How Enduring Shame, Fear, Power and Hazing in Order to be Accepted Changed Kyle Kelly Forever.

[AUTHOR’S NOTE: When I first published this story, it was 2,800 words.
But the joy of writing, and the joy of writing in a dynamic environment like this is that I can always revisit the work. In this new version (my director’s cut 🙂 I added a look into Kyle’s home life and how he interacts with his family. That shapes much of who he is. This better explains where Kyle’s behavior actually comes from. This is the full version. – Thanks. Joe Paul]

Meet the Kids Who Will Change Everything: Origin Stories from the Young Adult Novel The Great American Eagle Hunt. Before there was a team, there were five kids with five very different stories. Over the next several weeks, we’re telling them, one by one. Meet Kyle Kelly.

Seattle: Queen Anne High School: October 1999: Thursday

11:15 am. The school bell rings, echoing down the tiled hallways and across the four-building campus of Queen Anne High School. Simultaneously, 1,700 students spill out of their third period classrooms and into the hallways. Some students casually walk from one room to another. Others dash from one building across the courtyard to another, hoping not to be late in this ten-minute transition. A small group finds a way to sneak out to an area behind a row of bushes, called cigarette alley, for a quick forbidden smoke break between History and English literature. The result is a series of hallways; stairwells and the outdoor courtyard filled with a cacophony of sounds.

Lockers are slamming.

“What’s up! Big party this weekend. Be sure to be there” Upper class boys yell and trade high fives as they pass their buddies or teammates.

“Heads up!” One boy yells as a Nerf football sails overhead, causing every student to duck.

For the next 12 minutes, the open halls are a jungle of the survival of the fittest.

But in building 2 room 205, the noise subsides as students leave the room. The silence grows. Third-period Freshman Introduction to Chemistry period has ended and the students in this laboratory classroom empty into the hallway which is jammed as tight as Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

In building 2 room 205 the silence is calming for the one boy intentionally hanging back. Kyle Kelly, a first-year student who is four inches taller than this class mates and easily identified by his bright orange hair, cut short around the ears and cut flat top, slowly closes his books and packs his backpack. He’s biding for time. Books in the main pouch, folders in the front pouch, pens and pencils in their box in the front pouch. Water bottle in the side holster. Everything has its place and everything in its place before he starts to move. Kyle has an open study hall next followed by lunch. While the 1,700 kids at Queen Anne High School hurry from class to class, building to building, Kyle purposely takes his time, letting the crowd thin out.

Once the crowd has thinned, Kyle exits room 205, checks up and down the hallway for people he may know. He doesn’t want to be spotted. He quickly hangs a right out of the door to room 205 and walks head down deliberately to the staircase at the end of the hallway 15 feet away. In the stairwell he looks up and down again. Again, he is avoiding being spotted. Kyle doesn’t go down the stairs to the library for study hall. First, when it’s safe and the crowd has thinned, he takes a detour up to the third floor. At the top of the stairs, he exits the stairwell into the third-floor hall. Another check for familiar faces. All clear. Heads down, he crosses the hall into the boys’ bathroom just across from the staircase. Here, it’s easy for him to get in and out with little chance of being noticed. Kyle knows that on Thursdays after third period, this boys bathroom is always empty.

Today is a typical day for Kyle, filled with the stress and anxiety that causes his I.B.S., irritable bowel syndrome, to flare up. If you’ve never heard of it, irritable bowel syndrome is a common disorder, affecting the large intestine, causing abdominal pain, cramping, bloating, and many times diarrhea, constipation, or both. Kyle knows that here he can take care of business in this empty third-floor bathroom without his condition being discovered. He has every open bathroom and open time throughout the school memorized. On Tuesdays, he uses the basement bathroom. On Fridays, he uses the boys’ locker room.

In the third-floor bathroom, Kyle makes it to the last stall, unbuckles his belt, drops his pants, and sits down just in time. Nausea sets in, a sweat breaks out, a headache begins to pound. He drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes.

“I fucking hate this,” he moans quietly. He’s only a first-year student and the stress is already killing him.

He hates taking pills every day, the antispasmodics for the pain. He hates the constant diet monitoring; nobody knows what will trigger his system next. He hates the stress from sports, scouting, and advanced college prep classes, all of it making his condition worse.

