by Marc Lindsay
His walk down the hallway became a race against time. He barely made it as he kicked open the first toilet stall and dropped to his knees, violently throwing up into the bowl until there was nothing but dry heaving. Jason leaned back against the door, getting his breath. After several minutes he was able to get to his feet. Wobbly at first, he had to steady himself against the wall before staggering on rubbery legs towards the sink. He was startled to see his pale, weary reflection staring back. He washed his face and rinsed his mouth, struggling to concentrate through a splitting headache Jason decided against going home, wanting to see his first day through. Thankfully his teacher hadn’t taken much notice of his timely absence and reappearance. Jason felt weak and nauseous during the remainder of the lesson. Having decided to skip lunch, he opted to sit outside and try to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. He was almost feeling a hundred percent by the end of lunch.
Last period of the day was gym class. The teacher, Mr Fields, was a huskily built man in his early thirties with sandy coloured hair and a ruddy complexion, giving him the appearance of having the flu. There were rumours that Jack, Jim and Gilby had contributed to his flushed skin. Mr Fields gave the class laps of the court, his booming voice never stopping as he berated everyone on their apparent lack of enthusiasm, stamina and general poor conditioning. After laps they conducted a beep test with Jason outlasting everyone, even with the persisting throb in his head. His performance didn’t impress the teacher though, who chided the whole class on their weak performance.
Mr Fields nominated two boys from the class to be team captains for a game of basketball. Each captain selected one of two piles of coloured bibs, then taking turns, the captains picked their teams. The selection process seemed to take forever with Jason being picked last on team blue. The red team captain, a large muscular boy, appeared to be the teacher’s favourite. Jason didn’t like the way he smugly strutted around as Mr Fields joked with him about taking it easy on the blue team. Both teacher and student laughed. Looking about, Jason had an uneasy feeling about this match as it was evident that the more athletic kids were on the red team. Jason sighed and thought the sooner they started, the sooner they would finish.
Mr Fields blew the whistle and the game began. Jason was surprised to find that despite his team’s apparent lack of muscle, they had solid skills and were the first to have points on the board, much to the annoyance of the red team. This wasn’t helped by Jason scoring three more baskets in quick succession. The red team’s captain had lost his smugness and was visibly pissed. Jason watched him confiding with another player from his team, a skinny boy with dirty blonde hair and acne scarring. They both smiled slyly and bumped their fists together in some secret understanding as they returned into position.
As Mr Fields put the ball, up it was apparent that the red team were now going to employ less than sportsmanlike methods. Within minutes the red team’s captain had tripped one of Jason’s team mates, causing him to roll his ankle. The boy was carried from the court and taken to the nurse’s station. This was only the beginning. The game had now became full contact, with Mr Fields seemingly turning a blind eye to any illegal activity caused by the red team. The next incident occurred minutes before the half time break, with the acne-riddled boy throwing an elbow into the face of a chubby boy who went down with a cry of pain and a bloody nose. He was taken to the side and given an ice pack; it was obvious he wouldn’t be returning in the next half.
The two teams went their separate ways during half time. Jason’s team mates were breathing hard, having worked up a decent sweat. They all gulped greedily on their water bottles, attempting to rehydrate before the second act kicked off. Jason was clearly pissed with the events in the first half and asked one of his team mates, a tall nervous looking boy, why the gym teacher wasn’t doing anything about the other team’s disregard of the rules.
The nervous boy spoke quietly so only Jason could hear.
“Mr Fields isn’t big on creating trouble for himself, especially where those two are concerned,” he pointed covertly in the direction of the other team’s captain and the boy with the acne scarring.
“The big fella is Hector, Sherriff Rope’s son. The one with the pizza face is Tiberius, Judge Slate’s grandson. Kinda big wheels around here. I’m Rory,” he said, extending his hand toward Jason, who took it, shaking it twice.
“I’m Jason,” he said.
“Pleased to meet you, don’t let it get you down. It’s just the way things go,” Rory said.
“I’m not a big one for rules myself,” Jason said grimly.
