But Patrick was crying. He was crying pretty hard. After that, whenever I saw him around anywhere, he didn’t look like he was there.
He looked like he was someplace else. And I think I knew that because that’s how people used to say I was.
Maybe they still do. I’m not sure. On Thursday, something really terrible happened.
I was sitting alone in the cafeteria, eating Salisbury steak, when I saw Patrick walk up to Brad, who was sitting with his football buddies,
and I saw Brad ignore him like he did at the locker. And I saw Patrick get really upset, but Brad still ignored him.
Then, I saw Patrick say something, and he looked pretty angry as he turned to walk away. Brad sat still for a second, then he turned around.
And then I heard it. It was just loud enough for a few tables to hear. The thing that Brad yelled at Patrick. “Faggot!”
Brad’s football buddies start laughing. A few tables got quiet as Patrick turned around.
He was mad as hell. I’m not kidding. He stormed up to Brad’s table and said, “What did you call me?”
God, he was mad. I’d never seen Patrick like that before. Brad sat quiet for a second, but his buddies kept egging him on by pushing his shoulders.
Brad looked up at Patrick and said softer and meaner than the last time, “I called you a faggot.”
Brad’s buddies started laughing even harder. That is, until Patrick threw the first punch.
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