New Boy

He started at our school last year. No one knows where he came from or who he is. When you are talking to him, he doesn’t always seem like a person. He doesn’t seem very smart and he feels very distant when he is talking to you. It is almost like he knows something you don’t and feels superior to you.

I have always been intrigued by new kids. I have sympathy for them. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that I was the new kid. I also like them because you get to be whoever you want to them. They know nothing about you. It’s like getting a fresh start without the stress of beginning again completely.

It was the first day of seventh grade, and I had the same feeling like I wasn’t real that I get every first day of school. It is like my stomach is filled with air and my brain feels weird almost as if I am looking down at myself. It’s like I am not me and I am inhabiting someone else's body. I am not the usual me, but I don’t know if anyone can tell other than me.

Our teacher seemed very nice and I was looking forward to a good year. Homeroom started about 15 minutes earlier, so I didn’t think that anyone else would be coming when he walked in. He has a dark brown afro that for some reason I found attractive and was wearing a green camo shirt and pants that I, again for some reason, really like.

Like I mentioned before, I am not really myself and the strange space in my head seems to have tons of room to think about the new kid while our teacher explains basically what this year is going to be like and a bit about himself- it was his first year teaching in our school and he was very excited to get to know us all.

I thought about how mysterious the new kid looked- how the whole room seemed to go silent when he walked in- how he didn’t say a word and sat himself down in the back corner of the room. If I had done all that, people would just think I was shy, which I am, but the way he did it had a certain swagger. He seemed confident and mysterious rather than shy and nervous.

The year went on and he seemed to take a liking to me and my group of friends. He would walk up to us and talk to us even though he never felt fully there. Our lockers were diagonal to each other.

Every now and then, he would get “mad” at me. I say it this way because when it would happen, he always wore a smile on his face and laughed. And the smile and the laugh were happy, not filled with anger. They were the kind you would give to express joy, and they thoroughly contradicted what he did. He hit me in the most playful way possible. Like a friend you would get upset with and then nudge carefully, ending the argument, but it wasn’t just a nudge. It really hurt. I would laugh it off and not make a big deal out of it. I prided myself on being one of those girls who always seems laid back and fun and he was not going to ruin that. But I cannot help but wonder what would have happened if I had expressed the pain. Would he have stopped or just hit me harder?

I truly don’t think it was a mean-hearted hit but then again, I didn’t know as much about him then as I do now. I might have thought about the incident in an entirely different light.

The next year, he wasn’t on my team. I will mention now that my mom taught that grade so she had inside information for me.

He wasn’t on her team either which I was thankful for. I can’t imagine the things he could have said to her. Even though we didn’t have any classes together, he still talked to me in the hallways. He never hit me again but the things he said were strange. Coming from someone else's mouth, they may have sounded like a joke, but from his, the words sounded more like a threat. He said things like, “I know where you live.” I couldn’t hear any joking in his tone, or catch a glimpse of that playful smile I once knew.

Sometimes, he would come up behind me at my locker and whisper creepy things in my ear. I never turned around. I already knew who it was. I would say hi and he would be surprised I knew it was him. Then, he would leave. One day, a friend of mine said something about this in front of my mom. Later that day, my mom told me to stay away from him as best I could without making an enemy out of him. She told me that whenever he said things like that to me, I should tell her so that they could inform his therapist. She said it was the best way for me to help him.

This was the first time I knew there was something really wrong with him. I always knew he was different in the distant way he talked but I didn’t know how bad he really was. She told me they think he was/is abused and although that’s horrible and he deserves help and a safe place, she didn’t want me to be involved. His teacher said, “If anyone is going to drag a girl out behind the school and kill her, it will be him.”

Considering how much he seemed to like being around me, this frightened me. He would come over to our table at lunch sometimes, and my friends would be rude to him to get him to go away. I never said anything. I also never told my friends what I knew about him. I’ve gotten used to keeping things from them that my mom tells me. I have insider information on practically my whole grade and no one knows.

Now, I have a boyfriend, and he is strong, handsome, and amazing, and the new kid has begun to leave me alone more. I think he’s scared. He doesn’t talk to me anymore, but I notice the looks he gives me in the hallway when we pass by each other. His eyes travel down my body and then back up to my eyes. I try not to let him know I see this, but I do, and it bothers me. Now, I know to be careful with getting involved with overly confident new kids.