With awe he realized that he could take this frozen moment and disconnect himself almost entirely from the slow-motion scene and see himself from the outside. Davey pictured clearly his own sitting form, arm pinned painfully to his back, and Curtis’s crouching form and savage sneer.
Davey chose to repel the attack, and to inflict as much damage as possible on the bully in the process. He fired the strong muscles of his thighs, turning the toes of his right foot outward and kicking his chair back and to the left. Rising a few inches from his seat, the pressure left his arm and Davey dropped his shoulders, moving his shoulder-blades onto his back. He accomplished all these actions before Curtis had time to respond.
“Hey,” Curtis barked as the back of Davey’s chair drove into his hip. He didn’t have time to utter another syllable—with his shoulder-blades out of the way Davey was free to drive his head backward, hitting Curtis’s temple with the side of his skull.
A flare of pain shot through Davey’s head, but he was prepared for the blow. The sound from Curtis’s head sounded like a rock hitting a rotting pumpkin, Davey decided. With his head driven back, Curtis staggered as his brain sloshed.
Given the extra distance between their bodies, Davey pivoted and took full advantage of Curtis’s stupor and spun to his left. Once he faced the blond bully he realized that the only thing keeping Curtis on his feet was his death-grip on Davey’s wrist. Davey raised his right arm quickly and chopped Curtis’s grip, leaving Curtis swaying on his feet. With his accelerated perception, seeing the world one frame at a time, Davey had time to consider if this retribution on the bully had been good enough, or if he should exact further revenge. He almost decided to show leniency, but then remembered the ball that Curtis had aimed at his head earlier. For whatever reason, Curtis meant to conquer Davey. Based on this fact, Davey decided to strike a decisive blow.
Even in a daze, Curtis raised his hands to ward off Davey’s attack, but Davey saw the blond boy’s hands come up and ducked under. He waited for gravity to catch up to his legs and then thrust upward, driving his arms up, underneath Curtis’s defenses. Davey’s hands connected with Curtis’s chest, driving him backwards—away from the circle of desks.
As he stumbled backwards, Curtis’s feet interlocked and he tumbled, landing flat on his back and sliding a few feet on the shiny tile floor. With two long strides, Davey leapt on the prone boy. With one leg bent and the other knee to the floor, Davey drove two knuckles down with all the force he could muster. His sharp knuckles connected squarely with Curtis’s solar plexus.
The effect was instantaneous—Curtis’s torso rose up off the floor as he pulled his knees to his chest and produced a strange, inhaling “Ghurrrp!”
Davey stood and stepped back from the blond boy who was struggling for air. Time started to speed up for Davey again as the threat passed. The color returned to his vision. He once again heard the ambient sounds of the room, and his focus waned, returning him to a broad peripheral view of the world again. Footsteps pulled his attention to his left—Mr. Nguyen banged through the door and strode to Davey’s side.
“Come,” he said to Davey. The small man stalked back towards the door.
Davey lowered his eyes and followed him, leaving Curtis still on his knees.
Once they reached the hallway, Mr. Nguyen closed the door to the classroom, clasped his hands behind his back and faced Davey, scanning the boy’s face.
“You too smart for room,” he said.
Davey struggled to parse the sentence before he realized that Mr. Nguyen purposefully omitted words to disguise his accent.
“No sir,” said Davey, taking the statement as an accusation of vanity.
“Yes,” said Mr. Nguyen. “You too smart. Those kids not smart.”
Davey wondered suddenly why Mr. Nguyen had drawn this conclusion. The little man hadn’t witnessed the fight, and even if he had, he wondered why fighting back would mean Davey was smart.
“You want library?” asked Mr. Nguyen. “Read alone? Away from boy?" He jabbed a finger at the classroom.
“No sir,” Davey blurted out his reply. His first instinct told him that to go to the library would be almost as bad as losing the fight; it would be an admission of weakness. Mr. Nguyen didn’t reply right away. Davey found he didn’t want to change his answer.
Sensing Davey’s resolve, Mr. Nguyen didn’t repeat the offer. “Okay, but no more fight.” He wagged a finger in Davey’s face. “You fight again and you go to library.”
“Yes sir. Thank you,” Davey nodded to the thin man.
“Okay. Go finish bad drawing.” Mr. Nguyen smiled at Davey as he opened the door.
As he crossed back to his desk, Davey assessed the room. Everyone still seemed to be concentrating on their tasks, but he noticed the quick glances as he fetched his chair and dragged it back to the desk. Before sitting down, Davey took one last look around the room, this time noticing that Curtis had flopped his hair over his forehead, to cover the rising lump near his temple.
Curtis made one more attempt to intimidate Davey. When he noticed Davey looking at his forehead he caught his gaze and made a motion across his own neck, miming slitting Davey’s throat.
Davey stared at Curtis until the older boy looked away.
HE WAS EXHAUSTED by the time Mr. Nguyen tapped Davey on the shoulder. The little man simply pointed to the door and Davey knew what it meant—his mother had come early to pick him up. His emotional and physical stress melted away at the prospect of getting home and getting away from forced activities and older antagonists.
During their afternoon recess, Davey had admitted to himself that he might have made a mistake when he challenged Curtis. As soon as they entered the courtyard, Curtis had joined a group of boys who hadn’t been present during the confrontation. It dawned on Davey that Curtis and his friends might gang up on him in the courtyard. When one of the boys laughed at Curtis and pushed him away, Davey breathed a sigh of relief. Based on his chilly reception, Davey suspected that Curtis had as few friends as himself.
All those concerns faded into memory as Davey pushed open the front door and saw his mom’s car parked at the curb. He rode home without uttering a word. He simply looked out the car window as his mom talked on her cell phone and drove.
AT DINNER, DAVEY WAS UNSURPRISED to find his sister in a bad mood. She spent most meals either brooding or trying to find a spiteful angle of attack against her mom.
Tonight she targeted Davey.
“How was retard school, retard?” she asked between bites.
Davey didn’t respond. He simply chewed carefully and looked at the calendar on the wall. He was re-counting the number of days until Paul returned from vacation.
“Susan,” their mother scolded eventually while reading a piece of mail. “That’s an ugly word.”
“What do you care?” Susan challenged. “You sent him there.”
“It was our only choice at this late date, and it’s a perfectly fine class,” Melanie explained.
“Ashley’s brother has to go there, and he’s a total retard,” said Susan.
Melanie moved her glasses to the bridge of her nose and lowered the letter. “Susan, what did I just say?”
“You said it was your only choice,” said Susan, sneering.
“I said, don’t use that word,” said her mother.
“No you didn’t,” Susan informed her. “You said it was ugly. You never said don’t use it.”
“Well I’m saying it now.”