Brian Jacques - The Ribbajack

Carlene turned to the retinue, who were sitting at the opposite table. “Well, what do you make of that?”

There was a chalk cartoon sketched on the math class blackboard when Jason arrived. It showed a bird with huge muscle-bound legs and a human face, which resembled Jason pretty closely. Just so there would be no mistake as to the identity of the bird, a balloon issued from its mouth, enclosing some words:

“Duuuuh, I’m a jay’s son!”

Jason could not face Huma’s eyes. He turned on the rest of the class, yelling, “Come on, who drew that, eh?”

Mr. Wentworth, the math teacher, entered at that moment. He brushed the offending image from the board, calling over his shoulder, “Keep the noise down, Hunter. Right, pay attention, class, decimal conversion . . .”

His voice faded into the distance as Jason locked his eyes on the back of Huma D’Este’s head, sending waves of hatred pouring at her. The plastic ballpoint he was gripping snapped in two halves; a vein in his forehead throbbed like a drum. That girl! One way or another she would have to go. There was no room in his school for Huma D’Este!

Jason wracked his brain for a solution throughout the afternoon. She was very smart, so he would have to be smarter. More careful, too. He must pretend to call a truce, make friends. Then, when she was off guard, he would destroy her. Nobody treated Jason Hunter like that and got away with it.

Fate is fickle, and the company of unwilling friends short lived. Jason Hunter had his first experience of this as he came out of school that day. His customary group of hangers-on, even Mal and Carlene, had gone over to the enemy. They were standing on the steps, gathered around Huma, chatting animatedly. Jason controlled his rage, telling himself that after he had humiliated the tall girl today, and captured the one-hundred-metres sprint cup on Saturday morning, everything would change. He would be the star once more, the sole, undisputed leader of the pack. As he approached them, he could hear the muted laughter, someone even made a birdlike squawk. But Jason shrugged it off. He had laid his plans.

He stood in front of Huma, pretending to shuffle his feet awkwardly, keeping his head down. It was a ploy which had always worked well with parents and teachers. Flicking his blond hair aside, Jason gave Huma a charmingly sorrowful smile, playing the little boy just right. “Er, Huma, can I have a word with you, please?”

She turned the remorseless grey eyes upon him. “It’s a free country, you can have as many words as you please.”

He felt his jaw tightening, and checked it. “Er, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I joked about your name. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.”

As her eyes bored into him, she smiled condescendingly. “Think nothing of it, Jason, you didn’t embarrass me, you only embarrassed yourself by your own bad manners and lack of wit.”

It was the ultimate insult to Jason, being put down like an ill-mannered child in front of everybody. Something inside him snapped. He swung his open hand at Huma’s face, roaring, “Shuttup, you smart-mouthed—”

The tall girl avoided the slap by knocking Jason’s hand up. As he stumbled forward, she pushed the back of his neck hard. Jason tumbled down the steps, falling facedown on the ground. He scrambled to get up, but was sent back down. Huma had the flat of her foot firmly between his shoulder blades.

Leaning down on him, her grey eyes hard as granite, she warned him, “Stay down, Jason, you’re on your own now, so leave it alone and stay clear of me, do you hear?”

He struggled, but big and strong as he was, the tall girl’s foot held him there. A man’s voice called from the doorway, “Stop that this instant, stand still, you people!”

Mr. Knipe, the athletics coach, and Mr. Wentworth, the math teacher, came bounding down the steps.

Jason felt himself released from the restraining foot. He struggled up, fists clenched, trying to get at his enemy. He was hauled back by the huge, hairy hand of Mr. Knipe. Mr. Wentworth stood between Jason and Huma.

“Fighting with girls now, are we, Hunter?”

Wiping dust and tears from his face, Jason pointed at his adversary. “She started it!”

A clamour arose from the onlookers. Mr. Knipe held up his free hand. “Anyone not wanting to do twenty circuits of the school field, go straight home. Now!”

The area cleared as if by magic—the coach was a man of his word. Mr. Wentworth looked at Huma, shaking his head. “Not a very good start for your first day at school, miss.”

The girl’s grey eyes were soft and disarming as she smiled ruefully at the teacher. “It wasn’t serious, sir, we were only messing about.”

Mr. Wentworth, captivated by her, smiled back. “Messing about, eh? Well, there’s no real harm done. Go on, get along home now, and no more messing about.”

Huma flashed both men an extra-warm smile. “Thank you.”

When she had gone, Mr. Knipe turned to Jason. “What’ve you got to say for yourself, Hunter?”

The culprit avoided his eyes. “Nothing, Coach.”

There was an awkward silence as Knipe looked him up and down. “Not hurt, are you? Fit for the race tomorrow?”

Jason assured him, “I’m alright, Coach, I’ll win the cup.”

Knipe nodded. “Make sure you do, and no more of this wrestling with young ladies. See you tomorrow.”

He released Jason, watching him jog off toward the gates. “Pity we don’t have martial arts for the girls. She looked as if she had the better of Hunter there.”

Mr. Wentworth turned back to the school. “Hmm, we could do with a few more like Huma D’Este. That Jason Hunter’s a born bully, but he got his comeuppance from her. I quite enjoyed seeing him getting a taste of his own medicine.”

Friday night was humid and still. It was already one-thirty in the morning, and Jason was still unable to sleep. He lay on top of his bed, his mind a jumble of seething emotions. Thoughts of the past day’s events nagged at his brain. Huma D’Este, the one fly in his ointment. A single tall girl with odd-looking eyes. She was responsible for making him look foolish, forcing him to lose face in front of the whole school. A sudden thought occurred to him. Huma D’Este was still tormenting him. Supposing he lay awake, unable to think of anything but her? He would lose sleep, and turn up at the Inter Schools Trophy tomorrow tired and listless, unable to run properly or concentrate on the race. Everybody would be there, all eyes would be on him.

Jason rose. He sat on the side of his bed, staring out the open window at the hot, still night. Something must be done if he were to regain his former glory. That was it! He would drive all thoughts of her from his mind and think only of the task ahead. Hurrying off to the bathroom, Jason set the shower until it gushed forth tepid water. A good, long shower, followed by a peaceful night’s sleep. He took a long, luxurious shower, then towelled himself slowly. Wrapping the towel about his waist, he stood in front of the mirror, running his hands through his thick blond locks, admiring his physique and good looks. Telling himself he was a natural winner, Jason went back to bed. Ignoring the duvet, he lay down and composed his mind until sleep overcame him. Deep, dark, comforting sleep.

Yet the eyes of Huma D’Este came to haunt Jason’s dreams. Distant at first, but advancing slowly through misty vales of slumber. Growing larger and more luminescent until his whole being was immersed in their spell.

“Come to me, Jason, come to me.”

The husky voice was insistent, a promise, a command, a plea and a challenge. “I know you, Jason, you must come to me.” It was unlike any dream he had ever experienced.

With the towel knotted about his waist, Jason was running barefoot across his own garden. Taking the low hedge in an easy leap, running, running. Along the nightdark avenues and crescents, pools of light coming and going as he passed beneath streetlamps. Grass verges felt soft beneath his feet, asphalt paths smooth and still warm from the day’s heat. Running, running.