The Bubble Wrap Boy (10 page)

I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

How many others had seen the video, or recorded their own version from a different angle?

How long till they had me doing a constant walk of shame as punishment? I felt my shins begin to throb nervously in anticipation.

Why was it that when the skating was going well, no one at school had a clue about me? I was still pretty much anonymous. But as soon as things went belly-up, everyone was in on the gag. The injustice felt overwhelming.

I was back where I'd started; in fact, it was worse, because now I didn't even have Sinus on my side. I'd noticed him as the laughter followed me down the hallway, standing on the outside, watching the other kids take me apart, and he hadn't been laughing. But at the same time, he hadn't come over either, to tell me it would be all right, or even to take the heat himself. At least if he'd done that I'd have known we could be friends again.

It was a new low.

I couldn't have got any lower.

A professional limbo dancer couldn't have matched my minimal self-esteem. That's how low things were.

And you know what?

Things were about to get worse.

I
t started with a text message that brought good news.

I have an exam tonight, so can't pick you up. You are to walk home. DO NOT go NEAR the park. I am trusting you. Mom.

It was the best news in weeks, but surprising, given the leash she'd had me on. I couldn't keep up with this new course of hers. The others had always been regular days, always in the evening, but this one seemed to be unpredictable, scattershot. I wondered whether she was doing it on purpose, to keep my paranoia levels so dangerously high that I wouldn't dare go near the ramp for fear of being found out again.

Whatever her motivation, I wasn't moaning about it. A day without being picked up could only be a blessing, even if it meant walking home on my own.

But as afternoon lessons crawled on, my brain began to itch. The skate park lodged itself firmly in my thoughts. I hadn't seen or stepped inside it since the argument with Mom, but suddenly, with a sliver of freedom in front of me, I could think of nothing else.

At first I stayed strong, telling myself to get home as she had ordered. After all, I didn't even have a board anymore.

Even as I left the school gates, my intention was still to skulk slowly home. That was until I ran into Dan and Stan.

“Big man!” Stan hollered, despite being only three feet away.

“Where've you been hiding?”

“Hiding? I wish,” I answered. “Everyone's got a photo of me on their phone these days. Didn't you know?”

“Don't take it to heart,” said Dan. “It'll pass. Especially if you get yourself back to the ramp. Show off those skills again. Be the bigger man.”

I looked at them carefully, weighing just how sincere they were or weren't being.

“You think?”

“Completely,” they echoed in unison.

“Everyone knows you can do it. One quick session without your mom there and that's it. Old news…”

My gut told me to follow them. My resolve started to crumble.

“But I don't have a board.”

They weren't going to let that get in the way of me joining them. In fact, they seemed even more excited, practically begging me to follow them.

“Dude, people will lend you one,” said Dan. “They'll be so stoked to see you back.”

“Follow us down there. By the time you get there we'll have a board waiting,” said Stan. “And a welcome party too, if you're lucky.”

It was everything I wanted to hear. Everything. And it shouted so loud that I couldn't hear Mom anymore. There was only one place I was heading, and it definitely wasn't home.

It was amazing to see the half-pipe towering in the middle of the park, as imposing and magnificent as it ever was. But in a way it upset me too, reminded me how much I'd missed not just the skating, but the acceptance I'd found while I was there.

The place was packed, as it always was after school, bodies arcing and spinning all over the place. My ears were filled with the clatter of wheels on asphalt, the odd cheer and holler as someone pulled off something deadly.

And all I could think was
It could've been me. Maybe it
still could?

I leaned on the railings, looking like a lovesick fool, or Sinus zooming in on a dreamy newly built wall. A shout rang out from inside the park. Dan, smiling, waving me inside.

“What took you so long?” He grinned as I stumbled through the gates, eyes flitting around for any sign of Mom hiding in the bushes. “You know Harry, don't you?” He pointed to a boy next to him, huge peaked cap plastering his hair over most of his face. I could still see that he was grinning madly.

“Charlie! Where've you been, you animal?”

“Grounded by my mom,” I moaned, not wanting to sound like some snotty little kid, but failing miserably.

“What, all this time? It's been weeks. When will she let you off?”

“No idea. Could be months. Years. When I leave home and get a job, probably.”

I noticed a few of the others had joined Dan and Harry now. Stan, of course, but some of the other kids too, who'd been there on the fateful day. I was shocked but pleased that they were happy to see me.

