Part 1

Hank Miller was slamming me into a locker, ten minutes before the start of First Period. Another typical day at Plato Smith High School.

“You stay away from my girlfriend, Shorty, got it?” Hank said. As if there was the slightest chance that I hadn’t already gotten the message clearly, months ago. Hank lifted me so that my face was even with his (and my feet were off the floor). “Anna Kay deserves better than to be seen with a runt like you,” he said.

Which was certainly true, at least from Hank’s point of view. Not only was Anna Kay Henderson a cheerleader, she was stacked. As for me, Marvin Harper, I’m the shortest guy in the senior class, at 5’2”. Shortest by several inches. While Hank was the starting quarterback. Yeah, there was a definite status-difference here.

“Um, Hank?” Anna Kay said, in a small voice.

“Later, cupcake,” Hank said. “I gotta explain some facts of life to shrimp-guy here.”

Anna Kay said, “Hank, I asked Marvin to help me, tutor me in math.”

“Yeah? That right?” Hank asked me. I nodded. Hank smiled evilly. “Well then, maybe I can persuade Tiny Tim here to do your math homework, not just help you with it. That way, Anna Kay, you and I can spend more time together.”

“Vat are you doink to Marvin?” a female voice demanded.

“Go away, `Princess Anastasia,’” Hank said, without turning his face away from mine.

Hank didn’t turn his head to look at Natasha Ludmenkov, but I did. Mainly because Natasha was definitely worth looking at. Right now, she had her arms crossed, she was tapping a foot, and she was glaring at Hank.

Hank still was looking straight at me. “So, you tutoring Anna Kay because you expect to get into her panties?”

“What, do I look as stupid as you are?” I said.

“So, you doing it for money? How much you paying him, Anna Kay?”

Anna Kay looked unhappy to be part of all this. “Hank, Marvin offered to help me without charging me a cent.”

I said, “In class it’s easy to tell she’s struggling with the math. She needs help, and I can help her, so I offered to tutor her for free.”

“Oh? Isn’t that nice,” Hank said to me. “You’re a real nice guy, aintcha?”

“He is. He is nice guy,” Natasha said. “So go let him.”

At last, Hank looked at Natasha. “Run off now, child. Let the adults talk.”

“I vill not leafe until you go let him,” Natasha declared.

Hank turned to me. “You need for skirts to defend you now? Wow, you really are a girly-boy.”

Hank finally turned to look at pale goddess Natasha. “Bell’s about to ring. You’ll be late to class.”

The leggy Russian girl gave my tormenter a smile. “So long as you hold Marvin, I stand here. Soon or late, teacher is seeink four pipple in hallway. If you still bullyink Marvin then, thinks not good for you. Maybe you expel, hm? I stand here, checkmate.”

And sure enough, the Tardy Bell did ring then.

Hank let me go. “We’ll talk later, pee-wee,” he said, before walking away with Anna Kay. Anna Kay glanced back to show me an apologetic face.

As I was donning my backpack, Natasha nodded toward Hank. “I am him not likink. Totally not likink. Hank Miller is”—the Russian word that she said did not sound flattering.

I started to walk to my first-period class, having decided that going to the office and requesting a tardy slip was asking for trouble. But as soon as I started to walk toward Physics class, Natasha turned to walk alongside me.

Natasha hadn’t asked my permission, of course. There were three reasons that Natasha had been nicknamed “Princess Anastasia” here at school, and her truckloads of self-confidence was the main reason. Yes, Natasha was Russian, and yes, she had the looks and the poise of a model, but mainly her nickname came from walking into any room as though she owned the place.

I had not spoken since she had taken up position as my wingman. She said, “You think Hank truth is tellink? You are ashamed that girl is rescuink you? You are thinkink you girly-boy?”

“Ashamed? Yeah,” I said. “I graduate in three weeks, and I by myself still can’t stop anyone from shitting on me.”

“I am sorry. But I can not let you to nurse clinic is goink, while I am the hands wrinkink.”

By now we were in front of Physics class. I put my hand on the doorknob to go in, but then Natasha put her hand on my shoulder. She said, “You are good man, Marvin Stephanovich Harper. I am you watchink. You should get gooder life than you is gettink.”

Soon a genie would come to agree with Natasha, and my life would get “gooder” than I could possibly imagine. But I need to set the stage first, O Reader.