MAC
THREE
BACK THEN
“You’re a piece of shit, Stephen Harris!” I growl out the words to the kid who has made my life even worse. A boy I vaguely recognize lays on his back, looking up at me in shock. His eye was already red from the punch he just took.
I think he’s the kid who moved into Sheila’s old trailer. He doesn’t come out much, but I’m pretty sure I saw him carrying in boxes the other day.
I don’t even know what happened for Stephen to flip and punch this kid. But Stephen is a bully, and the boy on the ground possibly lives in the park.
June is always telling me we take care of each other at Jessie James Trailer Park. So here I am, about to be decked in the face for a boy I’ve never met. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken a punch over something stupid. Or the last.
Stephen’s fist flies towards my face with an unnatural speed.
Knuckles land on my cheek, and I stumble back.
Hands raised a bit too late to protect my face.
But the pain only makes me madder. I can’t hit back most of the time, but this time I can.
I throw myself towards him with a shout I’d describe as a war cry filling the playground.
I punch Stephen’s ugly face, his gut—pretty much anywhere I can. It’s a melee attack. Bringing my knee up, I slam it into his dick. He crumbles. Bending forward, his hands fly to hold his junk. But I don’t stop; I punch him again and again.
Stephen cries like the whiny bitch he is. Snot runs from his nose, mixing with the blood dripping out.
The sound of teachers coming sends the bystanders running. Shouts and laughter wash away Stephen’s pointless taunts.
I turn around, looking down at the kid on the asphalt. He looks terrified.
“Hey, come on,” I say, holding out my hand for him to take. He looks apprehensive, almost angling his small body away from me. He’s not much smaller than me, but he looks a hell of a lot more fragile somehow. He’s gonna have to toughen up if he wants to get through this life.
“Come on,” I repeat urgently, waving my hand above him.
I can’t keep the impatience from my voice.
We’re running out of time. Mrs. Davis is making her way towards us.
Something seems to snap in his tiny head.
His hand latches with mine, and I pull him up.
Once he’s on his feet, I’m pulling him away from the crime scene, leaving Stephen to face the teachers on his own.
It doesn’t matter if I’m caught, not really.
My dad will get wind of this and punish me anyway.
He won’t care about who started it, won’t care if I was standing up for a kid in the park.
I’ll get hit again regardless. But June would be proud of me.
She’ll tell me violence is bad or whatever, but be proud I stepped up for another park kid.
“Where are we going?” the kid asks, but he follows behind me regardless. I guess I am holding his hand hostage after all. Yanking him to the far side of the playground, I stop near the chain-linked fence that keeps all the kids wrangled inside.
For some reason, I still don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t make any moves to take it back, so I figure it’s ok. Something about this kid…