“It’s not worth it, Jason,” Rory replied exasperated. The rest of the blue team had moved in closer around the two as they nodded their agreement. Jason slowly looked them all in the eyes, a wry smile spreading across his face.
“Hey, accidents happen,” Jason said as Mr Fields blew his whistle and both teams made their way back onto the court for the second half.
The game began without incident until Rory got off a brilliant three point shot, then Hector and Tiberius continued on with their brazen lack of good conduct. Jason’s head had really started to throb again and he decided to put plan A into action. Despite the red team’s dirty tactics, Jason’s team were quick and able, easily handing the ball from teammate to teammate, eventually finding itself in Jason’s hands. Tiberius was on him in defence, physically jostling him and attempting to steal the ball, exactly what Jason hoped he would do.
Jason attempted to dribble pass Tiberius unsuccessfully, who covered him on each pass. Knowing that he wouldn’t get a better opportunity, he kept his back to Tiberius and when he made his next attempt, Jason pivoted, pretending to pass the ball and brought his elbow into the face of the oncoming Tiberius. There was an audible cracking sound and Tiberius hit the ground, his nose a bloody mess.
A frightened looking Mr Fields helped him from the court where he took a seat next to the other boy nursing an ice pack. Mr Fields reminded everyone about safety on the court, glaring the whole time at Jason. The game recommenced. Both teams were conscious of the tension building between Jason and Hector. As players on both sides tried to distance themselves from any confrontation, Jason and Hector looked for an opening to get even with each other.
With minutes left on the clock, Jason was left holding the ball with Hector defending.
“Come on faggot,” Hector taunted. Jason tried to get past without luck, as Hector was on him like glue.
“Think you’re pretty special, don’t ya,” Hector spat, a mean grin plastered on his face. Jason decided at that moment to give Hector the same medicine he had given Tiberius. The move was going to plan except in the last instance, Hector ducked, avoiding the blow. He lashed out, grasping the ball and the two of them were locked in a tug of war.
“Nice try knob jockey, but you’ll have to move faster than that,” Hector growled, his confidence growing. Jason stared Hector down, refusing to release his hold on the ball, both boys straining for purchase.
The court had gone quiet. Everyone, including Mr Fields, was watching the battle for dominance. Jason’s head was throbbing and his vision had begun to blur. Even Hector’s taunts seemed to be coming from far off in the distance. The whole incident had been going for a few seconds but it felt more like hours. His strength was beginning to ebb. ‘I refuse to be beaten by this imbecile’, Jason thought. Then as if a switch had been flicked, it all stopped. The headache, the blurred vision and fatigue was now replaced with rage. A hot sensation began to flow through his body, starting in his chest and working its way out to his limbs. Like an electric pulse, it reached his fingers and toes and then it was gone. Jason could now feel power coursing through his veins an almost bestial strength.
He strained, pulling on the ball and Hector, whipping them around in a hundred and eighty degree turn, like a hammer thrower at the Olympics. Jason performed the task with ease and much to everyone’s amazement, Hector was able to maintain his grip on the ball until the very last moment, when he
was launched across the floor, landing several meters away from Jason, sliding to a halt near the feet of Mr Fields. The teacher stood there, mouth agape, looking first at Hector, then Jason, then back towards Hector. Then as if on cue, the final bell buzzed. No one moved. Then a boy’s voice broke the silence.
“Did you see that,” the voice squeaked. This seemed to shake Mr Fields from his stupor. He attempted to regain his authority within the class.
“Nothing to see boys, go and hit the showers, we’re done for the day,” The teachers voice was a croak, then gruff. No one moved. Everyone seemed rooted to the floor. “NOW” Mr Fields barked and all the boys on the court jumped in surprise and bolted for the door. All except Hector, who was still lying on the court floor, unhurt, but stunned, and Jason, who was looking down at his own hands, wide-eyed and shaken. Mr Fields helped Hector to his feet and escorted him from the gym floor, casting a quick glance at Jason, his eyes still wide. They left, leaving Jason there alone.