But most of all, he hates the secrecy. Kyle knows he can’t talk to any of his friends about this. High school is cruel enough. If his problem gets out, he knows he’ll be the school’s laughingstock, the kid who nearly shits his pants. Every…single…day. That’s why it’s worth the trek up to the third-floor bathroom. That’s why it’s worth it to be late for study hall. It’s worth getting a reprimand every week for being late.

After a few minutes of breathing and relaxation exercises, he slowly regains his composure. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head. A sense of control is returning.

Lifting his sweaty head from his hands, Kyle looks up at the stall door in front of him. He notices some graffiti written in black marker. This wasn’t here last week.

ARNAV PATEL = CURRY STINK. GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM.

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Kyle knows Arnav Patel, the target of this slur. He’s also a first-year student here. Kyle knows who Arnav is because they belong to the same Boy Scout troop that meets here at Queen Anne High on Tuesday nights. Kyle and his brothers have been members of that troop for two years. But Arnav, is a new student who just moved to Seattle from Bangalore India six months ago. Kyle recognizes Arnav as part of a rival patrol, who calls themselves The Magnificent Seven. Kyle looks down on The Magnificent Seven as nothing more than a bunch of troublemakers who constantly undermine his self-declared authority over the younger scouts. Kyle can’t stand The Magnificent Seven’s casual joking attitude and approach to every task. He thinks they are nothing more than a group of skate punk clowns constantly thumbing their noses at his authority.

“They never take anything seriously,” he complains to himself. At every meeting, The Magnificent Seven patrol’s joking and wisecracks make Kyle lose control of the proceedings. If it were up to Kyle, The Magnificent Seven would be kicked out of the troop for good.

He puts his hand on the stall door and tries to rub off the graffiti. Even though he can’t stand Arnav, he hates graffiti; to Kyle, defacing property disrupts the order of things. He tries to rub the graffiti off with the palm of his hand. It only smudges a little; the slur is still perfectly readable.

“Well,” Kyle thinks, staring at the scrawl, “Better him than me,” he rationalizes.

Cleanup, flush, pants up. Kyle checks if the coast is clear. A quick trip to the sink to wash hands and face and he’s out. No witnesses. He bolts to the stairwell and down three flights to study hall.

The Queen Anne High study hall is held in the basement cafeteria. Long rows of wooden tables are filled with a few hundred students. A few teachers sit at the head of each row to watch the studying, keep students focused, and to keep the noise levels low.

Safe in study hall, Kyle finds his usual back table with some members of his group, The Red Devils. They got the name from the Boy Scout Troop they belong to. They like to use the name outside the troop because they think it sounds intimidating. Kyle was able to join the Red Devils because his brothers were the Red Devils. In fact, his brothers founded the Red Devil patrol, so Kyle was drafted regardless of whether he wanted to join or not.

Being together since grade school, this core group does everything together. They play soccer for the school team and believe they can make it to state finals this year. They’re in the same scouting patrol, determined to lead the troop to an All-District camp championship. Everything they do together is focused on winning. They see it as the ultimate resume builder for college. At least that’s what their parents tell them.

Today Kyle’s two main friends in the Red Devils are sitting at their table: the Delvecchio twins, Bobby and Tommy. The twins, also first-years, have already earned a reputation throughout the school for their sadistic sense of humor. Everybody who went to middle school with the twins knows their reputation. The others learn the hard way. They’re known for pushing students into lockers or knocking books out of smaller kids’ hands just for a laugh. They’re currently suspended from the wrestling team for being too violent; they wanted it to be more like WWE than Olympic sport. Kyle hangs out with the twins because their fathers are business partners. So, Kyle usually looks the other way when the twins act up.

As Kyle sits, he notices Bobby Delvecchio has sheets of paper spread across the table. Bobby is always drawing. Even though Bobby is a middle-class white boy from the affluent suburbs, he’s convinced he’s the next street artist like Banksy, Keith Haring, or Basquiat. Markers and pencils are scattered across the table.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asks. “Your shit is everywhere. Can I get some room?” He grabs a handful of magic markers to make space for his books.

“Stop!” Bobby lunges, grabbing the markers. “Those are my new pens. This one cost me twenty bucks!” He holds up an extra-thick black marker with a one inch felt tip. As with all his markers, Bobby has taped a piece of red duct tape at the base to help him spot them and prevent theft in art class.

