Tree Stump

By Guy Tucker

Stinky Billy Tate was the resident school bully. Today at lunch was just like every other day, Billy was heading over toward me as I sat with Zach, the best friend a guy could ask for, but when it came to standing up to bullies, Zach was just as cowardly as I was. We were sitting under a tree in the shade about to start eating our lunches when Billy suddenly loomed over us, casting his shadow of smelly doom upon me. Billy was the tallest kid in fifth grade; he had repeated this grade twice already. He had red-hair and freckles and smelt like he hadn’t showered in days.

Lunch time, I’m hungry, hand over your lunch, now,” Billy stated with his eyes narrowed and his meaty hand outstretched. He was the only kid at The Holy Mother that could pass for a grown up. He had a fine layer of stubble on his face and a nest of ginger hair on his chest that threatened to burst from the neck of his filthy white school shirt.

A mournful sigh escaped my lips as I lowered my head and rummaged through my bag and popped open the clear Tupperware container that held the gourmet roll that my mother had made. I pulled out the cling-wrap covered sesame seed roll and held it in my hands and stared at it for a second too long.

Hand it over nerd,” Billy barked. “I’m starved.”

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