“Your mom is scary,” said Stan, who offered no complicated handshake today. “When did she get so crazy?”

I shrugged, though it felt weird to hear anyone but me badmouthing her.

“Funniest thing I ever saw,” said one boy.

“She should be on one of those reality programs.
America's Nuttiest Women
or something.”

Mom was suddenly the hot topic, and a surge of jokes and insults rippled through the group, which was still growing.

There must have been twenty of them joining in now, which only added to my unease.

“Don't know what I'd do if I had a mom like that….”

“I'd split. Get myself adopted….”

“Live with my grandmother….”

It felt like time to go, like I'd heard enough, but as I went to leave, I realized I was surrounded.

I tried not to freak out, especially as they were all smiling at me. But they weren't happy smiles. They were “something's going on” smiles. Smiles I'd seen before when people were about to beat the stuffing out of me. Before I had to walk between them as their legs started swinging.

“Me and the boys were sorry about what went on,” Dan said, sounding pleased with himself. “We'd heard through the grapevine that your mom had burned your board. So we've got a couple of things for you. Things that'll sort you out. Get you back on the move while keeping your mom happy too.”

I didn't like where this was going, or the sound of the rumors they were making up. She might have hidden the skateboard, but I knew she wouldn't have burned it. Not really.

Snickers rolled around, pinching at me.

“First,” said Stan, “is this.”

And from the crowd out came a board. Well, a scruffy, chipped plank of wood really, with no trucks or wheels, and certainly no design sprayed on it. Even with a chunk of money and weeks of work, it was oceans away from the one I'd had. I didn't know how to respond. Look ungrateful and it could all start again. So I pushed out my chest and tried to look pleased with it.

“Wow. I don't know what to say. Really. You know, thanks. I'll take it home now. Get to w—”

“But that does leave us with a problem,” interrupted Dan, almost cracking up. “We have to think of your mom in this. How she feels about you being safe. So we've racked our brains and come up with something special.”

Uh-oh. Here it comes.

“What is it?”

Stan stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, but holding a bit too tight.

“Inspired by your mom. Not exactly state-of-the-art, but we think she'd still approve. Because she was talking about wrapping you in cotton, wasn't she?”

I nodded, knowing I'd been the one to suggest it first.

Instinctively, I tried to step away, but came up against a crowd behind me. I was used to being towered over, but this was a whole new level.

“Well, that'd never work. Ironic, really, but cotton would rip as soon as you fell off. But our solution? Foolproof.”

And with that, the sun disappeared as an army of limbs pinned me to the ground.

All I could hear was laughter and the sound of tape ripping from a roll.

Whatever was happening, I doubted it would be quick.

And it certainly wouldn't be good.

F
ighting was pointless, but that didn't stop me. I wasn't trying to prove a point, didn't believe I could force them off me.

I was just terrified: what else was I going to do?

There were so many of them pinning me down, though, that I could barely flex a finger, let alone a muscle, so after intense bursts of struggling that got me absolutely nowhere, I gave up, instead concentrating on fighting the tears that wanted to escape. How far would they go? They weren't going to strip me naked, were they? I didn't even have the prospect of a teacher's interruption to save me. Not this time.

It wasn't like they were hurting me, or taunting me or anything like that, they were just laughing as they wrapped my legs in something that I couldn't make out through the endless bodies. I tried to lift my head to see, but they wouldn't let me, blindfolding me as they moved up to my chest and arms.

I found myself longing for a good old-fashioned walk of shame. At least that way I could see when it would end.

The only things I knew were that I was hot, that they were having a good time, and that I wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.

The noise of the tape got louder until it was screaming inside my brain, so deafening that I thought my ears would burst. I could feel it binding something hot and suffocating to my head, the noise echoing so badly that I thought I'd pass out. I tried to thrash with my head, but an octopus of arms stopped me until soon the only parts of my face left uncovered were my eyes, nose, and mouth.

There was a last muffled sound of delight as the tape stopped ripping, and one by one they stood back, allowing the sun to fall on me again.

Next came laughter, and pointing: phones were pulled out of pockets and photos taken. I was the center of attention—exactly where I'd always wanted to be. I was being
punked,
I supposed, and I hated it.