Bobby scoops his papers into a pile, jams the markers into his backpack, and goes back to work, this time scribbling on the inside back cover of a library book. Kyle knows it’s borrowed property, agitating Kyle’s need for order.

“What are you doing?” He asks again. Bobby spins the book around to show him. On the inside back cover, etched in thick, black ink:

ARNAV PATEL = CURRY STINK. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM.

Kyle recognizes the words; they’re exactly what was written on the third-floor bathroom stall. Bobby’s brother leans over to see and snickers as he reads the slur.

“That’s you?” Kyle asks. “I’ve seen this before.”

“My work is becoming famous,” Bobby chuckles. “Dude, relax. Everyone knows it’s true. You can smell him a mile away.”

“No, don’t do that. It’s borrowed property,” Kyle says, reaching for the book. Bobby slams the cover, nearly catching Kyle’s fingers.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” He sneers.

“I just don’t think…”

“That’s right,” Bobby interrupts. “Don’t think.” The low laughter at the table tells Kyle to keep his objections to himself. “The only thing you need to think about is: Are you with us? Or are you a snitch? Because if you’re not with us, you can sit at another table. Clear?”

Kyle knows this is complicity through silence. But he lets it go; he has too much to lose. Crossing these guys would mean no more friends, no starting soccer lineup, no troop leadership. All of that off his college resume. His parents would kill him. Kyle quietly shakes his head, looks down, pulls his homework out of his backpack, and gets to work.

Seattle: Queen Anne Avenue: October 1999: Thursday Night

The red brick house that sits in the middle of the block on Queen Anne Avenue between Smith Avenue and Raye Street is immaculate. Large magnolia trees and a three foot tall natural stone fence hide from passersby on the street how large the house is. From the sidewalk, the landscaping, the walkway, and entrance to the house are perfectly staged. Even if someone was never inside the house, they can tell the interior is also perfectly staged.

At 5:45 pm, after an after school tutoring session and then a group study session, Kyle turns the corner from Raye Street and walks the half block to his home, the large brick house in the middle of the block. As Kyle walks up the driveway, he notices his older brother by two years, Michael, working in the yard, picking up a batch of fallen branches and a small pile of leaves.

“It’s about time you got home,” Michael teasingly scolds Kyle. “I had to do this all by myself.”

“That’s your job anyways,” Kyle snaps back. “I have the backyard to clean.”

Kyle walks through the open large garage door and towards the garage entrance to the house. This is how he and the boys always enter the house. Nobody ever uses the front door. That grand entrance is for guests only. Before entering, Kyle stops and removes his shoes. No shoes in the house, ever. He checks his socks to make sure no dirt, or debris is sticking to them and enters.

The garage door opens into a small family den. Kyle’s parents, Thomas and Karen are standing in the middle of the room.

“There he is,” Karen says.

“We almost missed you,” Thomas says.

I was at study group and tutoring,” Kyle says, not sure if he’s in trouble or not.

“Yes, I saw it written on the calendar in the kitchen,” Thomas says. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” Kelly says. “It’s very helpful.”

“Good,” Thomas says. I have not had a chance to ask you, how did you do on your Statistic quiz you took a few days ago. Did you get the results back?”

“Yes,” Kyle replies. “I scored a 92”

“92?” Karen says in a confused tone.

“Hmmm,” Thomas replies. “What stopped you from getting a 95 or 98?”

“Or a 100?” Karen adds. Her tone tells Kyle she is angry.

“Sorry, I just missed one question the difference between Descriptive and Inferential Statistics. I also missed a question on the Empirical Rule,” Kyle explains.

“But isn’t that what the tutoring is for?” Karen asks.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Kyle tries to control the situation. He knows how a conversation like this can spin out of control.

“If you take ten quizzes this semester and you get all 92’s it turns into a big deal,” Karen snaps back. Kyle can see she is getting worked up.

“I’ll make it up,” Kyle tries to placate his mom. “I’ll talk to Mr. Sanders tomorrow and see what kind of extra credit I can do to get my average up.

“Get it done, son,” Thomas adds in. “92 is not going to look good on your college applications.”

“I’m only a freshmen,” Kyle thinks to himself. “It’s only been 90 days of my first year of high school.”

“I’ll get it done,” he says, hoping to end the conversation. The stress of the day, his IBS flare up, finding the graffiti and his confrontation with the Delvechio twins are grinding him down.

