Sam is constantly in trouble for wearing his hair long. Really long. And it's beautiful hair. Cutting it would be bad luck for someone and leaving it long is bad luck for Sam...

1. Everybody thinks I'm Strange...

Mom called to me from the kitchen as I was leaving for school. "I made an appointment for you to get a haircut this afternoon, Sam."

"No haircuts!" I yelled back and got out of there. Mom should know better. Every time I get a haircut, something bad happens. Someone in the family gets sick, or has a bad accident, or the Mets lose the World Series. Something. They should never have named me Samson Israel Tucker. We're not even Jewish.

I haven't had a haircut in five years, my hair is down past the middle of my back but I wear it in a low ponytail and it's always neat and clean. What business is it of anyone else?

Apparently Leon Frangelli thought it was his business.

Right before lunch is when it started. I had P.E. third period that year, my freshman year at Medford High. Go Bulls. Whatever.

I blame Coach Dawson for what happened. Dawson started hassling me about my hair while my team was at bat in as dull and dreary a baseball game as has ever been played. It was almost raining, and it was almost cold, and no one, but no one, wanted to be out there. Even Dawson looked miserable.

"Why don't you get a haircut, Tucker?" he asked after staring at me for most of a minute.

"Because if I got a haircut, someone might die. It might even be you, Coach," I said. I got enough of this at home, so I was kind of pissed.

"Is that some kind of threat, Tucker?" His face got all twisted up trying to think about what I had just said and if it were a violation of some sort of rule.

"No, Coach, I'm no threat. Just--stuff happens when someone tries to cut my hair."

He kept frowning. "I ought to make you run laps," he muttered.

I shrugged, deciding I was probably pushing my luck if I said anything else.

"Lookit 'im," Coach continued, talking to the other players; I guess maybe a little steamed by my attitude. "It's beautiful hair, but ain't no way it should be on a boy. Even a skinny wimp like you, Tucker. I wish you would go out for a team, then your coach could require you to get a haircut."

"Then I wouldn't go out," I said. Not unreasonably, I thought. I'm not really any kind of jock.

"Maybe he should go out for a girl's team, coach," Frangelli suggested. "Volleyball, or, or, I know, kickline." That got a laugh from everyone.

Kickline was a girls' dance team, Rockettes-style synchronized dancing with high kicks and all that. Ours was pretty good, actually, and had even been on television in one of those regional talent shows.

I glared at Leon, whose fat butt had no business ragging on anyone for not being athletic.

But he increased the ante. "I bet Samantha here could even do one of those fancy splits like they do. He ain't got no balls to get in the way, the little queer."

"Meatballs," I said. "I haven't got any meatballs and neither does anyone else, Leon, cause you ate all of them. You're queer for pasta. You've never seen a table with food on it you didn't want to get closer to. The exercise you need to do is the push-away--to push your plate away."

Leon made a ham-sized fist but his friends held him back. He was twice my size, maybe more, but I was standing right in front of Coach Dawson. "Hey," said the man. "No fat shaming."

I glared up at him. Coach had a bit of an extra belly on him, too. "Coach," I said reasonably, "it can't be all right for him, or you, to make fun of my hair and I can't say anything about his tubbonormousness."

"Huh?" said Coach. He glanced at the tablet he always carried with him outside of the gym. "Lookit the time," he said. "Period's over. Hit the showers, guys."

Everyone glared at him or rolled their eyes or shook their head. The March sky had been spitting on us for half an hour. No one with any sense wanted to get any wetter. But everyone also ran for the gym before it really started to come down.

"Tucker," Leon growled, but I didn't hear the rest because I sure as heck could outrun the lardass.

I changed clothes quickly, using a towel only to pat some of the damp out of my hair. With my oversize comb, I had paused in front of the mirrors near the outside doors to rebuild my ponytail when I was shoved sideways so hard I fell on the textured concrete of the hallway. Leon, of course.

I'd heard something break. "Smooth, asshole," I said. "I think you broke my comb."

"'I think you broke my comb!'" He mocked me in a high-pitched whine. "Listen at her!"

He was way-the-hell madder than made any sense just for a few comments about his weight. For once, I showed some forethought and didn't get up. I just moved sideways until I was sitting against the wall. I reached around to pull my backpack in front, in case he tried to kick me.

"Get up!" he ordered me but I ignored him, retrieving the broken pieces of my comb to store in a side pocket of the pack. "Get up, you pussy!"

I kept the backpack in front of me. "I don't think so," I said. "Go to lunch, Leon. The cannolis are calling you." They weren't having cannolis in the cafeteria—wouldn't that be something?

The next thing he did was unbelievable. He tried to kick me in the head. Well, he was not in training for kickline so he didn't kick high enough and caught his sneaker on the top of my backpack.

Not thinking things through, I seized his foot and pushed up and out. Down he went, thrashed once, and lay still. "Leon? I said but he didn't move. Horrified, I scrambled to my feet, calling his name again. "Leon!"

A crowd formed around us, guys murmuring. "What happened? -- Did you see that? -- What's a girl doing in the boys' locker room?" I got that last a lot but I always ignored it.

I moved to Leon's side. A pool of blood was forming under his head. I started screaming, "Coach! Coach! I think I killed Leon!"

Sam and Del is being serialized on Patreon several chapters ahead of its appearance here. Click Patrons in the top menu on this page or go to http://www.Patreon.com/BigCloset and look for Sam and Del if you want to read ahead.