Kenny Spangler had a crush. Oh, sure, he knew it was just a crush – nothing more than temporary insanity – but the endurance of his feelings (or lack thereof) did nothing to protect his heart from the emotions involved. He watched her, April Moldova, from his perch under the monkey bars. She was a vision in her cheerleading outfit, all short skirt and pom-poms. She was busy, as always, rehearsing a cheer with her Stepford gal pals. He let out a long sigh like steam rushing from the valve of a pressure cooker. He was determined to talk to her some day.

                “She’s hot idn’t she, Ragweed?”

                The boy interrupting Kenny’s quiet observation was Richard Crown, a sixth grader, a year ahead of Kenny. Having failed twice, however, he was three years older. To most, Rich was a jerk – a well-known jerk – who got his kicks from the misery of others, especially if he was the cause. To Kenny, he wasn’t much more than an annoyance – one that had saddled him with the nickname “Ragweed” after a particularly bad asthma attack during gym class.

                “Leave me alone, Rich.” Kenny didn’t even look up at the other boy. He didn’t want to encourage continued conversation.

                “Leave you alone?” Rich slugged him in the arm. “Don’t start thinking you’re the boss o’me, Ragweed, or I might hafta teach you different.”

                “I beat your ass in front of everybody in school two months ago,” Kenny said. “Am I supposed to be intimidated now?”

                Rich sniffed hard, a disgusting snort that was a usual part of his bodily noise repertoire. “I guess not. Just kidding, mostly. You and me been friends since then, anyway.”

                “You stole my lunch money yesterday.”

                “You can’t prove that. Lots o’guys from gym know your locker combo.” Rich snorted again, then spit. “All I was sayin’ was she’s hot, man. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

                “Leave me alone, Rich. I mean it. This is the only time of the day I get to look at her.”

                “Shit. You can see her flippin’ and floppin’ around all over the place if you’d come to a game once in a while.”

                Kenny clenched his fist, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. “I can’t.”

                “Why not?”

                For the first time since their conversation started, Kenny made eye contact. “Oh, right,” Rich said. “I forgot how your dad is. That sucks, dude. Big time.” Kenny just turned his attention back toward the girls.

                “So, you gonna ask her out, or what?”

                “Or what.”

                “C’mon, Ragweed. Have some balls. Ask her out.” Rich threw a rock at Clinton Willis, a 4^th grader.

                “I’m ten, moron. Where am I going to ask her to go? My place? My dad would have an aneurism. School dance? I’d have to get in line.” Kenny knocked a rock out of Rich’s hand before he could wound anyone else. “Maybe in middle school, I can-“

                “Right. You’ll grow a pair by then. Prob’ly.”

                The bell rang, sending a wave of children scurrying into the building. Kenny and Rich let them swarm past, not turning toward the building until April had disappeared from sight.

                Rich did that disgusting snort/spit thing again. “I’m telling you, dude. Ask her out – or I’m gonna.”

                “If you do?” Kenny said.

                “Yeah?”

                “I’ll have to kick your ass again.”