What was it they'd wrapped me in? I tried to raise my arms to my face, but it was impossible. They'd trapped them tightly against my sides.

They'd mummified me in something: my feet, legs, chest, and hands. They seemed to have made a helmet out of it too, as my head was already sweating.

Was it plastic wrap? It felt plasticky, but with panic and embarrassment engulfing me I couldn't be sure.

I fought to get to my feet but couldn't. My knees wouldn't bend and my arms were useless. Instead, I rolled, or tried to, but even that was an effort. After rocking up some momentum, I felt my balance tip until I capsized onto my front like a human caterpillar, a hundred little popping noises bursting all around me. Another wave of laughter rolled over my head, and then I knew what they'd done to me.

Bubble wrap.

They'd covered me up in bubble wrap.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Take it off now, will you?” I begged through a mouthful of gravel.

They laughed their response.

I tried to stand again, bending onto my knees.

Another round of popping followed, like firecrackers being set off at my feet. The guys were so amused they could barely stand up.

“It's really funny,” I gasped, trying to make a joke of it myself. “Bubble wrap, I get it, I do. But please take it off—I'm baking in here!”

I found Dan and Stan in the crowd, my eyes begging them to end the game, but they were helpless, wiping tears from their stupid smirking faces.

With anger simmering beneath the bubbles, I tried again to stand, forcing my legs to bend against the padding. It took longer than I wanted it to, but eventually I felt myself rising from the ground, and was just about to step toward the exit when they pushed me back to the ground and rolled me across the park.

Every second, every rotation, was humiliating. Every inch I rolled meant more popping, and more popping meant more laughter. I couldn't believe what was happening, couldn't believe that Mom's comment could lead to this.

They toyed with me for another few minutes: more photos were taken, some of the guys lining up to be snapped next to me like a fish they'd caught at sea. Strangely enough, I found it hard to manage a smile for this photo album.

Eventually, when they got bored, they guided me through the gate and pointed me toward home. As a parting gift, they taped the new board to my chest, just so I wouldn't lose it on the way.

“Hang on,” I begged. “You're not going to leave me like this, are you? I can't walk home—it's miles!”

The final words came from Stan, who patted me on the back, bursting a few more bubbles in the process.

“We owe it to your mom, dude. You know that. She knows how dangerous skating is. All we're doing is following orders.”

And with a gentle shove, my new walk of shame began.

It was actually less than a mile from the park to Special Fried Nice. I'd done the walk a hundred times in my life, and it had never taken more than ten minutes, but today, bamboozled courtesy of my “friends” at the ramp, it was taking forever.

An apathetic sloth with a wooden leg would've made better time than me.

For starters, they'd wrapped me up so tight that I could barely bend my legs. I was reduced to walking in baby steps. I dreaded to think what I looked like, but from the reaction of everyone I passed, I guessed it was hilarious rather than terrifying.

People smirked, laughed, pointed, and did huge double takes. One toddler cried before hiding under his mom's skirt, while the braver kids did what everyone does when they see bubble wrap. They popped it.

It was like being pecked by a flock of ravenous chickens. Every inch of me seemed to be under attack, even the wrap on my face got blitzed. I was like a tire with the air slowly being let out and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

The most annoying thing, though, was that while people were happy to deflate me, no one offered to remove the wrapping. One old lady I begged for help grimaced before lacing into me with her umbrella. It was the one and only time I was grateful for the padding.

I mean, what was wrong with people? It wasn't as if they'd taped my mouth up. They could hear me asking for help, so why wouldn't they help?

I was only halfway home when it all got too much. A group of ten-year-old thugs had taken to walking behind me, picking me off bubble by bubble, until in the end I snapped, roaring in a voice that I didn't know I owned, words I barely knew the meaning of.

Did it work?

Not a chance.

Instead, they swarmed on top of me, forcing me into the gutter, snapping the few bubbles that remained.

And the sad thing was that I just lay there and let them do it, hoping they'd get bored before all the bubbles had burst. I had no fight left. Not for them, not for the kids at school. Not even for Mom and Dad. I was exhausted.

Fortunately, I didn't have to wait that long for the indignity to end, as a car screeched up beside me, horn blaring. The kids scattered and the rear door opened, a pair of arms pulling me into the backseat. With a screech of tires we were off, and as the hands pulled the bubble wrap from my sweating head, I had to hope the ordeal was finally over.