peter took Basil swimming there. They had started training ever since that afternoon idea in the locker room. Peter would pick Basil up from his house and they would run laps before school started. On the weekends, they would swim or lift weights at the local gymnasium.

Summer seemed to flash by. Basil’s English had improved dramatically. He had been practicing with Peter, listening to stranger’s conversations, watching cartoons, and anything else he could get his hands on. Hours and hours and hours of the language being streamed into his brain as often as he could. His determination was rewarded. By August, he was almost fluent.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he told Peter. He had never quite lost the accent, however, though it was not as noticeable. “I might have dropped out of school.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”

One afternoon, Peter invited Basil to go boating with him and some friends. It was a week until school started again. When Basil got there, Peter met him with a bottle of Coca Cola.

“Come on, we’re almost ready to start,” he said. “Jessie is just getting a sweater. She thinks it’s too cold out.”

Basil followed him onto the boat.

There were two boats. Peter and Basil were on the first one. Jessie came out of the house looking more bad-tempered than usual. When Peter went to kiss her she pulled back and said in a callous tone, “You smell like tuna.”

She scowled at Basil and crossed her arms.

“I thought you said we’d get our own boat.”

“Yeah, but we had an extra seat,” said Peter. “So I thought he could share it with us.”

“You know, Peter, if you want to impress your girlfriend you shouldn’t bring a tag-along,” she grumbled. “I thought this was supposed to be romantic. Something just for us.”

Basil glared at her but kept quiet. Sometimes he wished he could not understand what they were saying about him.

“It’s fine, Pete,” he said amiably. “I’ll just go with the guys. You can have the boat to yourself.”

He climbed back onto the dock. The second boat was occupied by Jefferson and a couple other members of the football team. Basil took a seat.

They pushed the boats off. Jessie’s scowl seemed to be plastered to her face. Basil could tell Peter was trying to make her cheer up, but she ignored his efforts. They sailed out to the center of the lake.

“We’re going to go a little ahead,” Jefferson called. “We’ll let you two lovebirds have some alone time!” the boys began whooping and laughing. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Alright, but don’t go too far. I don’t want to split up.”

Jefferson took control of the motorboat and sped it across the lake. He began gaining speed rapidly and Basil thought he was going to turn the boat over.

“Slow down!” he called. “You’re going to get us killed!”

Jefferson was far enough away from Peter by now that he stopped the boat and turned to Basil with a malicious smile.

“You don’t have your boyfriend to protect you now,” the boys began closing in on Basil. Apparently, this had been planned. Basil suddenly realized it was only the members of the football team who resented him the most. None of them had ever talked politely to him before. They begrudged him because Peter was constantly praising his football skills and because he had shown rapid development in his speech and physique.

“I’m not scared of you, Jefferson,” said Basil bravely. “And I don’t need Peter to stand up for me either. Why don’t you fight me like a man?”

But Jefferson was too cowardly to face Basil one-on-one. He knew that Basil had a mean right hook. He had experienced it up close. He nodded to two of the guys who grabbed Basil’s arms and pinned them behind his back.

Basil struggled, but they were too strong.

“This is for hitting me in the locker room,” he delivered a straight blow to Basil’s face. “And this is for thinking you could be one of us,” another solid hit. “And this is just to remind you that you don’t belong here and you never will.”

Basil’s face began to bleed heavily. The boys laughed. Another one stepped in and punched him. When they got tired of this, Jefferson said, “Let’s see if the greaseball can swim.”

“What about Peter?” one of them seemed to suddenly realize. “He’s not going to like — “

“We’ll just tell him that he wanted to go for a swim, and we tried to convince him not to,” said Jefferson. The boys raised their eyebrows in disbelief. They knew this was a poor coverup. Peter would see right through it.

“He’s going to kill us,” one of them muttered. They seemed to have understood that they had not thought this through.

“Push him over!” Jefferson hid his fear behind annoyance. “I’m sick of looking at his ugly face. And we’ll stick to the story, you hear me? He wanted to go for a swim and we couldn’t stop him.”

They shoved Basil out of the motorboat. He splashed into the water and sunk like a stone. He tried to open his eyes, but the water blurred his vision. He could feel the air slowly seeping out of his lungs. He flailed his arms out, but he was too worn from the beating to swim. He felt himself drowning.

