Free Lunch

By the time I saw Dylan in English class, his cheek was little bit red and swollen.  Again.

      I pretty sure I know the answer, but I ask anyway.

      “The Mendonca twins went beat you up before school?”

      We in the bathroom, side by side at the urinal.

      “Yeah,” is all he says.  Then while we zipping up, he says,  “Les go get plate lunch.”

      What that means is that he know Mrs. Nakamatsu, the lady who run the lunch wagon across the street by all the car dealers, goin give him lunch for free.  Every time he show up beat up li’dat, she go, “Awww, Dylan, you got into one fight again?”

      And of course he tell, “Yeah.”  So score cuz she think he all pitiful kine.  And, yeah, he is kinda.  The Mendonca brothers like pick on him a lot.

      So we sneak across the street, like everybody else, cuz illegal for go off campus for eat.

      And sure enough: “Oh my, Dylan. Did you get into a fight again?” Mrs. Nakamatsu ask.

      And Dylan tell, “Yeah, was a bad one, Mrs. N,” and hang his head.

      So she give him one teri steak plate plus one extra scoop mac salad.

      And me, I gotta buy the same thing cuz nobody ever beats me up.  Plus I only get one scoop mac salad.

      We run ninja kind back across the street and head out for the football field behind wood shop.  And just as we turn the corner, bam, we run right into the Mendoncas, Harry and Barry.

      They big.  Eh, they third-year seniors.  We only 10th grade, so short and skinny, us, compared to dem.

      “Eh fuck face,” Harry tell Dylan.  “What you doing out here on our field.”

      “As if you own um,” Dylan says.  Real wiseass stupid.  Like he asking dem for punch him out again.

      Harry, he pull his hand back like he goin blas um, but he stop cuz Barry says, “Eh, look like someone wen bus you up already, huh, panty ass?  Whas wit your face?”

      Dis trows me off cuz if they went beat up Dylan before school, how come Barry asking whas up with his face?

      “Fuckahs,” says Dylan, and he turn and run off on the field.  “What a lily,” Harry tell Barry.

      Den Harry look at me.  “What you looking at, shithead?”

      “Nothing,” I say.  And they go off around the corner.

      When he ran, Dylan dropped his plate lunch.  I take off in the direction he went and I find him out behind the bleachers crying.

      “Eh, Dylan,” I say, “you like share my lunch?”

      He stop crying an come over sit by me.

      “Thanks,” he says, “I am super hungry starving, brah.”

      Now I feel kinda bad.  “Oh, okay,” I say, and pass him the plate.  “Eat what you like.”

      Dylan sniffling little bit, but he dig right in.  I thought he was going leave some for me, but, well, das what friends are for, I guess.

      “Dylan,” I say, “how come da Mendoncas asking you what happened to your face?  Dey did that to you, right?”  I point to his cheek.

      Dylan fold the empty plate in half, put the fork and napkin inside.

      “Nah, wasn’t dem,” he say, pushing the plate through the crack in the bleacher seat.  “Was my dad.”

      “Huh?”

      “My dad.  Sometimes he get so unreal mean.  And I figure, cuz Mrs. Nakamatsu always gives me free lunch, I might as well get it for being hit by my dad.”

      I hard time think what fo’ say, but I said, “Oh, sorry.”

      Dylan, he look up at me.  “No need feel sorry for me, brah.  Eh, free lunch any way you can get it is good, uh?”

      We get up and head for class.  If I felt sorry for Dylan before, even more so I feel that way now.

      My teacher in social studies, Mr. Pang, always saying no more any such thing as a free lunch.  I guess he knows.