just shrugs and follows behind as they manhandle me towards the door.
‘Downstairs,’ says one of the oafs.
I’m half dragged down the stairs and along a corridor to a large, cylindrical room. There are tiers of seats around the sides, all full of Specials, who are cheering and hooting at two boys fighting in the centre of the room. I look around for an adult, but there are none. The Specials watching are jumping up and down, smashing their own fists into their palms and screeching at the fighters. The dark-haired fighter has blood pouring from his nose. He grabs the other boy by his blond hair. Blond Boy tries to twist away. Dark Boy kicks the back of his legs so that Blond Boy is knocked to his knees. Dark Boy drops down beside him then he lifts Blond Boy’s head and smashes it against the ground. I feel sick. A broad-chested boy blows a whistle. The crowd start bellowing again. I turn towards the door, but one of the oafs blocks my way.
‘Listen, I’m not really into spectator sports,’ I say. ‘I think I’d just like to get back to the splendour and comfort of the dormitory.’ I try a smile.
‘No, no going,’ he says.
‘Why ever not?’ I ask.
His pudgy face moulds itself into a smile. ‘Your turn now.’
I’ve got thin arms and legs. And a thin all the rest of me, come to that. I’ve never wanted big muscles, but now that I’m about to have the first fight of my life, I can’t help wishing I was stronger. I look at first one oaf and then the other, trying to work out which one is the brains.
‘What if I won’t fight?’ I say
‘Then your fighter is going to have a good win,’ says someone behind me.
I turn round. It’s the boy from the corridor, Rex. He looks even bigger and more powerful than he did earlier.
He sucks his teeth. ‘What’s your name, boy?’
I don’t think he even remembers me from before.
‘Blake,’ I say, squaring my shoulders. He can’t be much older than me.
‘You have to fight, Blake . All Specials fight. You fight, you get a fight ranking.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, I really don’t mind about the ranking – you can just put me at the bottom. You can leave me off the list altogether,’ I say.
He squints at me. I feel like I’m talking Cantonese in this place. ‘You talk good,’ he says, like it’s something horrible. ‘Do you fight good?’
‘I don’t want to fight,’ I say.
He shakes his head at me and walks away into the centre of the circular floor.
‘Hey all,’ he shouts. ‘Hey Reds, Hon Reds and the crimson Dom . . .’ A strawberry-blonde girl in the crowd stands up and blows kisses. Rex pauses to leer at her, then goes on. ‘This fight is Deon Collins . . .’ A squat boy, built like a bull, leaps out of the front row of seats. ‘And first-fight boy Blake!’
The Specials scream and shout and Deon walks towards me. His walk turns into a charge. I jump to my right just as he reaches me, but even so he smacks into my left side with such force that it spins me round. I spread my arms, try to regain my balance and . . . crack ! He punches me in an upwards movement under the chin. It feels like my head has snapped off my neck. I fall backwards and taste blood from where I’ve bitten my tongue.
Get up! I think. I don’t know why I worried about my arms being too weak; at this rate I’m not even going to get to swing a punch. I struggle to my knees as Deon is gesturing to the crowd that he’s going to grind me into the ground. He powers a punch into the side of my face. Just how mangled will I have to be before they call it off? My head is ringing.
I’m going to be beaten to a pulp. Again. Think . I can only remember one thing about fighting and that’s a conversation between the girls at the Willows about self-defence. I’m swaying on my knees and Deon is towering above me, jeering and yelling out to the crowd while he’s deciding how to finish me off.
So I take the only piece of combat advice I’ve ever been given and
‘Downstairs,’ says one of the oafs.
I’m half dragged down the stairs and along a corridor to a large, cylindrical room. There are tiers of seats around the sides, all full of Specials, who are cheering and hooting at two boys fighting in the centre of the room. I look around for an adult, but there are none. The Specials watching are jumping up and down, smashing their own fists into their palms and screeching at the fighters. The dark-haired fighter has blood pouring from his nose. He grabs the other boy by his blond hair. Blond Boy tries to twist away. Dark Boy kicks the back of his legs so that Blond Boy is knocked to his knees. Dark Boy drops down beside him then he lifts Blond Boy’s head and smashes it against the ground. I feel sick. A broad-chested boy blows a whistle. The crowd start bellowing again. I turn towards the door, but one of the oafs blocks my way.
‘Listen, I’m not really into spectator sports,’ I say. ‘I think I’d just like to get back to the splendour and comfort of the dormitory.’ I try a smile.
‘No, no going,’ he says.
‘Why ever not?’ I ask.
His pudgy face moulds itself into a smile. ‘Your turn now.’
I’ve got thin arms and legs. And a thin all the rest of me, come to that. I’ve never wanted big muscles, but now that I’m about to have the first fight of my life, I can’t help wishing I was stronger. I look at first one oaf and then the other, trying to work out which one is the brains.
‘What if I won’t fight?’ I say
‘Then your fighter is going to have a good win,’ says someone behind me.
I turn round. It’s the boy from the corridor, Rex. He looks even bigger and more powerful than he did earlier.
He sucks his teeth. ‘What’s your name, boy?’
I don’t think he even remembers me from before.
‘Blake,’ I say, squaring my shoulders. He can’t be much older than me.
‘You have to fight, Blake . All Specials fight. You fight, you get a fight ranking.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, I really don’t mind about the ranking – you can just put me at the bottom. You can leave me off the list altogether,’ I say.
He squints at me. I feel like I’m talking Cantonese in this place. ‘You talk good,’ he says, like it’s something horrible. ‘Do you fight good?’
‘I don’t want to fight,’ I say.
He shakes his head at me and walks away into the centre of the circular floor.
‘Hey all,’ he shouts. ‘Hey Reds, Hon Reds and the crimson Dom . . .’ A strawberry-blonde girl in the crowd stands up and blows kisses. Rex pauses to leer at her, then goes on. ‘This fight is Deon Collins . . .’ A squat boy, built like a bull, leaps out of the front row of seats. ‘And first-fight boy Blake!’
The Specials scream and shout and Deon walks towards me. His walk turns into a charge. I jump to my right just as he reaches me, but even so he smacks into my left side with such force that it spins me round. I spread my arms, try to regain my balance and . . . crack ! He punches me in an upwards movement under the chin. It feels like my head has snapped off my neck. I fall backwards and taste blood from where I’ve bitten my tongue.
Get up! I think. I don’t know why I worried about my arms being too weak; at this rate I’m not even going to get to swing a punch. I struggle to my knees as Deon is gesturing to the crowd that he’s going to grind me into the ground. He powers a punch into the side of my face. Just how mangled will I have to be before they call it off? My head is ringing.
I’m going to be beaten to a pulp. Again. Think . I can only remember one thing about fighting and that’s a conversation between the girls at the Willows about self-defence. I’m swaying on my knees and Deon is towering above me, jeering and yelling out to the crowd while he’s deciding how to finish me off.
So I take the only piece of combat advice I’ve ever been given and
Similar Books