“Good,” Thomas adds. “Your mother and I are going out to a function for my work, dinner, and drinks. We will not be home until late. Your brothers are in charge. When I get home, if I look in your room at your desk, I hope to see some solid work done while we’re gone.”

“You will,” Kyle promises. “Good night and have a good time.”

Kyle walks with his parents to the front door. When dad is dressed in a suit and tie and mom in a new evening dress, they get to use the front door. Kyle turns to walk up the stairs to his bedroom. As Thomas and Karen leave through the front door, he can hear his mom complaining.

“Now I ‘m going to obsess about that quiz the entire night,” Karen complains.
The front door closes and Kyle goes to his room.

Kyle’s room is the second door on the left in the upstairs hallway. His room is the smallest of the rooms the three boys have. It’s just the bad luck of being the youngest. His brother’s Michael’s room is next door. And the two bedrooms are connected by a shared bathroom and shower. Kevin’s room is across the hall. Kevin has the largest room of the three boys along with his own bathroom.

Kyle goes to his room, places his shoes on the shoe rack, pulls out his books and papers from his backpack and places them on his desk, then hangs the backpack on a hook on a wall. Everything in its place…always. Kyle sits at his desk and gets to work.

Five minutes into studying, Michael appears at his door. Kyle looks up at him and then right back at his books. It doesn’t startle him at all that Michael is standing in his doorway wearing nothing but his jockey shorts. Kyle understands; Michael was outside doing yard work. Yard work means dirt. Dirt in the house is forbidden. Kyle knows that when Michael finished his work, he went into the garage, stripped off all of his dirty clothes, and then it was safe to come inside. It’s been this way all of their lives. After doing yard work, coming home from camping trips, returning from a day hike. If it happened outside, it stayed outside and the three of them would have to strip down in the garage and march up to the showers.

“Get that work done,” Michael prods Kyle. He walks into Kyle’s room and stands behind him.

“I’m trying,” Kyle protests.

“Good,” Michael retorts. “And here’s for not helping me with the yard work this afternoon. Michael leans over Kyle, so his head is directly over Kyle’s desk and homework. He reaches up to his hair and starts to shake his head and hair violently, causing a small dusting of leaves and dirt to drop on Kyle’s desk and homework.

“Stop it, asshole,” Kyle yells.

“There’s more where that came from,” Michael laughs as he darts into the shared bathroom, slams the door shut and starts the shower.

Kyle cleans up the mess and gets back to work.

“I just need an hour of quiet,” he says to himself.

Thirty minutes later, he hears Kyle’s oldest brother, Kevin, come in through the garage door and up the stairs. He stands in Kyle’s doorway.

“Yo,” Michael yells. “Why didn’t you take the trash to the curb? Tomorrow’s pick up day.”

“It’s not my week,” Kyle snaps back. It’s yours. Check the schedule in the kitchen.

“It’s not my week,” Kevin retorts.

“It’s not my week either,” Michael yells from his room through the shared bathroom.

“It’s not my week!” Kyle snaps. “I need to get this work done!”

“Get it done,” Kevin snaps back. Mom and dad said we are in charge.

“Fine,” Kyle realizes it’s easier to just give in and get it done instead of arguing. He knows he’ll lose. Kyle snaps up from his desk, storms down the hall, and down the stairs. Michael and Kevin follow in hot pursuit. Looking at each other and laughing, but Kyle doesn’t see.

Kyle storms into the kitchen, reaches under the kitchen sink and grabs the garbage pail. He picks it up and starts to walk out the side door to the house, where the larger garbage bins are stored. As Kyle reaches the larger garbage bins, he feels Michael grab him from behind, pinning his arms to his side.

“Let me go, you asshole,” Kyle snaps.

“Easy buddy,” Kevin laughs. “It’s your time.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kyle asks.

“I’m moving up in the troop,” Kevin says.

“That means I’m moving up next,” Michael states.

“That means your drafting right up behind us. Soon all three of us will be running the troop,” Kevin explains.

“So, it’s graduation night,” Michael laughs.

“Let me go!” Kyle squirms and yells. But the grip his older brothers have on him is too tight to break.

Kevin reaches over, grabs Kyle’s pants, and pulls them down. Next, the shirt is ripped off.

“No! Leave me alone!” Kyle yells

“Relax. It’s just a little initiation. A rite of passage. It happened to Kevin,” Michael explains.

