The Rite of Boys, Part 2

The main characters interact with each other here!

"Um, hi." I am truly a master of communication.

Festy lifts her head just enough to appraise me, then drops it again. Whatever she's thinking, I have no idea.

"Edge Harper," she says without looking at me.

"You remember me?" I ask, surprised. In the schools, I wasn't exactly popular.

"Yeah. You were always pissing off the teachers." A beat. "Not exactly my first choice, but you're not the worst out here.

"You mean like Floppy Tits?"

Propping herself up on her elbows, she stares at me. It's her turn to be surprised.

"The guy who was just here," I clarify.

"Oh. Yeah." Her voice has a slight quiver in it. "Well, come on then. You chased him off, so... Just get it over with." She may as well as spit as said the last part.

Stepping over to her, I crouch down. "What happened to your leg?"

Again, she casts a weird look at me. "What?"

"Your leg. What happened?"

"Oh. It was Buck."

I swallow. "Ah... him."

Festy seems lost in thought for a second. "Yeah... Something was... weird about him, and he cut my leg up when I tried to run. I don't know how I got away." She cringes, and grasps at her leg. "Then--what'd you call him? 'Floppy Tits'--see, that's the sort of s**t that got you in trouble--found me and took advantage of my injury."

"Uh huh." I reach over and unzip the pack that hangs at my side. "Here, I haven't used any of my medical supplies yet.Can I patch it up for you?" Bending over her leg, I set to work with alcohol pads, disinfectant, bandages, and stitches. Her clothes are torn and dirty, and I get the sense that not all of the history on them was written by Floppy Tits's chase.

Makes sense; she's pretty, and therefore a prime target out here.

"What are you do--OW!" She winces when I touch her wound. It's a nasty, jagged gash, but not so deep as to be life-threatening or even really that serious.

"I'm trying to help you. Stop moving."

"Well do you think you can help me a bit more tenderly?!"

"Sorry... Ah, I wonder if I have any numbing agent," I say while rummaging through the my first aid kit.

"What the f**k are you doing anyway?"

"Ah, found some!" I pull out medicinal spray in a small green bottle.

"Hello? I asked what the hell you were doing."

"Actually, you asked what the f**k I was doing."

She wrinkles her nose and her lip pulls up. "Whatever. Shouldn't you, like, be--"

"Maybe later. Sorry, but I just can't seem to get turned on by a bloody gash for some reason." I use the beat to spray the numbing agent. "It's why I only flirted with girls three weeks out of the month."

She makes a sound--not quite a laugh, but a similar reaction. "And you wonder why your teachers hated y--OW!"

"Sorry. Alcohol pad. I guess the agent isn't working in full yet." I apply a little more. "Oh, and by the way? I knew exactly why my teachers hated me."

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

I shrug. "I have a general idea."

She surprises me by smiling. "Loser," she says. It's an insult, but the way she said it didn't sound mean. Well ok, that mean. "Give it here. Let me do it."

Author's Note

This is a short story, but due to the average internet browser's attention span, I'm breaking it up into parts. Go crazy on it, but please tell me what I need to work on.