The boys were just about to turn the motor back on when they saw Peter watching them. His boat had just turned the corner and he had seen them jab Basil into the water. Jefferson’s face turned as white as his coat. He awkwardly stuffed his hands into his pockets to hide his bruised knuckles.

Peter’s boat glided up alongside theirs. Jessie was sitting there, with her mouth slightly open. Although she had never liked Basil, she was still shocked by what she had seen. Peter hurried to the edge of his boat and looked over the edge. Bubbles were floating to the surface from where Basil had been thrown over.

Ripping off his coat, he dove into the water. The boys waited with shaking breaths. Jefferson began to almost look remorseful. The realization of what he had done seemed to hit him.

They waited for what seemed like hours. One of the boys was about to dive after Peter when he emerged. He lifted Basil into his motorboat next to Jessie. She winced and moved backward slightly.

Then Peter lifted himself into the boy’s motorboat. Jefferson shrunk back. Peter stood there for a moment trying to catch his breath. He was trembling from the icy water.

“Check for a pulse,” he told Jessie. “See if he’s still alive!”

She looked repulsed as if he had asked her to touch something slimy.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jessie! Just do it!”

She inched towards Basil and pressed two fingers against his neck.

“There’s a faint one.”

“Good. Because if you had killed him, I would have turned you into the police myself,” said Peter, turning to Jefferson. “Do you even care that you almost drowned a human being?! You would have easily sailed away and left him to die if I hadn’t shown up!”

They looked shamefully at their feet.

“Cowards! That’s what you are! All of you,” he turned to Jessie. His face had turned red from anger. “You’re scared of him because he’s better than any of you. He’s a better football player. And you’re mad because he actually put hard work into himself and now can speak two languages fluently and is more physically fit than any of you!”

“He’ll never be better than us,” growled Jefferson. “He’ll always be the fat, Greek kid. He’s just a leech, Peter. He just mooches off of you and your generosity. I don’t know why you have such a fetish for him.”

The other boys shook their heads. They knew Jefferson was treading on thin ice.

Peter smiled in disbelief.

“You’re really going to try to justify yourself after almost killing him? Really?”

Jefferson shrugged.

That was the final straw. Peter lunged forward and tackled him. The boat rocked back and forth. Some of the boys tried to pull them apart while others stood back to avoid the fight. Peter delivered blow after blow. Jefferson got a few in, but they hardly fazed Peter. He finally stopped, out of breath. Jefferson lay back and let the blood gush down his face. He looked resigned as if he had wanted someone to beat him.

“You’re off the team, Jefferson,” he panted. “I’m going to tell the coach about this and make sure he pulls you. At best, you’ll be a benchwarmer. As for the rest of you, if I catch any of you even looking sideways at Basil again you’ll be sitting on that bench right next to him for the rest of the year. Do you understand?”

They nodded.

Peter climbed back into the boat with Basil and Jessie.

“I didn’t appreciate you yellin’ at me,” said Jessie pettily. She crossed her arms again.

“Honestly, Jessie, I don’t care,” he started the motor. “It’s over. I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard me. You’re just like the rest of them. I’ve seen the way you look at him — “

“You’re going to break up with me because of him?!”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe this! I’m the best thing that’s ever — “

“No, you’re not. Don’t flatter yourself. I was only with you anyways because my mother wanted me to take you to prom.”

They reached the dock.

Jessie stepped out angrily. She flung the coat at him.

“Fine then! You just lost yourself the best girlfriend you could’ve wished for, Peter Owens!”

She stormed off.

Basil opened his eyes. After everything had adjusted, he sat up slowly.

“What happened. Where’s Jessie going?”

“I have to drive you to the hospital,” sighed Peter. “Come on.”

Shocked whispers rippled through the school when Basil walked into the building. He had cut his mop of hair, had grown much taller, and carried himself with an air of confidence. His style had also improved. He slung his jacket over his shoulders and wore clean, pressed pants. Girls stopped in the hallways to smile and giggle at him.

Mr. Davis greeted him when he came into the classroom.

“Hello, Basil. I like your new haircut.” He spoke slowly so Basil could understand. He was the only teacher that had done this for him.

“Thank you, sir. I found a barber in Madison who only charged fifty cents.”

The room seemed to have gone mute. Everyone stared at him. Mr. Davis smiled warmly.

“I knew you could do it,” he said. “Take a seat, son.”

