Peach Fuzz
Pete Sheltey was exactly twelve years old when he started to grow peach fuzz on his upper lip and around his jawline. He’s now twelve and a half.
The peach fuzz had begun to grow into wispy, stringy strands of hair that curled at the ends.
Pete’s classmates found this funny. To them, he was now Nutsack Face. They’d call him this over and over, snatching away his notebook and scribbling over his first name in red ink. Nutsack Face.
Robbie was the loudest. He would push Pete to the ground and say he’d scrape the hair off for him using the cement. He’d remind Pete that not even Jenna Davis would ever make out with him–that she actually found Pete disgusting and gross.
Robbie said Metallica sucks, and wondered why Pete would ever wear that same stupid shirt day after day. Month after month.
Tony suggested that Robbie hold Pete down so he could shave off his dirt stache and chin hairs. Robbie liked the idea, but Mr. Wheeler told them to leave Pete alone–that it was the one-mile run today and class was getting started.
Juan had the locker right next to Pete’s. They used to play James Bond together in fifth grade, but ever since Juan pushed Pete into the community pool with his jeans on to make Leslie Baum laugh, Pete preferred playing James Bond by himself. Now, Juan always called Pete, Nutsack Face.
Natasha had pre-algebra with Pete, and one day she slipped a razor into his backpack. On it was a sticky note telling him how nasty he was and how his face really did look like balls. The note was written with a pink gel pen.
Pete Sheltey was exactly twelve years old when his dad said he should wait for him to learn how to shave. That it was his fatherly duty to teach his son how to do it, and that next time he was in town, he would stop by and show him how.
Pete hugged his dad tight before he left. Pete’s mother scoffed from the other room and held back angry tears. Pete smelled his dad’s jacket and it was like Grandpa’s breath.
Pete Sheltey was still waiting. Pete Sheltey was still Nutsack Face.
