CHAPTER TWO
The Fight
Martin leans back in the chair in the office, rubbing his swollen cheek. It’s Monday afternoon, and he knows he’s in trouble. He groans and stares at the red letters of his school, placed on wall above the secretary's desk.
Studying the letters doesn’t block out the pain in his body. His head is pounding, and the garishly loud ticking of the wall clock isn’t helping. His swollen knuckles pulse with each merciless tap of the secretary's pen.
Martin continues to concentrate on the letters, willing himself not to cry. Logoria High is the best school in the city, producing some of the highest achieving students in their region and boasting several state championship trophies. It’s a stark contrast to their rival, Wellis High School, which produces most of the city’s lower – class misfits.
Martin shifts his eyes to the trophy case in the office. It used to be in the forum, but after students from Wellis vandalized LHS a few years back, it was relocated to the safety of the office – protected under lock and key.
Martin winces at the pain, but tries to remain focused on the trophy case. The championship trophies awarded to the LHS Basketball team were acquired in the last two years, and Martin had been the MVP both times.
He was the first freshman to ever play on the Varsity team, and it took him several weeks to earn the respect of his teammates. His parents and his friends were proud when he was awarded MVP both years, but none so much as his father, who’d been awarded the MVP title during his junior year at LHS.
His parents attended LHS as teenagers and became successful, esteemed members of society. They bought a house in the upper - class community of Colera Heights. Mr. West is the District Attorney for Logoria; Mrs. West is an English professor at Clefton University, in the neighboring city of Clairmont. Nothing short of model citizens, the two are a perfect example of the American dream – Martin had been included in that dream until recently. His spiral into the role of juvenile delinquent has been an endless source of embarrassment for his parents.
Martin winces as he gently caresses his left eye. It’s beginning to swell, and he needs some ice.
“Shouldn't I see a nurse?” Martin asks the secretary, but she’s no longer in the room. A sudden, sharp pain in his eye causes him to swear. Martin looks around the room and spots the secretary in the next room making copies of something.
Martin leans over the secretary’s desk, glancing at the papers strewn across the top, but quickly straightens as Principal Burke walks by. Mr. Burke shakes his head and clicks his tongue as he slips out of the office.
Martin watches him as he exits through the swinging office door and down the hall toward the lobby. The door swishes back and forth slowly, like a pendulum on a clock, ticking away, sealing his doom with each passing moment.
Martin swallows hard. This won’t go over well with his parents. He puts his head down and clasps his hands over the back of his head. Both his head and his knuckles are still pounding, and he has a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Stupid Johnny,” Martin mumbles to himself. Johnny Reese had been in the office earlier. His mother had already met with the principal and taken him home.
It all started around lunch time. Martin was sitting at his table, talking with his friends and eating his pizza. Nothing special; he did that every lunch period. The conversation had been light, until the kids around his table started talking about the barbecue at his house the day before.
◦◦◦
”Ohmigod! I wish I’d brought a video camera with me!”
The teens who were there began to laugh, and those who weren’t were listening intently.
“Mr. West went ballistic! I swear to God, Martin’s eyes got as big as golf balls when his father lifted him off his seat!” The girl telling the story nearly fell out of her chair in hysterics.
“It’s not that funny,” Martin interjected, but no one was listening to him.
“I thought he was going to choke on his hotdog,” someone else added.
Everyone at his table began to either talk about what happened or ask someone to repeat what happened. Martin felt his blood boil as the conversation at his table quickly orbited out of his control. He scanned the other tables for something equally as entertaining, and not about him, to distract his friends. That’s when he spotted Johnny Reese.
Johnny was trying to impress a girl by the front of the cafeteria. He’s a thin, lanky kid with bad acne and a not-quite-Goth style of dress. With several rings in his ears, black fingernails, and black slacks, his orange tie dye shirt threw everything off. Martin tapped the table to get his friends’ attention and pointed in Johnny’s direction.
“Check this guy out,” Martin smirked.
After catching their breath from the previous hilarity, the group watched with amusement as Johnny continued to try and talk to the girl.
“What is he doing?” one of the teens snorted. “Is he trying to tell her a joke?”
“She’s too cute,” one of the kids snickered. “Johnny doesn’t stand a chance.”
“I don’t know, some girls go for geeks,” one of the girls chuckled.
Martin shook his head. “I give him five seconds before she walks away.”
The kids did a countdown and, sure enough, Johnny’s final attempt to make Cute Girl laugh ended with him standing by himself. The group erupted with giggles and snorts as Johnny’s hard work with Cute Girl crashed and burned.
“What a dork!” one of them snickered.
After standing awkwardly by himself for several moments, Johnny finally turned around and ordered his food. To Martin's delight, as well as that of his friends, Johnny wentdown their aisle to find a seat.
