Becky’s Kiss by Nicholas Fisher
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a sports enthusiast. He writes adult horror under another name, but thought of
the idea for Becky’s Kiss while
coaching his son’s baseball team. Since the story involved high school drama he
decided to write his first young adult piece. When not writing or teaching,
Nicholas Fisher enjoys pizza, reality television, and playing the banjo. He
lives in Pennsylvania with his wife and his son goes to Arizona State
Connect with the Author Here:
A “country” type girl (from upstate New York) with long auburn hair, a small turned up nose, and sad puppy-dog eyes. Built slim and very athletic, though she thinks she is a klutz. Pretty, but she hasn’t learned quite yet how to “package” herself, so she thinks she comes off plain. When she tries out for the varsity baseball team at her high school and puts on the royal blue Rutledge Tigers hat, pulling all that hair through the hole in the back in a glorious ponytail, however, she realizes how shockingly pretty she is.
Only an inch or two taller than Becky, and the epitome of the “beautiful jock,” always seen wearing his favorite little league tournament jersey, not tucked in. He is a blonde with crystal blue eyes, arching eyebrows, and high cheekbones. Like a cherub. He is humble and quietly clever, the type that “wears skinny well.”
Tall with unkempt long black hair. Mole under one cheek. Peach fuzz goatee. Often wears an army jacket and dirty sneakers. Wise guy in class as well as the hallways. The type that tenses up the mood of the class, goading others to challenge the teacher, then leaning back in his chair saying “Oooh,” to instigate. The type of guy that cuts himself shaving and wears that little piece of toilet paper with the red dot on it into school.
Becky Michigan walks into 9th grade English class on the second day of school, slightly late, and the atmosphere is tense.
She pushed inside.
“Meyers…” Mr. Marcus called out.
“Here,” some guy said, his voice cracking a bit on the first ‘e,’ and the class laughing back at him. The chairs were arranged in the ‘U’ shape like yesterday, with Becky’s seat at the far corner under a Salinger poster. But today, all the desks had been pushed back farther, so close to the wall that she had to make kids shove in as she passed. Teachers were insane and cruel, they really, really were.
“Messersmith,” Mr. Marcus said.
“What! What?” She was had short hair and a ton of bracelets going up her arm. Mr. Marcus looked up with a thin smile.
“Take out your ear buds, and you’ll better know the volume of your voice.”
The girl was a statue. The smile on the teacher’s face vanished.
“I hear you! Whatever! She took them out and folded her arms. Becky rounded the near corner of the ‘U’ and banged her book bag on the laptop cart parked behind her, blunder number one of the day. Slow down! she thought. One step at a time, and of course, her bag swung back a tad and brushed the crown of this muscled guy in a black t-shirt, blunder number two and counting. He hunched in and rubbed the back of his crew cut.
“Head shot, dude. Hit in the head. Can I go to the nurse?”
“No,” Mr. Marcus replied.
“I gotta see the counselor,” someone else chipped in.
“I left my calculator on the bus,” another tried.
“My cell buzzed. It’s my mom. Can I take it?”
“What’s for homework?”
“It’s on the board.”
“Where’s the pencil sharpener?”
“Michigan,” Mr. Marcus said.
“Here.” She had arrived at her seat, and she’d also pretty much solved the mystery of the little rebellion going on. The guy sitting in the chair next to hers had been absent yesterday, and he was clearly establishing himself as the class troublemaker—tall and wiry, knees and elbows everywhere, flannel shirt with a rip in the elbow. He had chin-zits slightly covered by a peach fuzz goatee, haphazard hair curling up a bit on the sides, and a big mole under his left cheekbone. And all through Becky’s awkward entry, he’d been rocking back and forth in his chair, hooting at each outburst, and adding a little “Ooooh-ahhh” at each of Mr. Marcus’s retorts. He wasn’t even the one misbehaving, at least not in any provable way. He was just the instigator, sitting back and prodding.
He also had his foot up on Becky’s chair. Black Converse high top. Dirty too.