Slammed

in my seat, anticipating the last poet of the day: Me.
     
    “ Thanks Gavin, you can take your seat. Good job.” Will doesn't look up from his notes as he calls me to read my poem. His voice is soft, full of trepidation as he says my name. "Layken, it’s your turn."
     
    I'm ready. I feel good about my piece. It's short but to the point. I already have it memorized so I leave the poem on my desk as I walk to the front of the classroom.
     
    "I have a question." My heart is racing as I realize this is the first time I've spoken out loud to Will in his classroom since I entered it a month ago. He hesitates as though he can't decide if he should acknowledge that I even have a question. He gives me a slight nod.
     
    "What if it doesn’t rhyme?” I say.
     
    I’m not sure what he thought I was about to ask, but he looks relieved that this was my question.
     
    “ That’s fine. Remember, there are no rules.” His voice cracks slightly as he replies. I can see on his face that what happened between us last night is fresh on his mind. All the better.
     
    "Good. Okay then," I stammer. "My poem is called mean ." I face the front of the classroom and proudly recite my poem from heart.
     
     
     
    According to the thesaurus…
     
    and according to me …
     
    there are over thirty different meanings and substitutions for the word
     
    mean.
     
    (I quickly yell the following words; the entire class flinches-including Will)
     
     
     
    Jackass, jerk, cruel, dickhead, unkind, harsh, wicked, hateful, heartless, vicious, virulent, unrelenting, tyrannical, malevolent, atrocious, bastard, barbarous, bitter, brutal, callous, degenerate, brutish, depraved, evil, fierce, hard, implacable, rancorous, pernicious, inhumane, monstrous, merciless, inexorable.
     
    And my personal favorite— asshole .
     
     
     
    I glance at Will as I return to my seat and his face is red, his teeth clenched. Eddie is the first to clap, followed by the rest of the girls in the class. I fold my arms across my chest and focus my eyes solely on my desk.
     
    "Man," Javi says. “Who pissed you off?”
     
    The bell rings and the students begin to file out. Will never utters a word. I begin to pack my things into my bag when Eddie runs up to me as most of the class has filed out.
     
    "Have you talked to your mom yet?" she asks.
     
    "My mom? About what?"
     
    I have no clue what she's referring to.
     
    "The date. Nick asked you out yesterday? You said you'd have to ask your mom?"
     
    "Oh, that," I respond.
     
    That was yesterday? It seems like a lifetime ago. I shoot a quick glance in Will's direction and see that he’s watching me, waiting for my response to Eddie. His expression is stone cold. I wish at this moment he was easier to read. I assume his internal expression is jealousy, so I go with it.
     
    "Yeah, sure. Tell Nick I'd love to," I lie as I keep my eyes locked on Will. He grabs his pen and paper and opens one of the desk drawers and drops them in, slamming it shut. The action startles Eddie and she jumps, spinning around to look at him. He’s aware of the attention he brought upon himself so he stands up and acts oblivious to us as he starts erasing chalk off the board. Eddie turns back toward me.
     
    "Great! Oh, and we decided on Thursday so after Getty’s we can go to the slam. We've only got a few weeks, might as well get it out of the way. You want us to pick you up?"
     
    "Uh, sure."
     
    Eddie claps excitedly as she bounces out of the room. Will continues to erase away nothing as I start toward the exit.
     
    "Layken," Will says with a hardness to his voice.
     
    I pause at the door but don’t turn toward him.
     
    "Your mom works Thursday nights. I always get a sitter for Thursday's since I have to go to the slams. Just send Kel over before you leave. You know, before your date."
     
    I don't respond. I simply walk out.
     
    Lunch is awkward. Eddie has already informed Nick that I've agreed to go out with them, so everyone is extremely chatty about our new plans. Everyone except me. Other than the occasional nod and mutters of agreement, I don't speak. I have no appetite, so Nick eats the majority of my food. I stir the rice pudding around on my tray with my spoon, dribbling in traces of ketchup here and there. It reminds me of the remnants of the murdered snowman in my driveway. For days, every time I would back out, my tire would glide over his ice-hard body. I wonder if that's how quiet my jeep would be if I were to