Basil walked to his desk and sat down. A girl who sat across from him leaned over and whispered, “I think you look swell, Basil.”

They opened their books and the lesson began. Basil leaned back in his chair with a smile. Another day, another year in school. This one was already off to a good start.

When he went to sit with the team at lunch, they met him with cheers and pats on the back. He sat in between Peter and Don.

“You’re like a whole new person,” someone remarked. “I barely recognized you. Guess we can’t insult you behind your back anymore.”

They laughed.

When the coach saw Basil’s noticeable change, he passed him his helmet and said that it was about time he got off the bench.

“You’ll be takin’ Jefferson’s place,” he said. “Alright, boys, let’s play us some football!”

Basil looked over his shoulder at Jefferson who was sulking on the bench. He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but he did.

“Coach,” he said. The coach turned to look at him. “I think you should let Jefferson play. He’s a good player, and it would be a waste to have him on the bench.”

“What’re you doin’?” asked Peter. “Don’t you remember what he did to you?”

“Yeah. But I think makin’ him sit out because of me is just going to make him hate me more,” Basil pointed out. “He should be playing.”

“Alright,” said the coach. He waved Jefferson over. “He can play.”

The game began. Before everyone got into position, Jefferson walked over to Basil and shook his hand. He had tears in his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry for how I treated you, Basil,” he said. “I was downright awful. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Let’s play some football,” smiled Basil.

It was Saturday night which meant all the dance clubs would be open later than usual. Basil had everyone inviting him out all week. Girls who had never noticed him before suddenly wanted him as their dance partner. Mary Ann shuffled up to him at a party and said, “I never noticed how good of a dancer you are, Basil. Care to swing me around for a few?”

He looked at her and those painful memories of being humiliated in the cafeteria came rushing back. He remembered sitting in the bathroom stall wishing he could disappear.

“You never noticed before because you were too concerned about my poor English and weight,” he said coldly. “But now that I’ve lost those things you’re suddenly interested. Find a different dance partner, Mary Ann. I’m not interested.”

“Fine, I didn’t want to dance with you anyways,” she said hotly. “I only said it as a joke. Some of my friends dared me to.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he saluted her friends and walked off. She could not understand why she wanted him more just because he had rejected her. She walked back to her friends.

Peter was dancing on the table. He was clearly drunk. Basil tried to pull him down before he slipped and broke his neck.

“Basil!” he cried. “Where have you been? Isn’t this song downright catchy? Let’s find a girl and show her a good time!”

“You’re drunk, Peter.”

“I just want to have a good time tonight! I’ve been studyin’ and stressin’ all week and I’m sick of it. Now come on, let’s dance. The night is young!”

He grabbed a girl by the waist and began swaying back and forth. She laughed.

“Find me when you sober up,” chuckled Basil. He wandered off.

He had been to plenty of parties like this one lately. The loud music began to give him a headache. He found a quiet room and lay down on the sofa.

He stared at the ceiling in the dark. His mind wandered back to those first weeks when he joined Bell High. He had to admit he enjoyed the positive attention he was getting now, but somehow he still felt empty. Peter was graduating this year and then he would be alone. He had never quite figured out why Peter had stood up for him the first day they met. He could have ignored him or pushed him around like the others.

The door swung open. Peter lurched into the room and tumbled onto the couch.

“W-What’re you doing in here?” Basil sat up, slightly startled. Peter was still heavily intoxicated.

“I…I just needed some peace and quiet. It’s so loud out there. So many damn voices. I needed somewhere to rest for a moment.”

He rearranged the pillows underneath his head.

Basil decided to ask Peter the question that had been gnawing at him. Maybe he would get an honest answer since he was tipsy.

“Peter, why am I so important to you?”

“You’re my friend.”

“No, I mean why’d you want to be my friend? Ever since that first day in the bathroom you treated me differently. Why?”

“Because I was tired of everyone attacking someone just because they’re different. And because I used to be just like you, Basil.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“My family moved a lot when I was younger,” he sighed. “Which meant I had to transfer to a lot of new schools. And I used to have glasses and braces and a lisp,” he chuckled. “And that made me an easy target for guys like Jefferson.”

“But how’d you…change?”

