Great Big Gordon

"What a fat load that Great Big Gordon is." Dara watched Gordon dragging through the hallway, a Jansport strap sliding off of one shoulder. "This guy's a heffalump."

"A tubby-tubby-two-by-four," added Jennalee, and all the girls snickered in agreement and chanted it as he walked past. "Tubby-tubby-two-by-four! Tubby-tubby-two-by-four!" Gordon kept his head down. He knew better than to look where he was going.

He was the kid who read a book as he walked to class with a backpack filled with everything he'd need for the day. His locker was empty, save for a few loose papers and some crumbs from a month-old snack. Stopping there meant stopping in between Chelsea Albany and Mark Finster, listening to them talk, watching them kiss, because he couldn't help himself. And when he wasn't reading he ran to class. And he wore headphones. The kids wondered and whispered about what he was listening to—

"probably his parents having sex"

"probably weird nature noises"

"probably some terrible song that he played himself"

"I bet he plays a wooden flute"

—but if they could hear it they would realize it was nothing. Really, it was easier for him if he wore the headphones. It was easier for them.

Gordon was large for his age, he was hefty. At some point during the middle of last year an awful boy named Kyle referred to him as "Great Big Gordon" (after commenting about his extra pizza slice at lunch) and the name stuck. Perhaps it was the alliterative g sound. Perhaps it was the sledgehammer cruelty of children. But when Gordon went home he was given things like chicken nuggets and mac and cheese and it wasn't his fault. Is a child supposed to say no when asked if he wants pop with dinner?

Gordon got good grades. Gordon played video games. Gordon played the clarinet at home. Sometimes his mouth got dry because he'd breath through it too much. Sometimes he had nightmares about sinking into the ground, all the way through the earth, and when he'd emerge on the other side he would be the only person there. He asked his parents for a dog. "What, are you gonna walk him?" Gordon drew pictures before he went to sleep. He wrote stories. One was about a boy, exactly like him in every way.

Kyle bumped into him in the hall, hard enough to knock him down. "Watch where you're going, Great Big Gooorrrrrdooonnnnn!" Kyle laughed. Mark was with him and he laughed, too. Gordon had wanted noise-canceling headphones but they were too expensive.

His next class was English. They were reading Romeo & Juliet. He was the first one there and saw all the character names written on the chalkboard. They were supposed to sign up to read a part if they wanted. He had practiced reading aloud in his room the night before. He wanted to know the words going in, he wanted it to make sense. Gordon took the chalk in his hand, rubbing it between his thumb and finger, the point of almost breakage.

The teacher, his favorite, Mrs. DiFranco, walked into the room. "Ah, young Gordon," she said, with her large boots and her long scarf. "Who are you going to be?"