PRIDE OVER PREJUDICE
By Delilah Anne Marie
February 28, 2010

Chapter 3: Hormonal Teenagers

November 11, 1963
Monday

It had been a little more than a year since I was last attacked on Main Street—or rather, I attacked my attacker—and life still went on. Mind you, I was temporarily traumatized after the assault and constantly called in sick from work. I often thought about the boy who had tried to mug me, and I sometimes wondered what became of him. Then I realized something: the world didn't stop for one person.

That motto was enough for me to get my life back on track, and before I knew it, I was a freshman in high school and a member of the junior varsity tennis team. Of course, life would've been a lot better if my grades had been higher. There were just some hurdles I couldn't surmount.

"You overslept again?" Janie mused as I hurriedly entered the kitchen one morning. "Honestly, Gracie. Aren't you the one who's always saying the world doesn't stop for one person?"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Janie," I murmured as I sat down next to her. "I couldn't find any underwear in my drawer."

My sister began to laugh. "Serves you right for not doing laundry all month. What are you wearing now?"

"Er, nothing," I mumbled before filling my plate with bacon. "I have clean panties in my gym locker. Guess I'll just have to grab them before lunch."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might have some clean underwear in my bedroom?"

I winced in disgust. "Clean or not, I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole. Lord knows what kind of body fluid Benny's been rubbing on them."

Janie sprang over the table and clasped a hand over my mouth. "We are not having sex. We're—ew, did you just lick my hand?"

"Whatever unblocks the portal between my stomach and food," I said as I took a bite of my bacon. "And hey, I didn't say you guys were doing the dirty. Only that you guys are dirty. Seriously. Do you have any idea what mama would do if she found out what kind of hanky panky you've been doing under her roof? Or under Benny? Whichever you prefer."

Janie grabbed a bun and stuffed it into my mouth. "Be quiet!" She hissed. "Can't you be a little more discreet?"

I shook my head in defeat and sighed. "Fine, I won't mention it again…if you lend me a ribbon to match this dress."

"A ribbon to match your dress? Since when did you start accessorizing like a girl?"

"Are you stupid? I AM a girl!"

Janie shook her head and took a bite of her toast. "This coming from a teenager whose only doll as a child was a G.I. Joe," she muttered.

I chose to ignore her comment and continued to eat breakfast. Five minutes later, our neighbor, Benny Rodriguez, entered the house through the backdoor and planted a sweet kiss on my sister's forehead.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispered in her ear as he pressed his nose to her hair.

"Ugh, too much cuteness in a room," I muttered as I stuffed a hard-boiled egg in my mouth walked away. "You guys make me sick."

Yes, they were nauseatingly charming. You'd think that, after being best friends for ten years, they'd be extremely familiar with one another. But no, there were other areas of their friendship that needed to be acquainted with, if you know what I mean.

Then again, I had to give my sister some credit where it was warranted. She was typically the most obedient child in the family, and so I'm sure you can understand the colossal significance of catching her in a hot and heavy make out session with the boy next door.

By 7:45, I was out the door and sprinting towards school. Mrs. Hartley, our school's vice principal, watched as I slowed down in front of the library and wiped the perspiration from my brows. She shot me a stern look that clearly told me she didn't approve of my sweating, as it was "offensively unladylike." I might have agreed with her, if it weren't for the fact that I was one tardy slip closer to detention.

Biology was the first period of the day…and the worst of the year. Dr. Dameron was, in all honesty, the most merciless teacher you could ever encounter. Ironic how he educates about the cycle of life only to make you wish for death.

After biology, in which I was stumped by a pop quiz, I rushed out the classroom and entered second period algebra. Math had always been my favorite subject, but it wasn't because I was good at it. Frankly, I was mediocre when it came to fractions and polynomials, but I was good enough to place in sophomore level math. That was enough to make me feel smart.

