Mr. Brusque’s world shifted and whirled. He felt shapes that were not shapes, saw colours that weren’t colours. They loomed close, faded far and dancing all around him. His mind roiled in turmoil as though churning at the mercy of a great water beast. He spun on an axis that didn’t exist, fell to a place that wasn’t down. He struck out to punch something, anything, but his fist didn’t feel like a fist anymore.

The chaos settled.

He felt polished wood beneath his arms and an ergonomic disaster on which he had to sit.

Russel Musk jerked upright. What a dream. Wait, what was he dreaming about again? Oh well, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real.

He glanced around, hoping no one saw him wake up spooked. The classroom was a ghost town, and the teacher was nowhere to be seen. Nice. As far as he was concerned, that was where teachers ought to be more often.

Jimmy Wilson stepped into the room.

Their eyes met.

Russel cracked a grin. Just the nerd he needed to up his mood.

Jimmy eased the door shut and hustled away.

In two twos, Russel shoved it back open.

“Where ya goin’, Wimmy?” he asked, leaning on the doorframe.

Back turned, Jimmy froze. The wimp wouldn’t dare another step if he knew what was good for him.

“C’mere, boy,” Russel commanded, pointing at the ground and clicking his tongue as though calling a dog.

Jimmy hesitated. His small frame trembled. He heard footsteps, felt a shoe in his back. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on his stomach.

“We talked about this, Wimmy,” hissed Russel. “When I call your name, you get. Here. Yesterday, wagging your little tail like the mutt you are.”

Still gathering his wits, Jimmy reached for the glasses that had flown from his face when he hit the ground.

Russel snatched them up. “Sorry. I hear you can’t hit a guy with glasses.”

He snapped out the glasses by one of their arms and slapped them across Jimmy’s face. Normally, such flimsy little things wouldn’t pack much of a punch, but he knew how to make it hurt. The ‘glass cannon’, he called it. His aim was impeccable too.

Right in the eye.

Jimmy yowled.

“Ha ha! Look at that! You can hit a guy with glasses!” Russel laughed. “Listen to that howlin’!”

“It f-feels good,” Jimmy stated between tears.

Russel stopped laughing. He stared. What was that supposed to mean? None of the nerds had ever responded like that.

“B-beating someone down because you’re stronger or smarter,” Jimmy bleated, choking out a broken laugh. “What a rush! It feels good, right? Yeah ... I know the feeling.”

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Jimmy looked up at him, one eye bloodshot from the blow. His gaze was piercing. The waver left his voice in those last few words.

Russel flinched back and kicked himself for showing fear. That wasn’t enough, so he literally kicked Jimmy.

“Man, Wimmy! You sound like some shrink!” raged Russel. “Say somethin’ else! Go on! I dare ya!”

Jimmy smirked. “Do you think you look good when you-?”

Another kick.

“Keep talking!” Russel barked.

“… act like this?” Jimmy continued calmly.

The nerd behaved like it didn’t hurt. His voice hadn’t risen or fallen, which suggested that it really didn’t hurt … or Jimmy didn’t care. That wasn’t how kicks were supposed to work. Russel gave him a fresh one. The force flipped Jimmy onto his back. This time, Jimmy wheezed into a cough. That was more like it!

“I got Ashley Bennett eating out of my hands, didn’t I?” boasted Russel. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking about Darwin and stuff. What do you think she sees when she looks at me? Two words: alpha male. In a primeval jungle, guys like me kept gals like her alive, and when we squish you? Heh, we’re doin’ nature a favour. Can’t have dem wimpy genetics gunking up the gene pool, amIright?” A sly smirk lit up his face. “… But just in case.”

Russel gave a well-aimed stomp. He wondered if Jimmy’s howl would go high-pitched and girly. An iron grip stopped his foot dead in its tracks.

The grip was Jimmy’s.

Russel staggered, almost fell as the boy’s twig-like arm flung his foot to land elsewhere. Russel looked at the Jimmy like a worm he’d discovered was a snake.

Jimmy got up and dusted his hand off with a look that suggested he’d touched something nasty.

“You know what gets me?” asked Jimmy, pacing in thoughtful circles. “You’ve got the good genes: the bulk of a small bull and the fleet feet of a … I dunno, a really fast cow.”

Amid his surprise, Russel felt vaguely offended.

“You’d be happy with that alone, but you’ve got a fairly high IQ too … somewhere in the backrooms, gathering dust and mold.”

Russel clenched his fists.

“And the best part? Fully functional, empathy. Someone sorta wishes she could reach out and rip it from your … wait a minute …”

Russel felt the icy touch of something feathery probing him. He whirled around to look.

Nothing was there.

“Never mind. It’s non-transferable,” muttered Jimmy. “So anyway, your parents love you. No one’s actively bullying you. Your friends are jerks and yes men, but it’s not like you didn’t pick ‘em. Every now and then, you’re at the crossroads. You see Jimmy on the floor and this thought comes knocking at your door: ‘What if I stop being a jerk? What if I help him up and apologise?’. You sense his pain and feel it too, but you don’t want to, so it annoys you. You just push through and come up with reasons why this is okay.”

Russel was raising his fist when Jimmy stopped and stared him in the eye. There was something about that gaze … he felt it in his soul.

Jimmy's face was the picture of disgust. “You didn’t stomp Jimmy. Not yet, at least. That happens three weeks after this. It was a permanent injury. Your posse mocked him left, right and centre. It went from ‘Wimmy’ to ‘Wiman’. He couldn’t even walk right. When he thought life was too hard and acted out that belief, you laughed. ‘Wiman, am I right?’ Your friends were a bit uncomfortable, but they laughed too. Empathy ached in your heart, but you buried it. You had everything you needed to be a decent person, but you didn’t and you know what?”

Jimmy grinned inhumanly widely. “I find that tantalisiń̵̢̓g̶̖͘ͅ..”

Russel looked at the teeth. Razor-sharp. The red in Jimmy's bloodshot eye was glowing.

Hard nope.

He spun to run, but ‘Jimmy’ was still there. Ahead and to the left, the nerd remained in the same place relative to him. Russel reeled around, trying to shake off the spectre. Somehow, ‘Jimmy’ didn’t touch the lockers, even when he should have. They were always behind him. ‘Jimmy’ never took a step. He just stood there, yet he moved, or maybe the world moved around him? Was Russel even moving?

Eventually, Russel simply ran anyway. Wild terror blurred his thoughts. Jimmy’s words echoed in his skull.

“I think you might be perfect for me,” ‘Jimmy’ declared, though his lips didn’t move, “but … I have to be sure.”

‘Jimmy’ reached out and tapped Russel.

It was like getting hit by a train. Russel crashed through the lockers, the walls, to the frightening, churning black and red space beyond.

He awoke to the sound of a blaring horn, his forehead planted on a steering wheel.