“What’s the big idea?” I yelled as I was just slammed against my locker.
I was surrounded by an infantry of letterman’s jackets with muscles as I was held against my will. One of those redshirts punched me in the face. I tried fighting back and hit one of them square in the nose.
Then they ganged up on me even harder and kicked me down.
That numbers game got the best of me even when I tried getting up.
A bunch of hall monitors rushed in and now all those tough guys in the Raiders (our school team, not Oakland’s football team) apparel started to back off like vultures getting charged by lions.
There I was with a bloody nose and a dirty shirt.
“We’re taking you to the dean’s office.”
Seriously?
I’m the one who got hit first and unprovoked I must add, yet I’M the bad guy.
At least those jocks didn’t have guns or knives or else they would’ve gotten away with murder lest I had fifty percent more of my dad’s complexion.
C. M. B. Bell's Writing Universe 