All heads, including mine, turned toward an accented voice that sounded considerably less adorable when it was crackling with fury. Claire had dodged through the crowd and stood there in her familiar grays and greens, her beret tipped at a wartime angle. The only things pink about her this time were her cheeks, inflamed with rage.

Steve’s laugh was uncertain.

“I’m a what?”

Claire came within striking range.

“I’d soon as kiss a chanty wrassler like you as I’d shag a goat in a rot outhouse.”

“Shag a…?”

“You try and give me a nookie badge and you’ll find yourself with a keeker, you daft muppet. Jim is twice your Romeo. Say otherwise and I’ll play fisty cuffs with your hooter and kick you in your baw bag.”

“You’ll play what…? With my hooter…?”

“Look at you, you’re right gliffed, ya bas. What, you think I’m a quine? More like a radge! I’ll dance the slosh on your napper and do a number on both your wallies and your walloper. Then you’ll be crying to your ma, you will.”

“Wallies? Walloper?”

Pent-up slang from her homeland, long boxed up, came pouring out in a stream as incredible as it was indecipherable. You could intuit some meaning—kicking him in assorted sensitive areas seemed to be the basic gist—but mostly it was violent emotion delivered by a girl whose easygoing attitude had always been her most notable trait.

She was right up in Steve’s face when she lashed out with a foot and kicked the basketball all the way down the hall. His eyes went wide and his right hand formed into a fist. We all saw it. Claire pointed at it—her bravado knew no bounds!—and laughed as if it were a child’s pinwheel.

“Aw, yer maw cares, you shite-tongued zoomer! Best remember my way with the sword before you go waving your puny knuckle pouch.”

Chiding laughter, so fickle in high school hallways, now tottered in Steve’s direction. He’d never been the target of ridicule and was baffled. He looked at each chuckling face as if it were a personal betrayal. His handsomeness separated into ugly pieces of panic: beady eyes narrowed to stony glints, sharp teeth bared in a defensive sneer, and his thick body compacted as if bracing for a tackle. Then he made the wisest choice he could. He sucked down his anger and turned tail. He might rule again, but that day was lost. He took off after his basketball and looked pretty childish while doing it.