Chapter One

Any fool should’ve seen this trap. The bully is charging at me now, the empty hallway echoing thuds of her bounding feet. Feeling my throat clench, I try to dodge her attack, unload my locker, head the other way. Too late. It's always too late with Beatrice. I hear her rushing footsteps, smell tobacco stink in her fuzzy orange hair. Why is there never a teacher to protect me? I want to be strong, stand up for myself, but courage is sunk in a bottomless mud pit. My spirit itself is mud. Mouth dry, heart pounding, I walk even faster. She’s playing with me now, huffing smelly breath. I must escape. My feet are so heavy I barely lift them. She begins to hiss, toying with me. The strike comes. A sickening blow, my head jerks sideways, her palm smashing my nose against a cold metal locker.
“Gotcha! Now listen up, psycho… you owe me for not snitching. Show me the money or get more fists in your scrawny face.”
Focus, Starr, I say to myself. Reply slowly. Don’t stutter. Don’t show weakness. She caught me stealing necessary food at Hill’s Market. I have no money to pay her to leave me alone. “Go ahead and tell, Beatrice. I don’t c-care.” Well, I do care, but what else can I say? I feel a warm wet trickle. She’s bloodied my nose.
The bully steps back, surveying her handiwork with a sneer, thrusting a finger at my BEAGLES RULE tee shirt. “I’m sick of seeing your knobby knees, yellow haired wimp… and that stupid dog of yours, too. Better run see if he’s still alive, though he’ll not be for long. It’s real easy to snuff out a dog, so simple it cracks me up, cracks me up!” She’s laughing so hard her body doubles over.
My face goes cold, neck hair rising. I swipe blood on a dirty gym sock. Deep inside a bit of courage builds, fueled by rage. “You touch my dog, and my dad will…”
“Your dad will do what? Aw, you’re not even worth the time it’ll take to snitch, but I’ll get you yet,” she threatens, cursing. Her finger comes inches from my smashed nose once more before she disappears.
In a panic, I escape Seagrove Middle School, go running down Mall Street to see about Sketch and find him on our front porch curled up on the old sofa. “Come here, boy.” Blood is dripping from my crushed nose, splotching my shirt. Sketch’s warm tongue laps my tears, likely all the consolation I’ll get again. To prevent the next bully attack, I’ll need to use my brain. I’m way too frail to fight.