“You’re getting off easily compared to what happened to me. I had my initiation in front of the entire troop,” Kevin laughs.

“My initiation happened at summer camp,” Michael explains. “You get the luxury of getting initiated by your brothers at home. You get the easy way out.”

The brothers drag Kyle to the back yard. Waiting there under the garden pergola, they have a coil of rope. Struggling, they get Kyle’s hands tied behind his back. Kyle drops to the ground sitting in his underwear, hands tied behind his back. He’s trapped. His breathing is heavy and his heart feels like it will beat right out of his chest.

Then the cold spray happens. Michael turned on the garden hose and starts dousing Kyle with ice cold water. Kevin and Michael laugh hysterically.

“Tell us the scout oath,” they taunt him. “Tell us the scout law,” they command him. Kyle in shock stutters each answer. With each wrong answer Kyle gets doused with more cold water.

Then it hits him. Michael takes the large compost bin filled with rotten food scraps and spills it over Kyle’s head. The smell is nauseating. Kyle thinks he’s going to throw up. But he holds it back. He’s not going to show his brothers he’s weak.

Michael and Kevin lean in close and whisper in his ear.

“Relax buddy,” they say. “The worst is over. Here’s what happens next. You stay here. We go inside and go to bed. As soon as we get inside, you can start trying to get loose. Once you’re free, you’re done. Just get this mess and you cleaned up in time. That includes taking the trash bins to the curb. Mom and dad will be home in 90 minutes. If you get out and everything cleaned up, you’ve proven that you’re tough enough to be a Red Devil. Understand?”

Kyle nods.

“Good,” Kevin says. “Get to work.” The boys turn and leave, heading back into the house. Before they close the door, the boys turn to him. “Congratulations….maybe.” They laugh and close the door.

Kyle instantly gets to work frantically untying the ropes binding on his wrists. Ten minutes later, he was free. He frantically looks around for his clothes.

“Those assholes took my clothes with them,” he scowls to himself.

Kyle grabs the garden hose and begins to clean himself off. The cold water is painful as it hits his skin in the frigid Seattle October night. Next, he grabs a garden shovel and cleans up all of the rotting food scraps. He works rapidly, shaking in the cold night. Once the Food scraps are cleaned up, he needs to hose down the patio. There can be no mess or evidence for his parents to find. That would mean being grounded for weeks.

Once the mess is cleaned up, he has one last challenge. He needs to get both garbage bins to the curb for pick up. How the hell is he going to get bins to the curb while in his underwear? More humiliation. Or initiation?

He just has to go for it. He takes the first bin to the curb and places its place. One down. At that moment, he sees a pair of headlights turning onto Queen Anne Boulevard from Smith Street. Kyle dives behind the stone wall, letting the car pass. One more bin to go. Kyle darts back to the side yard for the second bin. He grabs it and runs it to the curb, placing it next to the first. Mission accomplished. He turns to run up the driveway and back to the house for safety. He dashes into the house, up the stairs to his room and into the shower. He stands under the warm water trying to warm up.

“Did you get your work done?” The boys jokingly laugh from Michael’s room.

“Fuck off,” Kyle snaps. He slams shut the bathroom door to Michael’s room.

“Congratulations,” the boys yell through the door. “You’ve proved you’re good enough to be one of us.”

Kyle doesn’t reply. He finishes his shower, gets dressed, and sits back down at his desk.

“What the hell just happened?” He asks himself. “I’m in,” he answers himself. “That’s a good thing…” He sits at his desk stunned in thought. “Was it worth it?” He asks himself. “Yes,” he answers himself. “I am now part of the in crowd. Nobody can mess with me.” He sighs. He is actually trying to hold back tears. He can’t let his brothers see him this weak.
But was it worth it?” Kyle picks up his calculator and starts to get back to work on his statistics homework.

“It’s best not to dwell on it. I’ve got to get this work done before Dad gets home.”

Seattle: Queen Anne High School — One Week Later

Everywhere Kyle goes through high school, Kyle notices Bobby Delvecchio’s graffiti. His eye is now trained to spot Bobby’s handwriting, he finds slurs in library books, written on bathroom stalls, on bulletin boards, even on scraps of paper dropped in the hall for others to find.