“Watch this,” Martin whispered to them. He moved his foot into the aisle just as Johnny Reese walked by with his tray. Johnny crashed to the ground, and his lunch splattering to the floor with him, a mass of solids and fluids. Everyone nearby laughed, especially those at Martin's table; no one laughed as loud as Martin, or with nearly as much gusto.
Johnny looked around, flustered and embarrassed, searching to find what he tripped over. He spotted Martin's outstretched sneaker and flushed. Angry and red, Johnny pushed himself off the floor and stormed over to Martin.
“I know that was you, West! You’d better apologize and pay for my lunch!” he demanded.
Martin scoffed. “Uh, no.”
Martin’s blatant refusal elicited snickers from his table. Johnny’s embarrassment was spread all over his beet red neck and face. He swallowed hard and continued his campaign.
“You'd better pay for my lunch, West, or you're gonna get it!” Johnny squeaked. His voice cracked, and the teens surrounding him laughed mockingly. No one messes with Martin.
Martin chuckled in his seat. “Oh, Johnny, you’re turning red. You’re not gonna cry, are you?”
More laughter followed, and Johnny clenched his jaw.
“I-I mean it, West!” he stuttered.
“Whatever, Johnny,” Martin replied, rolling his eyes.
“You think I'm joking?” Johnny’s eyes darted to his left as a small group began to crowd around them, escalating the tension of the moment. Johnny leaned in towards Martin, lowering his voice to an almost menacing tone.
“If you don't buy my lunch, I'm gonna wipe the floor with your face and make you eat it!”
“Excuse me?” Martin looked at Johnny with mock surprise. “You're gonna what?”
Johnny frowned as several kids nearby positioned watchful eyes on them. Backing down was no longer an option. But he couldn’t take the first swing. There was only one option.
“You heard me, Nigga.”
Martin was in the middle of rolling his eyes, but stopped cold when Johnny said the last word. He was comfortable using the term around people of the same color and his closest friends, but hearing it from Johnny, who was white and nowhere near being his friend, was unforgiveable. A hush fell over the teens at his table
as all eyes watched Martin. He stood up slowly, swelling his chest.
“What did you call me?” Martin seethed.
Johnny hit his mark. He’d have to follow through.
“Y-o-u he-a-r-d m-e.” he said slowly, pausing for effect, “…Nigga.”
“Ooh,” one teen interjected.
“I got your attention now, don’t I -” Before Johnny could finish his sentence, Martin had slammed his fist into Johnny’s nose.
Johnny staggered back, reaching for his face. The shock of the blow left him disoriented, giving Martin an opening to swing at him a second and third time.
Johnny couldn’t dodge the second blow, but ducked from the third and charged at Martin, upsetting several quarts of milk as they both landed on a lunch table. Johnny pinned Martin against the table and punched him, once, in his jaw. The sight produced cries of protest from Martin’s friends.
“They’re fighting!” someone shouts, and a crowd immediately rushed to the scene. As Johnny swung a second blow, Martin pushed him off, but not before Johnny's fist made contact with Martin's left eye, sending him to the floor.
Students from all over the cafeteria made their way to them to see who was winning. Chaos ensued. Someone yelled for a teacher to call 911. A female student began to cry.
Johnny tried to kick Martin, but Martin grabbed his leg and twisted it hard. Johnny fell to the floor, jarring his knee on the way down. He tried to get up quickly, but the pain shooting through his knee made him pause.
Martin saw his opening and grabbed Johnny’s tray from the floor, smashing it into his face. Johnny fell again to the floor and Martin dropped his knees into his chest, thrashing his fists wildly at his face. Johnny placed his hands in front of his face, but Martin’s fists were coming too fast. Johnny reached around and grabbed the leg of one of the lunch chairs, bringing it down on Martin's head. Martin stopped his assault and grabbed his head, stunned.
Johnny pushed Martin off and rolled over to his side, moaning in pain. Martin tried to get up, fighting back the bile building in his throat. He slipped on something and fell back to the floor just as Johnny stood up, blood running from his nose. Johnny hobbled over to Martin, but was grabbed from behind by Mr. Bowen, the Vice Principal. Mr. Bowen immediately pulled Johnny out of the cafeteria.
Martin saw Mr. Bowen and tried to sneak away. He rose slowly and, hoping to avoid the same fate as Johnny, made his way through the sea of students. After recognizing an all too familiar face in the crowd, Martin made an about-face, but he was too slow.
Mr. Burke, the principal of LHS, saw Martin. He called out his full name, grabbed him by the arm, and marched him to the office.
•••
Martin takes a second glance at the school secretary’s desk. The police had been called and a report filed. Martin spots the report sticking out of his very thick school file and grabs it. After reading a few pages, Martin swears. The report can only make things worse for him. All of the students, including those at his table, claim that Martin took the first swing.
Martin tosses the file on the secretary’s desk and sits down again with his hands in his head. Mr. Burke returns to the office to announce that his parents have arrived.