Jack Roberts
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An extract from Indian Summer
I turned my bike around and peered up at Dragon’s Spit. Now for the next challenge; going back up. I stood and pumped once again, this time with all my might. I had to get enough speed to carry me to the top. I whizzed up the first part of the hill, but it was so steep that I was quickly loosing speed. I pumped my legs like turbines, creeping up the hillside. My knuckles were white tight on my handle grips and my teeth were clenched. Almost there! Almost there! My front wheel arched over the top of the hill and I breathed a tired sigh of relief.
A voice startled me. “Hey butt munch.”
I turned. It was DJ freaking McAllister. DJ was two years older than me, and was notoriously known as the school bully. During the last week of school I accidentally nailed him in the back of his head with a water balloon. He had been waiting for a perfect time to get me back, you know, mash my head. He was with his butt-head buddy, Tony Reynolds. There they stood, with their biker gloves and grimy smiles.
My heart began pumping so hard I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. My legs suddenly felt weak and rubbery. I tried to go around them by turning to the left, but Tony rammed my bike.
Tony squinted. "You thought we would just let you ride by, dimwit?"
DJ rode up and put his ugly mug right in my face. “You’re gonna pay numb-nuts.”
“Yeah, your nuts are numb!” Tony chimed.
They busted out laughing. As DJ laughed in my face I could see particles of food in his teeth and a thick layer of plaque hung like rafters from off his gums. Yea, I was going to get pounded, but I wasn’t about to go down like a pansy.
“Man, your breath is worse than my farts. Haven’t you heard about a new invention called the toothbrush?”
DJ’s face turned red and a big vein poked out on his forehead. He swore, then spat.
Right then, Dale ‘rounded the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw DJ and Tony.
DJ motioned Tony to get Dale. Tony peddled over and threw down his bike. I knew Dale wasn’t scared of Tony; his dad pushing him around was more terrifying than Tony. Tony snorted, then hocked a nasty loogie on Dale. That’s when it hit me… DJ’s fist.
I tumbled over and off my bike; he was on me instantly. DJ pressed my face into the ground and began hitting me in the back of the head. I was pinned and couldn’t breathe. Panicking, I began squirming in every which way I could. I got my head turned and one arm free, then reached up and grabbed at DJ’s eyes. He yelled and covered his face. I wiggled free.
Standing, I saw that Tony had put Dale in a headlock and was slugging him like he was a punching bag. I ran at him like a charging bull.
Tony looked up just as my fist was flying towards him like a tomahawk missile. It came down and smashed the top of his head. He groaned, and his lock loosened enough for Dale to get away.
A feeling of confidence swept through me. I had never been in a fight before and I was standing my ground with these punks. Sure, DJ got me with a cheap shot, but I took it like a man and raked his face like a raging rooster. Now it was Tony’s turn to get the smack down.
Tony held his head and then cussed. I was on my toes, bouncing back and forth, anticipating his next move. He faked right, and then faked left. I didn’t anticipate that. In my confusion I kicked. I kicked! Talk about a stupid white dude move. I missed, of course, and Tony slugged me in the stomach.
Ooff! I bent over wheezing for air.