Sal sighed and headed down the hallway to his history test. A couple of students gazed at him awkwardly as he walked by. The new kids always did that. To them, he was a strangely-shaped tower, a mysterious, exotic creature.
He winked at them as he passed. The eyes. They loved the eyes.
One of the newbies smiled eagerly at him. He returned the smile, laughing mildly inside, wondering if it could be the start of the next adventure up on Lover’s Hill.
He usually didn't date people from his school. It was too complicated. He did, however, make exceptions on rare occasions. Sal preferred to find his dates from among the many tourists flooding the area every year. He looked over his shoulder one last time before turning the corner, running a hand through his hair, looking at the floor, and then back up at the newbie.
When, at last, he'd turned the corner, a sigh made its way to his ears. It worked every time. Some were under the impression Sal was bad news, that he could take whatever he wanted without thinking of the consequences, but he'd never dated anyone who didn’t want to go with him or who already had a partner. On occasion, Sal found he'd wandered between partners and the disgruntled half had shown up on his turf, but it never turned ugly. He'd always been able to tell them what they wanted to hear, soothing their minds by saying how sorry he was. He'd even ended up shooting hoops with one of them.
Sal may have broken a few hearts, but he'd never encountered any hard feelings or ill will. Not as far as he knew, anyway.
People sometimes wondered what it might be like to be with a freak like him, and that was part of the package.
Sometimes it hurt that people still perceived him as a freak, but he always used it to his advantage. He was frequently surrounded with gossip and wonder, but it never amounted to anything serious.
He was tall and handsome, and he spent a lot of time playing basketball. It was his passion, but it never amounted to anything serious.
His parents had been somewhat absent from his life because he was considered "the good kid." He received good grades and mostly stayed out of trouble. They devoted their time to work, Carl, and the twins.
Sal made it to class just before Mr. Mayer, the school's history teacher, who was a fixture at the school. He looked like an Oxford professor, with his tweed jacket, tie, and white beard. He'd never married. His old Saab in the school parking lot spoke a silent tale of happier times in a past long forgotten. Mr. Mayer was forever disappointed in his students, believing all sports were a waste of time.
He wasn’t fond of Sal. Mr. Mayer approved neither of Sal's attitude nor the energy Sal radiated, whatever that meant.
Once, he'd accused Sal of cheating—Sal was simply too clever, no one in Sal’s generation was able to do anything great…if they did, something had to be wrong. Mr. Mayer went to great lengths to prove his allegations, secretly planting a video camera in the classroom hoping to find evidence to support his suspicions.
After class, Jeremy Richardson spilled cold water all over Kathy Simmons’ white blouse and left her crying and running for the restrooms. In her retreat, she knocked over the books on Mr. Mayer's bookshelf, revealing the camera. Later, someone spilled their guts to Principal Johnson, and the camera was confiscated.
Mr. Mayer couldn’t prove anything regarding Sal. He'd also used the video camera without permission. He went ballistic when Principal Johnson told him to apologize, but Sal just shrugged his shoulders and went on with his life. Mr. Mayer was let off the hook with a warning and an earful from Sal’s parents.
From then on, Mr. Mayer was patient as a cat stalking its prey, waiting for Sal to make a mistake. One slip-up and he'd shred him to pieces. Sal deserved no better. He was a troublemaker like his no-good brother, a freak of nature.
Sal found a seat at the back of the room. He moistened his lips and looked around. He felt like an idiot sitting at the small table in a small chair. It was a part of Mr. Mayer’s revenge on him. Usually, Sal's chairs and tables were adjusted or brought especially in, but not in Mr. Mayer’s class. Mr. Mayer claimed there wasn’t enough room for such furniture. He'd also chosen the smallest room in all of Strong Edge High to teach history. Sal just had to make do with the regular chairs and tables.
He let it slide. Getting him fired was too easy a punishment—life had to be hard enough for a bitter, tweedy man like him.
Sal’s mind slipped back to the incident with the cat. That guy…there had been something about him, something Sal wanted to know more about.
Mr. Mayer slammed a paper on the desk in front of him. “Pay attention, Williams.” Mr. Mayer always referred to him by his last name.
He made his way through the test with ease—the answers just seemed to flow to him from out of nowhere. Finally, the bell sounded, rescuing him from Mr. Mayer’s watchful eyes. He got up from the miniature furniture, stretched his back, walked up to Mr. Mayer’s desk, and put the test in front of the teacher with a grin. Sal felt Mr. Mayer’s eyes burn a hole in his back as he left the room.
For as far back as he could remember, Sal had been able to charm his teachers. He put everyone at ease, which drew them into liking him. Sal was a fast learner, got good grades, and accelerated at sports. Sometimes, he'd fail to do his homework, but he usually slipped under the radar with the promise of making it up the following week. It was different with Mr. Mayer who liked their little game, and Sal liked yanking Mr. Mayer’s chain and his determined attempt to overthrow him. One had to appreciate the effort he put into it.
“You've got about as much charm as a dead slug, Williams.” Mr. Mayer was a welcome challenge.