The Fourth Stall - Chris Rylander [33]
It was when Joe and I were on the grade school side of the playground that I saw something shocking. We had just finished watching some kids make fun of one of the bookies about this really horrible rumor that PrepSchool had started about him sneaking home chunks of the school meatloaf in his backpack because he was building a meatloaf castle in his bedroom that he was going to live in with his pet hamster, Charleston.
Anyways, we moved on to Jacky Boy’s post and that’s when I saw him. I didn’t know who it was at first because his back was turned to us, but some kid was having a heated conversation with Jacky Boy. Jacky Boy kept slamming his finger into his palm as if he was expecting the kid to put a stack of cash into it. The other kid shook his head so vigorously I thought it might fall off and roll down the hill, where someone might mistake it for a kickball and punt it out into the street.
Joe and I glanced at each other and repositioned ourselves so we could get a better look at the kid Jacky Boy was arguing with. The recognition hit me like a medicine ball chest pass from Arnold Schwarzenegger.
It was Brady.
I motioned for Joe to go check it out in person while I considered the implications.
But before I even really had a chance to process what it all might mean, the attack happened. I should have been expecting it, considering what we had done to Barnaby the day before, but I guess I didn’t realize just how many kids Staples had under his control.
Right after Joe left my side, I felt hands grab my shoulders and spin me around.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
I looked up at the kid’s face. It was a pretty big seventh grader who I recognized but didn’t really know.
“What?”
“Did you really think you’d get away with all this?” he said.
“With what?”
He looked confused. I tried to look confused back.
“You’re Mac, right?”
“Who?” I said, making sure I looked more lost than ever.
His grip on my shirt loosened as he tried to figure out if I was lying. I quickly pulled away from him and ran. I headed toward the teeter-totters. I could feel him right behind me.
I heard kids cheering me on as if it was some sort of game. I wanted to yell at them to trip the kid instead of just yelling stuff like, “Yeah, go, Mac!”
I quickly hopped onto an empty teeter-totter and ran to the middle so it tilted down the other way. My attacker ran around to the other side and stopped. He smiled at me. I stood in the middle of the teeter-totter, balancing it so it was parallel with the ground.
“Let’s go, loser. You trying to get me or what?” I said to my attacker.
He scowled and charged at me.
As soon as he lunged forward, I jumped from the middle of the teeter-totter onto the seat behind me. The other end fired up like a Chuck Norris roundhouse. I didn’t actually see what happened, because I was too busy making sure I landed on my feet, but I heard a crack that sounded like a baseball being crushed out of its skin by a wooden baseball bat.
The attacker was on the ground moaning and I felt a little bad. I stepped toward him to see how badly he was hurt, but he looked up like he was going to murder me. I turned to run as he started getting to his feet, but there was no need. Kitten just came flying out of nowhere and did what he did best: something insane.
He was bent over my attacker, and while I couldn’t see what was happening, the screams coming from the seventh grader were horrifying. “Aaaah! Okay, okay, please!” the seventh grader pleaded.
Kitten stood up, a stapler hanging from his hand in the open position. The kid’s pants leg was full of staples.
I helped the seventh grader to his feet.
“Let’s go,” I said, and led him around to the side of the building where I could talk to him privately. Kitten stayed close.
“Are you done?” I asked the kid