“There was this guy at Bell High. I was a freshman. I was dreading high school. Middle school had been bad enough. I got bullied just like you when I first joined. My dad wanted me to join the football team and ‘be a man’. Honestly, I’ve always wanted to be in theater, though you can’t tell anyone that. So I tried out and joined the team. They bullied me mercilessly until this junior named Ted Stephens stood up for me.”

He smiled faintly.

“He broke Alex Hanson’s nose and told everyone that the next person to pick on me would deal with him. I lived under his protection from then on. And he did what I did for you. He told me to start wearing contacts, style my hair differently, and I eventually lost the braces. I also worked intently on my lisp until I lost it. And voila, here I am.”

“So you wanted to return his favor to me?”

“I guess. If it wasn’t for Ted I might have dropped out of school or worse…”

Basil shuddered when he said this.

“Well…thank you, Pete. I owe it all to you.”

“No, Basil. You’re the one who worked hard to improve. I just made you believe you could do it.”

They lay there watching the light from under the door dance on the ceiling.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I graduate,” he whispered. “I’m scared, Basil.”

“Aren’t you going to college?”

“I’m not ready to be a grown up,” he replied. “Or settle down and marry and go to the office every day. Is that really life’s only purpose?”

“I don’t know.”

“It all just seems so meaningless. We spend our teenage years worrying about grades and tests. We spend our adult years working so we can support our families. And then by the time we’re old enough to retire and be ‘free’ we’re too old to do anything fun. It almost seems like the butterfly cycle.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well a butterfly hatches from its egg, lives as a caterpillar just eating and getting ready for the larvae state, and then turns into a butterfly. Then it reproduces and dies. Most only live three to four weeks.”

“We’re not butterflies, Pete.”

“We’re just in the caterpillar stage right now,” he continued as if he had not heard Basil. “Absorbing as much information as we can before we reproduce and die.”

He began laughing, but it sounded hollow.

“You’re not thinking clearly, Pete. You’re drunk.”

“Maybe that’s why everything makes sense.”

Basil sat up and threw a pillow at his head.

“This conversation is getting too philosophical,” he loved that word. “Come on, let’s go for a drive or something. Let’s do something crazy before we enter ‘the larvae state’.”

Peter laughed and held out his hand. Basil helped him up.

They walked out of the room. Basil had to support Peter as he stumbled down the hall.

“Where are you two going?” they turned to see Jessie standing on the staircase. She looked suspicious.

“None of your business,” slurred Peter. They walked out of the house. She followed them. She wanted to talk to Peter in a weak attempt to win him back. He was more vulnerable when he wasn’t thinking clearly.

“I should drive,” said Basil. “You’re too drunk to see straight.”

“Fine, then I get to choose what we listen to on the radio,” Peter took the passenger’s seat. Jessie rested her elbows on the window and looked at him.

“Why don’t you stay, Pete?” she suggested. “They’re playing our song. Remember? The one we danced to at prom. Don’t you wanna dance one last time with me?”

“No thank you, sir,” he giggled, peeling her fingers off the car. “I’m going to drive around with my best friend and we’re going to have the windows rolled down and the radio turned up and enjoy these last few days as caterpillars before we have to turn into butterflies.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she looked disgusted.

Basil started the engine.

“Bye bye,” waved Peter. “I’m sure there’s plenty of guys linin’ up to dance with you!”

The car drifted off into the street. Basil watched her fade in the rearview mirror.

Peter leaned over and twisted the radio knob. The music blared as the car skimmed through the almost empty streets. Peter stuck his head out the window and yelled, “I’m free! I’m finally free! No one can tie me down!”

Basil laughed.

He took a sharp turn in the road. A truck was speeding right towards them. Its headlights blinded Basil as he sharply turned the wheel. The truck plunged straight into the passenger’s side of the vehicle. Basil screamed Peter’s name as it rolled over and over.

His ears were ringing when the car finally stood still. They were upside down. He looked over at Peter. He could hardly move his neck. Everything burned.

“Pete, Pete, are you okay?” he didn’t even try to hide the fear in his voice. Peter’s blonde hair covered his eyes as he hung suspended by his seat belt.

“Pete! Pete, can you hear me?!”

He groaned and moved slightly. People who had heard the crash came running. Someone dialed for an ambulance. Basil was crying.

Paramedics came and carefully pulled them out of the car. One of them gave Basil some morphine and lay him on a stretcher.

“What happened to Pete?” he asked. “Is Pete okay?”

