Untitled (children's?) Story

Weird things happen when I fall in love. Does this happen to everybody?

I met him when I was 6. He already had glasses in first grade and liked to fingerpaint - an intelligent artist. All the other boys liked playing in the jungle gym during recess, but my artist sat outside with sidewalk chalk, drawing inspired stick figures and cars.

I never admitted to my friends that I liked him. Boys had cooties. Everybody knew that. None of the girls would be caught dead without our daily cootie-shot. But I still found myself watching him everytime I swung up on the swingset.

One day, I was outside building a small city with blocks and my artist was nearby, drawing a forest on the concrete. Two fat boys came up to me, casting a shadow over the city, even though I had predicted a sunny day for its inhabitants. I looked up at them. They had boogers in their noses.

"It's our turn. Give us the blocks," one said. He had red stains on his white shirt. I wondered if he'd murdered a tomato.

I looked back down at the city with its invisible little people scurrying to work and running errands. "It's not your turn. Mrs. Miller said I could have them all recess."

"But we wanna use them now. Give 'em," the other one said. His black hair was covered in mud and stuck up menacingly.

"Why do you want them? Go ask Vanessa for hers. Or go play kickball. I'm still using them."

The Tomato Murderer kicked, toppling all my little skyscrapers and houses in one fell swoop. "Not anymore." He and his friend cackled, like little fat warlocks. I stared at the crumbled city with tears in my eyes and stood up. No Godzilla-boy wrecks my city!

"Hey! Why're you picking on her?" My artist was suddenly standing beside me. He wasn't much bigger than me, so I was hoping he knew kung fu or something. We'd have trouble teaching those boys a lesson if he didn't.

The kid with black hair rubbed his nose. "We wanted the blocks and she wouldn't give them."

"You should've asked nicely. I'm telling Mrs. Miller what you did," my artist threatened, his voice breaking and wavering a little. In outrage, maybe?

"You wouldn't."

"Would too."

The Tomato Murderer punched him in the nose. My artist immediately started crying and I could see his nose was a little bloody.

My mouth opened to call Mrs. Miller, but I stopped. I was really angry. Here, the boy I liked stood up for me, got a bloody nose, and all because these fat stupids couldn't wait their turn. I glared at them, even as I put my arm around my artist to lead him away, imagining all the blocks pelting them on their ugly heads.

And to my surprise, they did.

The blocks rose up and hit them from all sides. One block in particular bonked the Tomato Murderer on his head over and over again. It was like the invisible people in the city had super-strength and were hurling the pieces of their broken homes at the boys. The boys screamed and ran. I giggled under my breath, and the blocks fell to the ground.

"What happened?" Mrs Miller asked, running over. She looked around at the blocks and at my artist's bloody nose. "Never mind. Just take him to the nurse's office and I'll talk to you two later."

I nodded and led him away. "Thank you. I'm sorry they hit you."

He sniffled. "It's okay."

"I'm Lara."

"I'm Nate," he said stuffily. We reached the nurse's office.

My mouth felt dry. "I, um... I like your pictures. The trees look like broccoli."

Nate pulled away from me and frowned. Pushing the door open, he stuck his tongue out at me and went in.

I stared at the door in confusion. "What? I like broccoli..."