By the time Jason had made his way to the locker room it was deserted. He sat down and looked up to see a message scrawled on his locker, ‘You’re dead’. Jason didn’t look too concerned, but sighed none the less.
“Great, mum will be thrilled. Making friends staying out of trouble,” he thought, as he went to clean up, remaining under the shower for a very long time.
Chapter 8
Jason arrived home with what felt like an insatiable hunger, it was almost nauseating. The moment he stepped through the door his senses were assaulted by the aroma of his mother’s cooking. He started salivating as he made his way to the kitchen. Helen was in the process of serving dinner when Jason appeared through the door. He stared, ravenous, at the food brought to him.
“Sit down love dinner’s ready,” Helen said. Jason didn’t need to be told twice. He practically leapt into his seat, viewing the meal before him. Smoky ribs, corn on the cob, sweet potato and snow peas, his favourite meal.
“What’s the occasion?” Jason asked as he tucked into his meal. Helen regarded her son fondly.
“Just thought you might appreciate it after your first day at school.”
“Oh I do, I do,” Jason said through a mouthful of food.
Jason pushed his plate away, licking the sticky marinade from his fingers, not caring about the grubby image he was projecting.
“Glad you enjoyed the meal.”
“It was beautiful, mum. I can’t believe how hungry I was,” he replied. Helen looked at him.
“Hey if you’re still hungry, there’s chocolate mud cake in the fridge, I picked it up today,” Helen said. No sooner had she uttered those words, Jason was out of his chair and moving toward the fridge, returning with a small cardboard box and plates in his hands. Sitting back down opposite Helen, Jason worked intently serving up two slices and pushed one toward his mother, who shook her head.
“Trying to watch my figure,” she said. Jason shrugged and took the other larger slice and all but inhaled it. Once it was gone, he reached out for the piece intended for Helen and devoured it as well. Helen watched on in fascination.
“Well you are a growing boy, just as long as you don’t grow horizontally,” she commented sarcastically.
That night in bed Jason tossed and turned, dreams of wolves and fire, stars like beacons and a blood red moon. By the time he awoke he could only remember flashes of the dream, nothing specific. Sitting up, he stretched and flexed his sore muscles. It was at that moment he noticed the large black book, ‘Transmorphagation’, lying at the foot of his bed. He frowned, wondering how the book had gotten there. A horrible, black feeling began to spread through his stomach, filling him with dread. He shook the thoughts from his head as he sprung from the bed snatching the book and tucking it away in his school bag, vowing to find out more about it. By the time Jason made his way downstairs there was a note and money on the kitchen bench, ‘Had to see a man about a horse, didn’t want to wake you. Use the money for lunch. Love mum’. Jason smiled warmly and pocketed the money.
When he walked into the school grounds it was evident that news of yesterday’s scuffle with Hector had spread like wildfire. Ignoring the stares and whispers, he walked past the throng of students and entered the front doors. Jason’s first few periods were relatively quiet, computer technology with Mr Chambers, an overweight, harried looking man who watched the clock more than his students. This was followed by media studies, which Jason really enjoyed. The class discussed Stanley Kubrick films and his influence on modern pop culture. The teacher, Mr Brown, a flamboyant young man, obviously enjoyed his subject matter, keeping his class engaged throughout the lesson.
After media studies Jason was on a bit of a high. Having forgotten the previous day’s troubles, he made his way to the cafeteria for lunch. After collecting his tray he shuffled along the meal line, his stomach grumbling in anticipation.
“What do you want?” The lunch lady’s voice came out in a raspy croak, she was obviously a two pack a day woman. He studied the selection on offer, a pale grey, watery looking dish that could have been a stew; the other was something that looked vaguely deep fried, possibly three weeks ago. Jason’s stomach did a greasy back flip.
“Hurry up, others are waiting,” the lunch lady said impatiently. Jason sighed.
“I think I’ll stick with the fruit” he replied.