No one had made it to class yet, and so I took my seat in the front row and attempted to sketch Melvin's kitten by memory. I lifted the picture in front of me after applying my final touches, and then I scrunched my nose in disgust.

What a disaster, I thought as I ripped the page from my sketch book. I crumpled it with irritation, making a tight ball with my palms, before throwing it across the room where it was headed towards the trash bin.

Unfortunately, although my aim was flawless, the crumbled ball of paper did not fall into its target. Rather, it hit an unexpected passerby in the head, and I couldn't help but snigger as Scott Phillips turned around with an annoyed expression.

Scott Phillips. God, I hated that guy. He was, without a doubt, the most horrible snot-faced-kid I could ever come across. I suppose growing up spoiled and privileged was to blame, but I wasn't going to sympathize with him. Nu-uh. The guy deserved every rotten look I threw his way—especially with the way he treated my sister while they were growing up. I remember the first time they met. I was only four at the time, but the memory of my sister crying on the front lawn was something I could never forget. He always made her cry, which brings me to the irony of their story. He loved her. Maybe not to the extent Benny loved her, but definitely enough to let down his guard. Needless to say, I was feeling triumphant at his loss.

"Geez, Reynolds," Phillips said as he replaced his annoyance with coolness. "Why is it that we can't be in the same room without you throwing something at me?"

"Well maybe if you weren't so big-headed, then you wouldn't be such a big target."

He laughed at my comment, but I knew he was downplaying my insults.

"You know," he began. "For a Reynolds sister, you sure have a hard time telling the difference between a trashcan and a human being. Aren't you and your lot supposed to be geniuses? Or maybe you're the odd child? The broken one."

I clenched my teeth, trying to calm myself down. He always knew how to press the right buttons, but only because I did a poor job of hiding my anger. I walked up to him and tried to match his stare.

"As if there's any difference between you and trash." I retorted spitefully.

For a moment, I noticed his cool face he scoffed and picked up the crumbled paper that had fallen next to his foot.

"Open that and you die, Phillips," I warned him. But alas, Scott Phillips wasn't the type to be told what to do, and he opened the ball anyway.

"What's this, Reynolds," Phillips taunted as he held the sketch above my reach. "Your self-portrait?"

Blushing at his comment, I made a bigger effort to obtain my drawing by jumping higher. Phillips continued to goad me, fishing the sketch lower before snapping it out of reach. I felt silly for hopping around him. I should've known that my five-foot three-inch height wouldn't be able to dominate his taller frame. But I was too proud to let it go, and I soon found myself knocking onto Phillips' chest. The impact caught him off guard, and before I could even register what had occurred, I was lying sprawled on the floor with Phillips in-between my thighs.

"Ew ew ew!" I cried as he began wriggling underneath me.

"You got that right," he murmured before spitting my hair away from his face.

In my embarrassment, I rolled off of him and kicked his left shin. He howled in pain, and I suddenly felt panicked as a group of students stopped at the doorway to stare.

"Shut up, Phillips," I tried to hush him. He simply shot a look of agitation, ready to shout at me for my unnecessary assault.

…But something caught his attention, and his eyes suddenly widened in mixed shock and hilarity.

I followed his stare towards my dress, realizing that the hem of my skirt had trekked dangerously high above my open thighs. Then, it dawned on me…

"…Hot damn, Reynolds! Where's your underwear?"

The crowd behind me burst into gasps and laughter. I knew Phillips was gonna do something to embarrass me even further. For certain, he was going to throw lewd comments my way. But I didn't give him that opportunity, because after he had keeled over from too much laughter, and after I had turned a ghastly shade of scarlet red, my fingers automatically found their way around Phillips' neck…ready to wring the pathetic life out of him.


Disclaimer: "The Sandlot" was written and directed by David M. Evans. I do not own anything related to the movie other than this fan written fiction and the original characters I have created through my own imagination. I assure you that this piece of work does not make any profits, nor will it be published in the future. Copyright infringement is not intended.