“Just lie back, son,” the nurse said. “It’s going to be okay.”

Basil was released a couple weeks later. He had suffered a fractured leg and slight concussion.He went back to the hospital a few days later to check in on Peter. No one was telling him what had happened.

“I’m sorry, sir, only family is allowed,” the nurse reached out to stop him.

“It’s alright, Jean,” Basil heard Peter say. “He’s like family to me.”

She let him pass.

“Hey, Pete,” said Basil. He took a moment to look him over. His face was bandaged here and there.

“Go on, take a seat. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me. I heard you got a concussion.”

“What happened to you?”

“Quadriplegia,” he announced. “Which is just a fancy way of saying my glowing career as a football captain is over.”

“I’m sure you’ll heal,” said Basil stupidly. “It might take a while, but you’ll be out on that field — “

“Do you know what quadriplegia is?”

“My English isn’t that advanced I’m afraid.”

“I’m paralyzed, Basil. From the neck down. My future is gone. I-It’s completely gone.”

He tried to hold back the choke in his voice.

“No,” whispered Basil. “No, Pete. You can’t be. It’s not fair.”

“Guess I don’t have to be worried about life after graduation,” he said. “I’ll be living with my mother or in some infirmary until I die.”

Basil began crying. He couldn’t help it.

“You don’t deserve this, Pete! I never should have suggested that drive! It’s all my fault!”

“Hey, stop that!” said Peter strictly. “We didn’t know this was going to happen. We were just tryin’ to have a good time. We just wanted to be teenagers goddamnit!”

They sat there.

“Listen to me, Basil. I was going to tell you this after I graduated but that’s just a dream now.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I want you to protect the next freshman or sophomore that joins Bell High or the football team, okay? Carry on what Ted started. Never forget who you used to be. Just because you’re popular now doesn’t mean you should let that get to your head.”

Basil blew his nose on his sleeve.

“Do you promise me?”

“I promise, Pete.”

Every day after that, Basil would visit Peter after school. Other students wanted to see Peter, but he only let Basil in the room.

“They don’t really care about me. They just want to stand and gape and then go off and talk to their friends about it. I hate being an object of their pity. It makes me feel like a zoo animal or a clown in a circus.”

Basil would read for hours to him. The room was quiet except for his steady voice, Peter’s ragged breaths, and the beeping machine. A nurse would come in occasionally to change out the morphine.

It was a Thursday afternoon. Basil was reading another chapter of Peter’s favorite book.

“George took off his hat. He said shakily, ‘Take off your hat, Lennie. The air feels fine.’ Lennie removed his hat dutifully and laid it on the ground in front of him. The shadow in the valley was bluer, and the evening came fast. On the wind the sound of crashing in the brush came to them. Lennie said, ‘Tell how it’s gonna be.’ George had been listening to the distant sounds. For a moment he was businesslike.

“‘Look acrost the river, Lennie, an’ I’ll tell you so you can almost see it.’ Lennie turned his head and looked off across the pool and up the darkening slopes of the Gabilans. ‘We gonna get a little place,’ George began. He reached in his side pocket and brought out Carlson’s Luger; he snapped off the safety, and the hand and gun lay on the ground behind Lennie’s back…”

Basil looked up and saw Peter was looking quietly at him. Usually he stared out the window.

“W-What’s wrong? Did I mispronounce something?”

“No.”

“Do you want some water?”

“No.”

Basil began to feel uncomfortable.

“Should I continue?”

Peter did not reply. He just lay there staring at Basil. Basil squirmed slightly.

“Basil, would you be a friend to me like George was to Lennie?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know how the story ends. I made you read it before. Would you be a friend to me like George was to Lennie?”

“Pete, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then you’re out of your mind.”

“Please?”

“You don’t want to die.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Please, Basil. Put me out of my misery. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want this life.”

Basil closed the book. He knew Peter was being serious. He tried again to talk him out of it.

“Pete, I know it’s hard right now but — “

“No buts, Basil!” he cried. “It’s not going to get easier. It’s only getting worse! I can’t take it anymore. There’s a chance I can go to heaven where I can run again and not be stuck in this bed like a useless vegetable. I-I hate this, Basil. I don’t want to be here anymore. Please!”

He began sobbing. Basil had never seen him cry this violently.

“I can’t kill you, Pete. You’re my best friend.”

