Don't Call Me Ishmael by Michael Gerard Bauer Page B

things went. When Barry Bagsley threatened you, you backed down. That’s just the way it was; the way it had always been. You couldn’t just go changing things–just doing what you want. The whole room was one big furrowed brow. Something was happening here–we just weren’t quite sure what it was. Perhaps that’s what it felt like all those years ago during that soccer game at Rugby College in England when that Webb Ellis kid picked up the soccer ball and started to run with it for the first time. Perhaps everyone just stood there, blanked out by the shock realisation that there might be a whole other set of rules you could play by.
    â€˜You’re mad, Turd Brain. Why don’t you just run along before you wet your pants?’
    Luckily, as far as Barry Bagsley was concerned, there was no situation for which an insult wasn’t an acceptable response.
    James Scobie gave Barry’s comment due consideration before replying. ‘Well, of course, the individual is not the most reliable judge of his or her own sanity: only a psychiatrist could accurately rule on that. However, I don’t
think
I’m mad. But there’s one thing I
am
sure of: whether I’m sane or insane, I know I’m not afraid of you.’
    Barry Bagsley sneered, shook his head and pulled himself forward on the desk. Even though he was seated, his eyes still came level with Scobie’s and his big-boned face hovered as menacingly as a death star. ‘Are you
sure
you’re not afraid of me?’
    â€˜I’m sure.’
    â€˜And exactly
why
is that?’
    James Scobie squeezed his eyes shut, smudged his mouth around in a full circle, picked his glasses from his face and gave three wide-eyed blinks before settling them delicately back in position. He waited till his face fell still like the sea after a passing wave.
    â€˜Because I’m not afraid of anything,’ he said blandly.

15.
WHOOSH!
    Not afraid or anything) This statement was greeted by hoots from Barry Bagsley supporters and general disbelief from the remainder of the class. I thought James Scobie had gone way too far now.
    â€˜Wooooooo,’ said Barry Bagsley with his eyes bulging and his hands held up as if he were warding off some monster. ‘I think you might be telling a big fat porky there, Scobie boy.’
    James Scobie blinked twice and frowned. ‘Do I
look
scared to you?’
    You see, that was the thing-he really didn’t. Most people in a situation like that made the mistake of trying too hard to look brave or tough, but James Scobie looked as if he just didn’t care. It was the same when he was introduced to the class. Everyone knows that one of the worst things in the world is to be the new kid. And the very worst thing about being the new kid is the moment when you have to stand in front of a room full of the old kids. The usual way of coping isto look at the floor or the teacher or out the window-anywhere, in fact, but at your new classmates–and pray that the torture will be over soon so you can scuttle to the relative safety of a desk. But James Scobie was different. In between the times when his face was twisting and stretching as if he were trying to swallow a blender, his small dark eyes looked over the class as if
we
were all new kids and
he
was right at home where he’d always been.
    Barry Bagsley, meanwhile, was looking at Scobie as if he were something he’d just wiped from the bottom of his shoe. ‘Well, what’s your secret, Superman? Made of steel, are ya? Got some super power or something? Wait, I know, you’re really a boy wizard, right, with magic spells, and you’re gonna wave your wand and change me into a toad.’
    â€˜Not much magic needed there,’ said James Scobie with a smile.
    A ripple of laughter broke out around the class. Danny Wallace laughed the loudest but quickly wilted under Barry Bagsley’s cutting glare before glowering at