Kenn Crawford - Dead Hunt

“Cheerleading is about strength, balance and skill,” Lucy often told him. “Football is nothing more than a bunch of smelly boys knocking the crap out of each other and patting their teammates on the butt.”

That aspect of sports always amused Lucy; women were known to hug each other at the drop of a hat, while men always stayed a macho-safe distance away from each other. But, when it came to sports, you never saw girls patting each other on the butt, yet in every male dominated sport the men did exactly that.

Cheer competitions bored Paul and he rarely attended them, so Lucy had been pleasantly surprised to see them there. Of course, the boys had spent more time drooling over the other cheerleaders, but at least they had made the trip. Lucy, Emma and Lauren could have crammed themselves back into the small, smelly school bus with their team mates, but the opportunity to drive back with the boys was a welcome diversion.

Michael, or ‘Mikey’, as Paul often called him, secretly had a crush on Lucy. Everyone did for that matter, but Michael tried to hide his feelings, especially around her extremely jealous boyfriend. Sometimes Michael just could not take his eyes off her. When Lucy climbed into the van wearing a tiny pair of shorts that would make Daisy Duke envious, and a belly shirt that revealed just enough flesh to make you want to see more, this was one of those times when he could not help but steal a look or two.

Michael was a walking cliché of the high school nerd. He was president of the science club, the computer club, the chess club, and every other club where brain was preferable to brawn. His thick, Buddy Holly glasses were forever sliding down his nose, and he was always carrying a heavy stack of books that looked like they weighed more than he did.

Michael’s feelings for Lucy were not what you would call a well kept secret. Even Lucy knew he had a major crush on her since they were twelve. She did not particularly like Michael, and she had to make sure she did not do or saying anything that he might take the wrong way and interpret as flirting, especially around Paul. Michael had enough problems with Paul as it was. For the longest time those two hated each other. Not disapproved or disliked; it had been pure, unbridled hatred. It was Wade Adams, the foreign exchange student from Australia, who eventually brought the three of them together.

Paul was one of the popular kids at school, especially around the hordes of girls who went all gaga over his muscular six foot seven frame. Paul wanted to be on the wrestling team, but there was no one big enough or brave enough to compete against him. The coach suggested he try football and that was where Paul made his mark. Of course, his mark usually came in the form of bruises, dislocated shoulders and the occasional broken bone that he inflicted on the opposing team when he steam-rolled over them. More than once local newspapers labeled him as “240 pounds of pure mean”.

Paul also had a mean streak off the field. It was a cruel side of him Lucy did not like, and there was nothing she could do about it. The mean side of Paul came in the form of being a bully. If some unsuspecting kid rubbed him the wrong way for any reason, Paul made that kid’s life a living hell, humiliating him in front of the entire school body every chance he got. He did not pick on people for the sake of being a bully; in that regard, he was a bit different. "It’s only people who deserve it," Paul would say, and as far as he was concerned, Michael deserved it.

The bullying rarely got physical because nobody had the balls to stand up to Paul, but it was not all that long ago when that changed.

Paul decided he wanted Michael’s seat in the school cafeteria and told him to move. No one knows if something just snapped in Michael’s brain, if he was high on drugs or if he simply decided life was just not worth living. Michael stood up, as usual, but instead of picking up his food tray and moving to a different table, he looked up at the goliath and said the one word Paul was not accustomed to hearing from five foot seven, one hundred and thirty pound science geeks.

“No,” Michael said defiantly.

“What did you say to me, you little piss ant?” Paul blinked in disbelief…

To his credit, or sheer stupidity, no one really knows for sure, Michael stood his ground.

“You find somewhere else to sit. I was here first,” Michael said, his voice cracking slightly, but his resolve unwavering.

Walk into any high school cafeteria and the several dozen conversations happening at any particular time build to a numbing roar, but on this particular day, the instant silence that filled the cafeteria was far more numbing than the conversations could ever be. Jaws dropped in astonishment; anticipation hung thick as they waited for the beating that was soon to follow.

Not a fight. A fight would imply that the other person had a chance, maybe even a slim chance at best, but a chance just the same. The wide eyed teenagers stared at the massive Paul and then at Michael. No, this would not be a fight. It would be a beating. Paul was going to beat the crap out of Michael, and everyone knew it.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” Paul growled.

“No,” Michael repeated, his determination resolute.

Paul’s hand snapped forward and pushed Michael. To Paul it was only a push, but to Michael it was more like having a wrecking ball slam into your chest. The force of Paul’s push sent Michael flying backwards. He was airborne for five or six feet before crashing hard onto the cafeteria floor, sliding another few feet before skidding to a humiliating stop.

As the students roared in laughter Wade got up to help Michael and quickly noticed that even with the wind thoroughly knocked out of him, Michael was still trying to get up.

“This kid must have a death wish,” Wade thought.

To everyone who was watching, which just happened to be the entire school cafeteria, it looked as if the Australian was helping Michael up, but with the slightest of movements that only Michael could see, Wade shook his head “No”; his hand was restraining Michael.

“You’re outmatched, Mate,” Wade said, barely louder than a whisper.

With a defeated look, Michael blinked knowingly, and Wade effortlessly pulled Michael to his feet. What happened next was even more unexpected than Michael’s infantile attempt at defiance.

Wade faced the laughing football player, his Australian accent grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Oy! I’m impressed. You knocked the little bloke down,” Wade said as he walked towards Paul, fists clenched. Paul’s laughing faded to a smile. “Why don’t you try knocking ME down?” Wade challenged.

Now Wade would not be considered a small guy at five foot eleven and sporting fourteen inch biceps, but even his muscular physique seemed dwarfed next to the bulk of Paul’s massive frame. Paul laughed and snapped a right-hook so fast it caught Wade flush on the jaw, spinning him in a vicious circle.

Wade was no stranger to fighting and expected Paul to swing, but even he was caught off-guard at how fast the big guy was; people that big were rarely that fast. Paul was, however, and the punch left Wade bent at the waist and spitting blood.

What was more surprising to everyone in the cafeteria, Paul included, was that Wade did not go down. Sure, he was bent at the waist and he had to use one hand to steady himself, but the son-of-a-bitch was still on his feet.

Paul stared in disbelief.

Wade shook the cobwebs from his head, straightened up and faced Paul.

“You hit like a Sheila,” Wade smirked, wiping the blood from his lip.

Infuriated, Paul threw another vicious punch, but this time Wade was prepared for Paul’s speed and sashayed away from the punch with the grace of a dancer, and crashed his own fist into the side of Paul’s jaw.