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Authors: Mark J. Ferrari
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immobilized between white-hot rage at Lindwald and horrified guilt over what he’d done to poor Laura Bayer. His guilt won out, and he rushed to stand helplessly over the wailing little girl, and blurt out apologies.
“Laura! I’m
sorry
! It was a
accident
! Are you okay? Stop crying!
Please
stop crying! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
“Didn’ I tell ya not to hurt the
innocent,
Joby?” Lindwald laughed.
Actually laughed
—while Laura Bayer lay there screaming and bleeding on the ground!
Like an angry cat, Joby whirled and leapt at Lindwald, sending a fist into his face hard and fast, but what happened was so incomprehensible that Joby simply froze, mouth agape in shock. As his punch had landed on Lindwald’s nose, Joby had
felt
it in his own face: the terrible ringing impact, the crunch of dislocated cartilage, the warm gush of blood in Lindwald’s sinuses. Yet, reaching up to touch his own nose, Joby found it undamaged.
Lindwald’s nose was already swelling as the blood appeared on his upper lip; but he just grinned hideously, and asked so softly that perhaps only Joby heard, “What’s a matter,
lady-killer
? Hurt yerself on my nose?”
Almost involuntarily, Joby’s arm swung back to launch another punch, but this time he could feel the terrible violence of it against Lindwald’s already broken nose even
before
the punch had landed, and his swing veered wide almost of its own volition, missing Lindwald entirely.
Only
then
did Lindwald strike back, knocking Joby onto his back next toLaura Bayer and jumping down to slam him in the face, so that Joby’s nose ran red as well now.
“Give up,
dickhead
?” Lindwald demanded from astride Joby’s stomach.
“No!”
Joby hollered.
Lindwald hit him in the face again. “Give up?”
“No,” Joby said again, vaguely aware that his own pain seemed oddly dim and distant compared to the still resonant memory of Lindwald’s.
Lindwald was pulling his fist back for another punch when someone yanked him away so fast that the huge boy seemed lifted by a sudden wind. Then Joby saw Benjamin on top of Lindwald, thrashing him with both fists, his arms swinging like the little wooden windmill duck in the garden next to Joby’s house.
There was hardly time to feel grateful, though, before his teacher, Mrs. Nelson, and the sixth-grade teacher showed up and waded in to separate the boys. They were joined a moment later by the fifth-grade teacher, who brought wads of wet paper towel and said the principal was on his way. Everyone was picked up, dusted off, wiped clean, and dressed down by the time he arrived.
“I will see
you,
and
you,
and
you
in my office right
now
!” Mr. Leonard fired, pointing at Benjamin, Joby, and Jamie Lindwald.
As the three boys shuffled after him toward their doom, someone ran up behind Joby and touched his hand. He looked back to find Laura Bayer peering at him contritely through her somehow unbroken blue plastic-framed glasses.
“I’m sorry, Joby,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t mean to hit me.”
She turned before he could reply and ran back to where the others stood, watching them go as crowds have always watched condemned criminals being marched to the gallows. As they walked, Joby hung his head and imagined kneeling before King Arthur to explain what had happened, but it was
Merlin’s
voice he imagined.
You must be
perfect,
Sir Joby,
the wizard admonished,
or the devil will win, and Arthur will lose, and Camelot . . . Camelot will
burn.
Joby wondered miserably if he would get a second chance to be perfect.
Arthur, help me!
he thought, then remembered that Arthur
couldn’t
help him anymore. It was in the rules. Arthur had said so.
“Joby Peterson, stop straggling!” Mr. Leonard scolded over his shoulder. “If you’re man enough to punch people, you should be man enough to face the consequences. Now hurry up.”
“Yeah, Joby,”
Lindwald whispered without turning around. Joby didn’t need to see his face to
“Laura! I’m
sorry
! It was a
accident
! Are you okay? Stop crying!
Please
stop crying! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
“Didn’ I tell ya not to hurt the
innocent,
Joby?” Lindwald laughed.
Actually laughed
—while Laura Bayer lay there screaming and bleeding on the ground!
Like an angry cat, Joby whirled and leapt at Lindwald, sending a fist into his face hard and fast, but what happened was so incomprehensible that Joby simply froze, mouth agape in shock. As his punch had landed on Lindwald’s nose, Joby had
felt
it in his own face: the terrible ringing impact, the crunch of dislocated cartilage, the warm gush of blood in Lindwald’s sinuses. Yet, reaching up to touch his own nose, Joby found it undamaged.
Lindwald’s nose was already swelling as the blood appeared on his upper lip; but he just grinned hideously, and asked so softly that perhaps only Joby heard, “What’s a matter,
lady-killer
? Hurt yerself on my nose?”
Almost involuntarily, Joby’s arm swung back to launch another punch, but this time he could feel the terrible violence of it against Lindwald’s already broken nose even
before
the punch had landed, and his swing veered wide almost of its own volition, missing Lindwald entirely.
Only
then
did Lindwald strike back, knocking Joby onto his back next toLaura Bayer and jumping down to slam him in the face, so that Joby’s nose ran red as well now.
“Give up,
dickhead
?” Lindwald demanded from astride Joby’s stomach.
“No!”
Joby hollered.
Lindwald hit him in the face again. “Give up?”
“No,” Joby said again, vaguely aware that his own pain seemed oddly dim and distant compared to the still resonant memory of Lindwald’s.
Lindwald was pulling his fist back for another punch when someone yanked him away so fast that the huge boy seemed lifted by a sudden wind. Then Joby saw Benjamin on top of Lindwald, thrashing him with both fists, his arms swinging like the little wooden windmill duck in the garden next to Joby’s house.
There was hardly time to feel grateful, though, before his teacher, Mrs. Nelson, and the sixth-grade teacher showed up and waded in to separate the boys. They were joined a moment later by the fifth-grade teacher, who brought wads of wet paper towel and said the principal was on his way. Everyone was picked up, dusted off, wiped clean, and dressed down by the time he arrived.
“I will see
you,
and
you,
and
you
in my office right
now
!” Mr. Leonard fired, pointing at Benjamin, Joby, and Jamie Lindwald.
As the three boys shuffled after him toward their doom, someone ran up behind Joby and touched his hand. He looked back to find Laura Bayer peering at him contritely through her somehow unbroken blue plastic-framed glasses.
“I’m sorry, Joby,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t mean to hit me.”
She turned before he could reply and ran back to where the others stood, watching them go as crowds have always watched condemned criminals being marched to the gallows. As they walked, Joby hung his head and imagined kneeling before King Arthur to explain what had happened, but it was
Merlin’s
voice he imagined.
You must be
perfect,
Sir Joby,
the wizard admonished,
or the devil will win, and Arthur will lose, and Camelot . . . Camelot will
burn.
Joby wondered miserably if he would get a second chance to be perfect.
Arthur, help me!
he thought, then remembered that Arthur
couldn’t
help him anymore. It was in the rules. Arthur had said so.
“Joby Peterson, stop straggling!” Mr. Leonard scolded over his shoulder. “If you’re man enough to punch people, you should be man enough to face the consequences. Now hurry up.”
“Yeah, Joby,”
Lindwald whispered without turning around. Joby didn’t need to see his face to
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