And as the week moves on, Bobby’s messages spread beyond Arnav and become more brazen and crueler. It’s as if Bobby is testing the limits of how far he can go without getting caught. Kyle now finds slurs scrawled in nearly every bathroom, locker, stairwell, and outdoor bench. Nobody is safe. Bobby’s themes have shifted to more vulnerable targets, ugliest student lists, who’s getting held back, outing lists.

At this point, there’s a steady line of parents in Principal Snyder’s office, furious about what’s being written about their children. Arnav’s parents are threatening legal action. The student body divided; some think it’s funny; others take it seriously and are furious, searching for the culprit.

Teachers and staff patrol the hallways between classes. Extra lookouts are posted at every possible potential graffiti target, stairwells, bathrooms, and supply rooms. But with a student body of over 2,000 spread across four buildings, they can’t always protect everything. To make matters worse, the extra lookouts now make Kyle’s bathroom schedules even more risky. If he is caught in the third-floor bathroom between periods, he knows he will become a prime suspect.

“I’m staying out of it,” Kyle repeats to himself, as he spots a new piece of graffiti in a library book.

After school, Kyle attends soccer practice. Tommy and Bobby Delvechio are there. But the afternoon workout session is tense. Every time Kyle and Bobby battle for the ball, one on offense, one on defense, fight for the ball, Bobby mutters to Kyle:

“Are you with us? Or are you a snitch? Because if you aren’t with us, you can kiss this team goodbye.” Kyle keeps his head in the game, but it’s obvious his performance is off. Three bad passes and no shots on goal. He glances over to the sidelines and sees his brothers, just finished with their varsity team practice, watching his miserable performance.

“Great, more ammunition they can use against me,” he says to himself. “They are going to love telling mom and dad about this. I’m probably grounded when I get home.”

After practice, Kyle showers as quickly as possible. He just wants to get home and avoid his brothers and parents. He’ll tell them he has a lot of homework to get done.

As he heads back to his locker, he notices a group clustered around the locker of another freshman player, Alex Martinez. Alex, with the help of a few friends, is trying to scrub off new graffiti sprawled across Alex’s locker door.

Faggot Watch: Alex Martinez is Next Out of the Closet!

Alex looks over at Kyle. “Do you know who did this?”

“No. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I wish I could believe you,” Alex retorts. “Dude, we’ve been playing soccer together since the earliest leagues. You know me, now you can’t stand up for me? What a dick.”

Kyle wants to say something, anything, but can’t bring himself to it. He lowers his head, turns, and walks to his own locker. There, he sees Tommy and Bobby Delvechio laughing as quietly as they can.

Seattle: Queen Anne High School — Friday Morning

Kyle is hoping for a quiet day. As he arrives at school, he plans to stop by his locker and use the bathroom before class. But before he can sneak into the bathroom, he is intercepted by the school’s Principal, Mr. Snyder waiting in the hallway.

“Mr. Kelly,” Snyder calls out. “I need to speak with you for a moment. Please come to my office.”

Kyle tries to stay calm. He hasn’t done anything. “Just stay calm,” Kyle coaches himself as he enters Mr. Snyder’s office. He takes a deep breath as Mr. Snyder closes the door.

“Mr. Kelly, I need your help,” Mr. Snyder says

“Anything,” Kyle replies, trying to act relaxed.

“I’ll get right at it. There was an incident last night. Vandalism in the boys’ locker room after soccer practice. A slur was written on another boy’s locker,” Mr. Snyder says.

“Yes, I saw,” Kyle mumbles.

“You know this graffiti is everywhere,” Snyder continues. “Whoever gets caught, and they will get caught, will be expelled. They’ll be responsible for paying to clean up all the damaged property.”

“I understand,” Kyle says, eyes on the floor. The stress and anxiety are eating him alive; his I.B.S. is burning through his stomach like acid.

“I’m asking you to keep your eyes and ears open. If you see, hear, or know something, you can tell me anonymously. The guilty party will never know who told me. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes,” Kyle answers. “I’m not feeling well. May I be excused?”

“Of course,” Snyder says. “Have a great day.”

Before Snyder can finish, Kyle bolts from his seat and rushes out. In the hall, he sees Bobby and Tommy Delvechio standing at the end of the hall. They clearly spot him.

“Kyle,” they call.

Kyle turns his head and sees them. But he can’t hold it.

“I can’t talk now,” he yells at them. “I’ll see you in study hall.”

