Breaking Point!

Okay, once again I’m afraid I’m going to bust the party mood from the start. I need to vent steam about something that’s happened. I knew it was only a matter of time until things boiled over at school for Dom and today it finally happened. I so don’t blame him, and to be honest, I’m actually really proud of what he did. They say violence never changes anything, but I say that neanderthal had it coming.

What am I talking about? Dom for once not turning the other cheek! I was doing laps on the school track and saw everything.

To set the background to this little story, I’ll start with the lame nickname the idiots at school have christened Dom with, which is twisted. Of course we’re talking the same geniuses who labelled me grease monkey. Oh how they laughed when they came up with that original title. 

I guess my name is obvious enough, but before you think Dom’s handle is to do with his family being storm chasers, you’d be wrong. They’re actually referring to the fact he spends all his spare time in the diner helping his mom try and keep the family business going. In the teeny, tiny minds of the rich kids, that means he’s a loser. Their kind, with all their family money, have no idea what it means to have to work hard to just make ends meet. In my book, Dom is a regular hero for supporting Sue like that. Of course I guess I do my bit with dad’s garage as well.

But back to Dom… I suppose things at school were going to reach breaking point eventually. You see he plays, or I should say, played for the football team. Okay, I know technically that makes him a jock, but he’s so not typical of most of their breed. Anyway, it’s meant to be a sport and anyone can drop a pass. It happens. Get over it. But when Dom did it today, the team cap shouted at him, saying he’d dropped it because he’d got greasy fingers (lame reference to him flipping burgers). 

I mean who can blame Dom for what he did next? As punches go, it was worth it just for the way it wiped the sneer off cap’s face. Then off course the rest of the cap’s cronies beat the crap of Dom. By the time coach got there, it was all over. Everyone blamed Dom for starting the fight, which I suppose  technically he did, but he was provoked! Thing is, did Dom stand up for himself. In a word, no! Why? Because of some sort of warped honor code (I really wish I could shake some sense into him, sometimes). So of course, Coach has no choice but to kick him off the team. I tried to tell Coach I’d seen it all, but he wouldn’t listen, told me that it was down to Dom to come forward and say his piece. Which of course he refuses to (give me strength).

Okay, rather than strangling the whole football team with my bare hands, I need to cool my heels a bit and think fluffy thoughts. So some homework for you all… 

What’s the best soundtrack to listen to on the school bus to drown out the brain-dead banter from the back seat? You can have two songs. One for the way into school, probably full of hope, and the second for the way back, where that same hope has been crushed from your soul. I expect you to have your answers for me next week.

Right I’m off to give my best buddy a lecture.

Touchdown!

As you may have guessed I love tinkering with V8 engines. I guess most girls my age wouldn’t have a clue if they stuck their heads under the hood of a car about how it works, but I’m not most girls. Of course I blame dad. We’ve always been close, even more so since Mom died two years ago— 

Sorry zoned out there for a moment. I know this is a public blog, but it’s hard not to talk about my life without the personal bits creeping in. 

But like I was saying, Dad’s a fantastic mechanic and taught me everything I know about engines. I guess that was always going to happen when I grew up in the workshop and watching him work on car after car. I think I got hooked from the moment I was six and found my own toolbox waiting for me under the Christmas tree. Nowadays, the only mascara my face knows is the engine oil variety. Okay, I know what you’re thinking, but before you accuse me of being a Tomboy, I’ll have you know I do also have a girly side. I’ve even been known to wear a dress. Problem is everyone around here is to used to seeing me a grease monkey and not a lot more.

A good example happened today at school. I had a run in with one of personifications of everything I’m not, Carla, one of the cheerleading b-list celebrities. She made this comment to her friends, ‘Julia dresses like her dad picks out her wardrobe for her. Oh hang on – I guess that’s because her mom can’t do it anymore!’ Yeah, I know, I know. And of course she said it just loud enough for me to catch it as I walked past in the hallway. Normally, I would’ve let her nasty jibe slide, but any mention of Mom, hurts, really hurts, and I froze, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

Anyway, then I noticed Dom by his locker just the other side of her. He’s heard everything and is shaking his head. Do you know what he went and did? It was priceless. If I knew he was going to do that I would have filmed it on my phone. Anyway, Dom as calmly as you like, strolls up to Clara. He looks her straight in the eye and says, “Nice shade of lipstick you’ve got there.” She gives him the whole dipped chin and eye fluttering routine. Of course all the girls fancy Dom rotten, loner or not. But it’s his next line that nailed it for me.

He just leans in close and whispers loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. “You can put lipstick on a pig…but it’s still a pig.”

Everyone fell about laughing. I even caught a few of her friends grinning. Clara stares at him, face the color of tomato soup, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, but no comeback in sight. And Dom as calmly as you like just turned and winked at me as he walked away. God, I could have kissed him! Today he definitely helped make school a fraction more tolerable. That’s what I call being a true friend.

Okay, time for me to get back to the serious nasty math that the teacher set us for homework. Jeez, thanks, Miss Malory. Just because I’m good at it, doesn’t give you permission to keep pushing me until my brain bleeds out of my ears.

So think of me whilst I’m suffering, peeps. Catch you soon.