Chapter Text
A few weeks have gone by since what Sal and his friends started referring as "The Bologna Incident", and with that came some changes in Nockfell High.
Bologna suddenly was not served for lunch anymore, to the group’s relief. And Chug’s slight disappointment. He used to like bologna in general. But finding out about the newfound lack of bologna thursday surely eased his mind anyway. Nobody could ever see bologna in the same light again upon discovering Mrs. Packerton’s ingredient of choice, not even him.
Mrs. Packerton had died. Not a single person had missed the news. The next school day, almost everyone could be heard talking about it. Some cheering, glad not to ever have to be subjected to one of her algebra test again. Some muttering about how brutal, tragic or simply sudden her death was. How you could one day see and have your opinions of someone without knowing that this would be your very last time encountering them at all.
They had to sit through some speech made by the headmaster in the gym, about the loss of a great teacher and how they all would carry her memory in their heart. Most students would probably carry her memory to the trash, excited to forget about the "old hag", as Larry would call her. And so would they.
Looking back, Sal was glad she liked him enough not to end up on the menu.
…Yeah, he really couldn’t wait to forget about her, too. Even though part of him knew that this wouldn’t happen.
When they first heard the news, they were shell shocked, to say the least. After getting Ashley back, they all silently agreed to go back to Sal’s apartment, slumping down on the couch, not knowing where to begin. None of them felt like parting ways just yet.
They were all gathered in the cramped kitchen, preparing dinner together, when Sal’s dad got home. He threw his keys on the coffee table before greeting the teenagers, now used to seeing them more often than not. Sal told him to go relax in the living room, as they had planned on making one extra plate for him. Henry gave them a lopsided smile and nodded before making his way back to the living room, sinking into his couch and grabbing the tv remote, turning on the news.
It was like the world froze, when they heard the anchor saying the words "Mrs. Packerton, teacher at Nockfell High, died in a car crash this evening".
Todd, Larry, Ash and Sal dumbly stared at each other, wide eyed and speechless.
Once again, a silent agreement was made between the four. As soon as they finished their dinner, they moved to Sal’s room, careful to close the door after them.
"Holy shit, man. The old hag is dead? For real?" Larry began, pacing around the room. "Yeah, that’s… crazy," Ash, who was sitting cross legged on the floor, continued.
"It feels weirdly coincidental," Todd stated, as level-headed as ever.
"Hell yeah it does. I mean, they serve us fucking human meat at lunch, we sneak into her apartment to discover the severed head of a goat in her freezer, her barely still alive husband chained in her bedroom, some temple underneath the apartment building and a fucking pile of human bones—not a small one at that—and now she just died, all on the same day? Talk about living in a hellhole. This is insane." Larry stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the others.
"Calm down Larry. Sal’s dad is still next door so keep your voice down, getting so worked up’s not gonna help," Ash added, cutting Larry’s spiraling thoughts, cringing at his words but seemingly trying to keep her composure for the both of them.
Silence stretched on for a beat before Sal stepped away from the door and closer to the three teenagers, asking what everyone was wondering about but didn’t dare to say. "Do you guys think her death has anything to do with us discovering about the bologna?"
"I think so," Todd pushed his glasses up before finishing for all of them.
The six of them simultaneously placed their trays on the table they had claimed as theirs throughout the months, taking their designated seats in the loud cafeteria. They all eyed their sorry soggy slices of cold pizza for a bit. "Man…there I had hoped we would get something somewhat edible for a change instead of the," Ashley fake gagged before continuing, "bologna." In all honesty, all of them did, aside from Chug, who was more than happy to have two pizza days a week. "But I think we can officially give up hope, it’s been the sixth pizza day in three weeks already." She gestured at their plates, pouting. "They could’ve at least given us something new, I don’t know."
"Not that your talk about bologna and pizza isn’t incredibly interesting, Ash, but I can’t hold it in anymore," Larry interjected, waving his hand around. "I can’t be the only one who noticed, right?" He looked around his friends expectantly.
"Stop beating around the bush, Larry. I know you like to think we can read your thoughts, but against your better judgement, we still can’t," Todd answered without bothering to glance in his direction.
At that, Larry pushed his tray away, crossing his arms over the table, his expression closed off. "Come on, guys. Phelps. He hasn’t tried to put up a fight with any of you for the last few weeks either, right? Hasn’t shoved you against a locker or anything."
"Oh, that." Todd looked up for a second before resuming to taking his packed lunch out, having learned not to trust their cafeteria for a decent meal.
"So you did notice!" Larry exclaimed, pushing himself back on his seat.
"It’s true that he’s been-" Ash put her cutlery down in thought, searching for a fitting word, "-quiet. Though, the glares he still sends my way surely aren’t." Her face scrunched as she visualized the last time she walked past him. "But yeah, his aggression isn’t as physical anymore, I guess." Maple nodded next to Chug, a muffled "Yeah!" coming out between two mouthfuls of pizza.