He needs a bathroom now. No time for his usual spots, he runs across the hall into the nearest boys’ bathroom. At that moment Mr. Snyder comes out of his office. He sees the interaction between the boys and gets curious.

“Bobby, Tommy,” he says to them. “Get to class. First period bell has rung.”

“Yes sir,” they reply. The two boys look at each other wondering what had just happened. They look at each other.

“Did he just snitch?” They ask each other.

Inside the bathroom, Kyle searches for a stall, but stops, stunned. He’s not alone. Standing by the mirror is Arnav Patel, one hand holding a rag, the other a can of cleaning spray. On the mirror is another slur:

ARNAV PATEL = CURRY STINK. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM.

They lock eyes. Kyle doesn’t have time to speak; he runs into a stall, drops his pants, and sits down just in time. He groans as his stomach gives way. Heavy breathing. Sweating. Arnav hears the distress and approaches the door.

“Are you okay in there?” Arnav asks. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Fuck off,” Kyle snaps. “Leave me alone.”

“I understand what is wrong. My friend is the same way, has the same condition,” Arnav says.

“I said fuck off!” Kyle yells, punching the stall wall.

“Okay, I will,” Arnav says calmly. “But answer me one thing first.” He pauses. “What did I ever do to you?”

That single simple question cuts Kyle deeper than any aggressive comeback Arnav could have thrown at him. Kyle buries his head in his hands in shame. He hears the spray can be set down, and Arnav starts to leave.

“I’ll give you your privacy,” he says as he exits.

In high school, there are no secrets. The rumor mill moves fast. By the end of second period, every student knows Kyle Kelly was called to Principal Snyder’s office. All day between classes, Kyle hears whispers.

“Is he the guy doing it?” “It has to be him; he’s always in the bathroom.”

The end of the day can’t come fast enough. Kyle has a soccer game after school. During the game, he plays hard, but everything feels off. The team ignores his directions. He is shut out from getting the ball. His own teammates won’t pass to him. Bobby and Tommy ignore every direction Kyle gives them. When Kyle is open, the twins ignore him. Kyle is out there alone. The team eventually loses 3–0.

“Another shit show to report to mom and dad,” he laments as he walks off the field.

“Way to go, Kyle” his brothers taunt him as he walks past.

“Fuck off,” he blasts back not stopping to defend himself or tell them what is really going on. “Why give them more ammunition?” He says to himself. It’s easier not to tell them anything.

In the locker room, the air is tense and silent. Kyle reaches his locker. Bobby and Tommy aren’t there; Kyle assumes they left early. Kyle removes his uniform, folding and packing his dirty clothes in an orderly way in his gym bag, wraps a towel around his waist, and heads for the showers.

In the shower room, he finds his teammates standing and staring. He notices the shock on their faces. They turn to look at Kyle as he enters. One step inside, he sees the words scrawled in ink on the tile:

KYLE KELLY CRAPS HIS PANTS!

Kyle realizes he is now the target. Panicking, he grabs his towel and tries to wipe off the words. No luck. He sprays water from the shower, but still nothing. The other boys leave as Kyle desperately tries to scrub away any trace. Still nothing. Completely broken, he collapses in tears, water running down his face. He feels ruined. This will spread across the student body rumor mill like wildfire. He’ll be the campus joke in less than an hour. He is alone. Nobody reaches out to help him. They like to stay and watch the spectacle unfold. This is going to be great cafeteria talk tomorrow. But nobody will step up and give him the help he needs. Kyle realizes that’s ok.

“This is how it is,” he says to himself. “I am alone and nobody will have my back. At least I know that now.”

As he sits alone on the shower room floor, the steam from the hot water fills the room. “That’s ok,” Kyle says to himself. This way he knows nobody can see the tears starting to stream down his face.

After a few minutes, Kyle realizes he can’t sit here all night. He has to get up. To move. As he starts to rally himself, his sadness begins to morph into anger.

“Arnav,” he whispers. “That little fucker did this. He wants revenge. I’ll fucking kill him.”

Kyle picks himself up. Ignoring the stares and whispers from the others, he pushes through the few boys still standing around, watching. He’s not going to acknowledge them or give them any satisfaction of showing his tears.

He charges back to his locker to get dressed. He quickly dresses, runs a hand through his short red hair, and sits on the bench to put on his shoes. Seething, he punches his locker door with all his might.