“If you really cared about me, you’d do it. You just have to increase the morphine dosage. It’s easy and painless. I’ll just fall asleep and not wake — “

“Stop! Just stop it! You’re not thinking straight!”

“I know this is hard, Basil, and if I trusted anyone else I would ask them instead. You’re all I have. I can’t do it myself. I would if I could. It has to be you.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I won’t feel any pain. I will finally be free. Please, Basil, free me from this misery.”

Basil stood up and left the hospital.

He finally visited again next week. Peter was staring out the window. He did not even greet Basil. Basil had never seen him like this. He was used to him cracking a joke or having a smile ready. Now he seemed to already be gone. His eyes seemed empty.

“Hey, Pete. I brought some new books. Thought you might want to try them.”

Silence.

Basil sat down awkwardly and opened the top one.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, not yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down or — “

“Please stop.”

Basil was surprised. He slowly closed the book.

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t want you to read to me anymore.”

“O-Okay.”

“If you’re not going to help me, then you can leave.”

“Pete, you can’t be serious — “

“The door is that way,” he nodded weakly.

It was killing Basil to see him like this.

“I heard your mom was planning a trip for your birthday,” he said, trying to be positive. “That’s in a couple months, right?”

“Basil, unless you’re going to help me I suggest you leave. You’re only making this worse.”

Basil picked up the books and walked next to the bed. Peter couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Are you completely sure this is what you want? You just want to end everything you’ve been given? Throw it all away?”

“Everything’s already been taken from me,” said Peter steadily. “I can’t go to college or get a job. I’ll never marry or have children. All that’s left for me is to fade away in some hospital.”

“I wish you’d asked someone else.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be you, Basil. I really do.”

He looked up, with a glimmer of hope. Basil slipped a small bottle out of his pocket. His hands were shaking as he held it.

“I knew you’d come through,” said Peter. His voice was a mix of pain and hope. “Just measure out a hundred and twenty milligrams. I think that’s the right amount. I learned about medicines and overdoses when I was studying for medical school.”

Basil picked up a needle and stuck it into the bottle. After carefully measuring the amount, he held the needle.

“Don’t be scared. This isn’t murder or anything like that so you can’t be guilty. I’m begging you to do this, Basil. I need you to do this for me. Please.”

Basil gently lifted his arm. It was covered in scars and cuts.

“I-I’m sorry, Peter,” he wept. “I hope you find peace. I hope you can finally be free.”

He inserted the needle into his vein. Peter let out a small gasp and then smiled.

“Don’t forget your promise. Don’t forget me.” His eyelids were already sinking shut. Basil gripped his arm.

“I’ll never forget you. Never.”

Peter’s head slumped over to the side. He took one deep inhale and then let it go. The room seemed terribly quiet.

Basil hid the needle and bottle back in his pocket. Tucking the books under his arm, he closed the door behind him. Peter had passed away with a smile on his face. Basil knew he would never forget that expression.

When he got home, he locked himself in his room. He smashed the morphine bottle in the garbage can and fell against the bathtub shaking with sobs. It was over. He was gone.

When he went back to school, there were posters of Peter everywhere. His photograph was set in a glass case next to the football trophies. Students left little objects near the case transforming it into a small shrine. There were newspaper clippings, teddy bears, and roses.

Basil sat down at his desk and tried to ignore everyone. Class droned on at an agonizingly slow pace. The door opened and the room went quiet.

“What’s your name, son?” asked Mr. Davis.

“D-David,” stuttered the stranger. “I-I’m from I-Iowa.”

He stood slumped over and fiddled with the buttons on his coat. Mr. Davis passed him a copy of the curriculum they were using and showed him to his desk.

Basil glanced over at him. He was looking around and tapping his foot anxiously. One of the boys behind him leaned forward and flicked the back of his neck. The boy flinched. The attacker chuckled and flicked him again.

Basil reached out, grabbed the attacker’s arm, and pinned it down. The boy struggled and shot him a shocked look.

“Come on, man, I was just messin’ around. Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Touch him again and I’ll make sure you don’t walk for a week,” said Basil in a low tone. He released the arm and the kid fell back cradling it close to his chest.

The stranger smiled at Basil.

“T-Thanks,” he whispered.

Basil looked at him and understood how Peter must have felt. He knew it was up to him now to look after this kid and help him grow. He smiled back.

“Don’t worry. I got your back.”…