Page 32 of Enemy Crush
“What? You need it to breathe? You can’t breathe on your own?” Obnoxious Jerk loved the sound of his own voice. “What if I chucked it out the window?”
“Yeah, throw it out the window!” Several voices spurred him on.
My composure cracked as sudden as a clap of thunder in a summer storm. Brushing my tote bag aside, I leapt from my seat and charged to the back of the bus, targeting the boy holding up the asthma inhaler. He was a stocky boy, dressed in a dark green hoodie and scruffy cargo pants, but no taller than me.
“Give me that inhaler. Now!” I surprised myself by sounding exactly like my mother. Bold, loud, authoritative. I stood before the boy, my fierce stare drilling into him. When he didn’t move, I said with slow and deliberate sarcasm, “Did you hear me or are you deaf?”
Obnoxious Jerk’s mouth opened but nothing came out. He turned to his friends looking for some kind of support. One kid slunk back into his seat.
“Hand it over,” I said, my eyes hard and narrowed, and with lightning fast reflexes I snatched the inhaler from his grip. “Now pick up that hoodie,” I ordered, gesturing to it a few feet in front of me, “and give Mason back his things.”
A kid with long blonde hair quietly passed Mason his backpack, another kid passed back a box of pens. Obnoxious Jerk leaned forward, his face ugly with contempt as he glaredat me and shoved the hoodie at Mason. I figured he was too brainless to think up a comeback.
“Loser,” I hissed and looking him up and down with a sneer of disgust, I couldn’t resist a final jab. “Next time pick on someone your own size.”
I put my hand on Mason’s shoulder and guided him down the aisle to my seat. The bus driver called out, “You need to sit down back there, young lady.”
“And you need to take more control of the bullies on your bus,” I slammed back, half appalled, half in awe at my own sass, my mother’s influence shining through.
I shifted my tote bag to make room for Mason on the window seat, his tear-filled eyes trying to piece together the torn books.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded, his throat tight as he sniffed and whispered, “Thank you.”
I rummaged in my bag for a packet of tissues and pulled one out for him. He thanked me again and wiped his eyes and nose.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I said, “does it happen every day?”
Mason shrugged, inspecting the novel that had its pages torn down the middle.
I was certainly no counselor, but we’d been through an anti-bullying program in middle school and the advice was always to tell an adult. Not that I’d mentioned any of the name-calling to my mother, so I was in fact a hypocrite when I said, “Have you told your parents?”
Mason shook his head. It suddenly occurred to me that the Trasks only lived with their father. There was no mother, unless she was locked inside the house and never came out.
“You should tell your dad,” I said softly, “or your brother.”
Mason sniffed again, giving no indication whether he would or not. I felt for him, probably picked on for being small or for reading. Who knew? Kids could be so cruel.
“Have you read the whole Swords of Power series?” I asked.
For the first time, Mason brightened. “I’m onto the fourth book now,” he said, fingering the pages that could be taped up. “Dad’s taking me to Pine Ridge tomorrow to get the next two. I got a book voucher for my birthday.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” I said. “I read them years ago. What about the Silver Dragons series? That’s really good.”
“No, not yet, but I want to.”
“I have them if you ever want to borrow them,” I said.
“Really?” His eyes lit up.
“Sure, they’re just gathering dust on my bookshelf,” I said with a smile. “Actually, it’s not true. I dusted and cleaned my room the other day, so...”
Mason laughed. “I should clean my room. Miller’s always yelling at me to.”
I nearly didn’t say anything, but the words slipped out. “The bossy big brother?”
Mason’s nods were very definitive, slow and precise and it stirred a fluttering in my chest.
