Classroom Throw-Up

In grade two, Mme Sorsdahl's class, Chris Boucher threw up in his desk behind me. He had skin you could almost see through. All the time. Not just when he was sick. When he stuck a flashlight in his mouth, he lit up like the glow-worm I was still sleeping with. And under his G.I. Joe t-shirt and cuorduroy pants were all kinds of angles where his bones were. During kindergarten, he wore a patch over his left eye and it made his seem tough. That didn't last long. He was a twin and his brother Nick was also in my class. Nick had cheeks the kind of red I make mine now with a cream and powder blush. He had thick lips that he couldn't quite harness, and he was always sucking back his saliva. Needless to say, he was Chris' antithesis and his nemesis. And as Chris groaned after up-chucking his lunch all over his desk, he knew he'd lost again to the one who was exactly one minute, sixteen seconds younger than he.