SAMMY TSUNAMI and the WORLD CLEAVER

1 Sammy Tsunami raised his head to the mirror hanging over the rest room sink and didn’t like what he saw. The face staring back at him had a wig on and a lot of make-up. It looked like a mime with his hair—his sapphire blue, flame shaped hair that couldn’t be tamed by either brush or comb. After a couple more stares, he knew that he would need more than just courage to get through the day. “How’s the new lunch girl doing? I hope she’s not shy.” The sarcasm in the boss’ tone stirred up a great resentment inside Sammy who was agonizing over the odd role he had been cast in. It didn’t help any that the short, stout, balding man with the handlebar moustache and the inflated potbelly was similarly made up like him. When the boss emerged from the toilet stall behind, he was in full lunch lady regalia—apron, shower cap, lipstick and all. He was like a character out of a comedy sketch—the ugly cross-dresser admiring his own vomit inducing reflection in the mirror. The problem was, Sammy couldn’t find any humor in their current situation. He was, metaphorically speaking, only mere seconds away from walking into the midst of a bloodthirsty mob. It didn’t help any that his present getup functioned also as a large bull’s eye. “Wear the lab coat first, then the apron,” the boss added, casually slipping the white outer garment on to Sammy to cover the lad’s oversized black sweater—the one with the sleeves that swallowed his hands whole and six large golden diamonds printed on the front, three on top and three below. “If you’re going to look ridiculous, then you might as well look the part properly. You’ve got to show them that you have pride and dignity in your work, kiddo!” The next thing Sammy knew, he was being led out of the rest room and into the cafeteria floor where crowds of curious onlookers greeted him with stunned expressions on their faces. He ignored their piercing stares and set his sights on the ground below where he was missing an old, dear friend of his—his shadow. It was nowhere to be found, not even a trace or a hint of it anywhere. He had barely made it to the lunch counter with this nagging thought in mind, when laughter suddenly erupted from every corner everywhere. It was thunderous, it was deafening. Sammy couldn’t manage to hold his head up high, even if he wanted to, the second he caught a glimpse of his classmates pointing at him and chortling at him. Some were even heckling him from afar. And thus began the grim late morning ballad of Sammy Tsunami—tall, thin and twelve. Since he started the sixth grade at Great Beagle Middle School earlier this year, his life has been nothing short of pure and utter hell. Not only did he have to contend with mean spirited classmates who bullied him relentlessly, day in and day out; he needed to hold on to a number of part-time jobs at the school just to be able to provide for himself and his handicapped mother.