It’s then he sees that the locker next to him has popped open, the force of his punch rattling it loose. This is the locker Bobby used earlier that day. Kyle reaches out to close it, but something is jamming it. Opening the door, his world turns upside down.

The object holding the door ajar rolls out, a thick-tip black Sharpie marker. Kyle’s seen this marker before, in study hall. It’s Bobby’s marker, wrapped with the distinctive red duct tape. He flashes back earlier: “Stop! Those are my new pens. This one cost me twenty bucks!”

Now, Kyle stands, marker in hand, and walks back to the shower room. He uncaps the marker and presses the extra-thick tip to one of the letters on the tile. It’s a perfect match. Kyle is certain, his own teammate, Bobby Delvecchio, has turned on him.

He returns to his locker, grabs his backpack, and starts to head out.

“I wonder if Principal Snyder is still here. I can speak to him now. Bobby will be expelled by Monday,” he gloats to himself. Kyle hesitates, turning the marker over in his hand. Its weight feels different now, heavier. Before he leaves the locker room, he pauses. Something, a realization hits him. He sits down on the nearest bench to think this through.

“If I tell Principal Snyder what happened, it’s over for Bobby and Tommy, they’ll get kicked out. And me? I might get dragged down too. They’ll say I knew the whole time that I went along with it. I might lose as much as they do.”

But holding the marker, everything shifts. This is power. His shield. Bobby and Tommy will be afraid of him now. He can blow up their world, any time he wants. If he keeps this, he holds the cards. They can’t mess with him. At last, he gets to make the rules. At last, he gets to feel safe.

Order. That’s what he’ll create, whether anyone else likes it or not. In that moment, something in Kyle changes. A bully, with real power, is born.

As he leaves the school, the cold Seattle fall air stings his face. But tonight, it’s not going to bother him. Across the parking lot, he sees two figures standing in the shadows of the tall elm trees. He knows who it is. The guilty always return to the scene of the crime. Kyle, with no fear, walks directly toward them.

The two twin brothers stand there, holding their ground. They are trying to send a message that they are not intimidated. They still believe they have control over Kyle. They don’t come to meet him halfway. As he reaches the boys, Kyle puts the marker up the sleeve of his coat.

“You did it,” Kyle says. His voice is low and even. “You did all of it.”

Bobby’s grin wobbles. “So what? It’s a joke.”

Kyle stares into Bobby’s eyes. The directness throws Bobby off. He’s never been challenged by Kyle like this before.

“Listen, we heard you snitched to Snyder,” Bobby tries. “It’s all good. They’ve got nothing on us.”

“Think of it this way,” Tommy chimes in. “If one of us gets hit, that takes the focus off us for a while. You’re taking one for the team, buddy.”

But Kyle isn’t buying it.

“It’s like what I said before. Are you with us?” Bobby tries.

“No,” Kyle replies. “You’ve got the question wrong. The question you should be asking is, are you with me?”

The boys look confused. Then their looks turn to alarm as Kyle slides the marker from his coat sleeve to his hand. Bobby looks down. He laughs at first. Then his laugh dies because he realizes the marker is not just a pen. It’s proof. It is a boot on his throat. Bobby can see the red duct tape. All four know this is a guilty verdict.

Kyle thinks of every joke these guys told at his expense. Power is not pretty. Power is simple. Power is protection.

“You want to keep doing your art?” Kyle asks. He taps the marker against his palm.

“You want to keep your spot on the team? Then you stop. You stop and you say nothing. You do not touch anybody’s locker. You do not touch Arnav. You keep your mouth shut when someone asks. You do what I say.”

Bobby swallows. Then he sees the hard set of Kyle’s jaw. He nods once.

Kyle tucks the marker back into his coat sleeve. He will set the rules for who laughs and who is laughed at. He will be orderly. He will be feared. He has learned the single lesson the school and his parents taught him in a hundred quieter ways: power protects.

“I’m not ratting you out, yet,” Kyle says. “Power is knowing the truth and having the courage to use it to keep yourself safe.” He looks at each of them. “You will all continue as before. But now, you report to me. I keep the order. If any of you step out of line, if any of you so much as thinks about crossing me, I will use this pen to fuck up your lives. Understand?”

The twins nod. No other words need to be spoken. Kyle turns and walks away. The shame and panic Kyle usually felt dissipates, now replaced by a cold, guarded focus. He now has a far greater force, the boundless, cruel confidence of a new kind of bully.