Larry noted a lack of answer coming from his right. Sal’s head was lowered, his eyes glued on his pizza. "Sal, man, you’re oddly quiet. Did Phelps do anything? Do I need to throw a punch?" Larry’s concern often came out through protectiveness.
"No, no. Nothing happened, Lar. I was just thinking about what Ash was saying," Sal strayed mid sentence. He momentarily stopped cutting his slice of pizza into tiny pieces, hesitating to keep his thoughts to himself, "and I kinda feel bad for Travis, bologna seemed to be the only thing he ever ate." Though he couldn’t deny that it was probably best for Travis anyway. He was better off not eating rather than to involuntarily be involved in cannibalism any more than he already was.
A large hand clasped Sal’s shoulder, making him look away from his plate. "Slow down little dude, did I just hear 'feel bad' and 'Travis' in the same sentence? Are you sick or something? Did you hit your head or..?"
"What? No- I- Okay. I’m not supposed to tell anyone so promise me you won’t tell him I said that-"
"It’s not like any of us would willingly talk to Travis anyway, but sure," Todd curtly stated, next to Sal.
"-But on the day of the Bologna Incident, I made a stop to the bathroom while you guys were in the science lab and I found Travis there," Sal cut himself, thinking back to Travis’ words, "Don’t tell anyone about this or you’re dead! Er- I mean, just don’t tell anyone about this. Okay?"
Even though Travis was a massive asshole most of the time, he decided to place some trust in Sal with this, and Sal could not betray that small foundation. He carefully chose his next words. "He wasn’t feeling well so I tried to talk to him and we kinda made up?" Good enough, right? Technically none of this was a lie. He was simply omitting the balled up letter he found on the dirty bathroom floor next to the trash. And what their little talk was really about.
Sal could never get himself to hide anything from his best friends. Meeting them was probably the best thing that had happened to him, they supported and trusted in him no matter what, and so did he. They made him feel alive for the first time again since his mom died. Sal, on the contrary, could only do so much to repay them for everything. But on the other hand, this was definitely not his place to talk and he could only respect that.
"You made up?" Larry was the first to talk, unclasping his hand from Sal’s shoulder, "With Can’t-Say-A-Sentence-Without-Throwing-In-A-Slur church boy Travis Phelps?!" He spat out. Sal winced at the metalhead’s words, Larry’s disdain for the blonde never flew above anyone’s head. "What world are we living in, man." Larry took a sip from his milk carton, similarly as one would a shot of alcohol.
"I mean, yeah," Sal sighed, "but everyone has their issues you know? I think he just needs someone to lean on," he said, stabbing one of his tiny pieces of food before carefully fitting it in the small gap between the unclasped lower part of his prosthetic and his jaw.
Larry’s expression softened. "Sal, my dude, you’re definitely far too nice for your own good. This someone doesn’t need to be you." Larry lightly tapped his index finger to Sal’s chest to emphasize his point. "The guy bullies you, you owe him nothing. He’s not worth your time." Everyone around the table made a sign of agreement.
"It’s not like we’re friends anyway. He’s not actively bullying any of us anymore, I’d say he’s even been avoiding us all together since then. So only good came out of this in the end," Sal shrugged, "and making up doesn’t mean I forgive everything he’s done to any of us, just that I’m willing to hear him out." His friends looked between each other, none finding a counter-argument. Sal, in turn, resumed eating.
He had turned that conversation in the bathroom over in his mind at least a hundred times since that day. Travis’ secret definitely wasn’t the most shocking thing he discovered that day but it was certainly up there.
The entire time, Sal had thought Travis had been bullying his friends for generic reasons. Todd for being confidently gay, Larry for his long hair and listening to 'the devil’s music', Ash and Maple for their respectively alternative and emo fashion sense, and Chug for being too chubby in his eyes. And specifically targeting him for usual ones, his prosthetic, his height, for not being the thinnest guy around either or not fitting in the gender norms with, most noticeably in an educational institution, his pigtails. And all of the above as well. Unfortunately typical for the son of some overly religious and bigoted preacher. But after reading that letter? It was obvious it was coming from some unresolved issues on his part as well.
Sal had also noticed the bruises and particularly the never fading black eye. Frankly speaking, you had to be blind or purposefully ignorant not to. Nevertheless, just as anyone else, and too tired of the bullying to care, Sal had brushed it off as coming from the oh so frequent fights Travis seemed to find himself in. Thinking about it, it was probably the reason why he was getting into so many fights in the first place. A lot of repressed anger to let out and the perfect cover story for whatever his father did to him.
Sal could only imagine what it must be like for Travis, having to live through the consequences of something he has no control over contradicting his beliefs and everything he has been taught in the past. Especially with his father being the very figure of these beliefs. A daily reminder of what he should be, or more precisely what society expects him to be.
Travis reminded him a bit of himself, on some other points. He was very secretive about what was going on in his home life and who he truly was behind those giant walls he built to protect himself. But from the glimpse of vulnerability he got out the blonde, his personality was rooted in deep insecurities, self doubt, questionable coping mechanisms and possibly misplaced blame as well. Maybe they were not all that different after all.