“Whatever,” the lunch lady said, shrugging, already looking toward her next customer. Jason continued down the line grabbing a milk to go with his fruit, paying the cashier at the end. He looked around the dining hall for an available seat. Most tables were already full. After a moment of scanning, he spotted an empty table near the centre of the room. It took him a minute of weaving past people and tables before he flopped into the spare seat and started his lunch.
Half way through his meal a familiar voice spoke to Jason from behind. “All on your lonesome,” the voice said. Without turning he knew that it was Hector. And if past experience had taught him anything about this type, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. Jason kept his cool, refusing to react or turn, instead he picked up his milk and took a sip. A confused Hector looked about at his friends. Jason’s reaction wasn’t the usual response he received.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he barked. The dining hall went silent. All eyes in the room were now fixed on Jason. ‘So much for keeping a low profile and a promise to mum and the ice queen’, Jason thought solemnly.
Jason continued to sip his milk, keeping a bored expression on his face, he waited for Hector to make the first move, which he did, grabbing Jason roughly by the shoulder and turning him in his seat.
“Don’t ignore me pissant,” Hector growled. Jason looked up, feigning a look of surprise.
“Oh, hey Hector,” he said calmly, then pointing to the kid with the acne scarring and plastered nose to Hector’s right, “Tiberius isn’t it? How about I call you Tib? I don’t know you other three, but if you’re friends of Hec and Tib’s I’m sure you’re good dudes,” Jason gave them a sarcastic thumbs up. The five boys didn’t look impressed at all.
Tiberius stepped forward.
“You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you, but I know you’re just stalling,” a predatory smile appearing on his face. At that moment, Jason decided he’d had enough of these jokers.
“No, if I were stalling, I would have made a joke about the domino’s pizza complexion you have, but teenage acne is a little obvious. Don’t you think? Maybe your lack of height would have been a good one, but I’d like to think I can be the bigger person,” Jason remarked.
Tiberius’s smile had faded, the eyes on all five boys narrowed. ‘This is it’, Jason thought, as he slowly got to his feet. He had a good five inches on any of the boys standing before him and as he stood to full height, Jason let them know it, pushing his broad shoulders out to maximise the effect. He could see it in their eyes, they were unsure. A primal voice growled in his head.
“But if you bottom feeders think you can intimidate me with those pipe cleaner ar
ms, you’re crazy.” Jason shrugged his hoodie off, and raised his hands. The sound of his knuckles popping as his hands formed into fists was heard clearly throughout the silent hall. His muscles looked pumped, the veins standing out visibly. Jason wasn’t aware of the image he was projecting, but to everyone in the dining room, he looked the epitome of dangerous.
All five boys just stood and stared. ‘The best defence is a good offence,’ Jason thought, lashing out with a jab into the chin of Tiberius, whose eyes rolled back in his head as he dropped where he stood. Jason didn’t hesitate, stepping over the unconscious form of Tiberius and striking Hector with a right, that sent him reeling, but not down.
The other three boys rushed Jason who was able to bring his left knee up into one of the boys, knocking the wind out of him, the other two collided with Jason, their momentum taking all three to the ground. One of the boys had Jason’s right arm pinned but it was taking all his might to keep him restrained. The other had both hands around Jason’s throat. He could feel the boy’s nails digging into his flesh. Jason, who had been studying mixed martial arts for the past two years, knew it was important not to panic and useless to try and pry the hands from his throat. Instead he brought his free hand in close and drove his elbow hard and fast into the boy’s face. He felt the sickening crunch of the boy’s nose under the impact. The boy went back, the fight now out of him. He just wanted to distance himself from Jason. With his arm now free he reached across to the other boy, grabbed his ear and started to pull. The shrill scream that eminated from the boy let Jason know he was doing the right thing. Unlike Jason, the boy released his hold and tried to stop the intense pain on the side of his head, which was the worst thing he could have done. With both arms now free, Jason was able to manoeuvre himself, facing the boy’s back, he positioned the blade of his forearm across the boy’s throat, reinforcing it with his other arm, effectively cutting off his air supply. As soon as he felt the boy’s struggles weaken, he released his hold, pushing the boy’s body aside.
