How To Stop A Bully
I was skinny and quite reserved, only really chatting to the English and a few Spanish friends. One morning, before the summer heat rose, everyone waited to be called into class and I sat on a wall by the smaller upper yard. I was pushed and fell over the edge, a drop of about five metres. I landed awkwardly on an ankle. Marky was first to make sure I was alright and helped me to my feet. We looked up and there were loads of Spanish kids peering over the wall. The bell rang for lessons, so I limped over to queue up in our respective years. In the queue, a boy behind shoved me, leaned in and said in Spanish, “Did you enjoy your fall?” It was the bully of our year group. He’d picked on a lot of the Spanish recently, including my friends. He was much bigger than me and I’d tried to keep my distance.
I looked around for Marky, but he was further back and over to the right. The bully jabbed me in the back and muttered, “Gilipollas, I will beat you up.” I didn’t look at him but knew there was no way out. Marky was too far away and the teachers were preoccupied. Looking down, I clenched my right fist and breathed in. I turned around and punched him in the face. He hit the dirt and I jumped on him. Fists thrashed about, but I was on top and pummelled him hard in the head. I took a punch to the jaw and hit back with a ferocity I never knew I had. When it was broken up, I was still swinging. We were hauled to our feet amongst the babbling teachers and shouting schoolkids. A teacher held me back with the palm of his hand. My chest heaved up and down as I stared at the bully. He looked shocked with red marks on his face. I don’t think anyone had stood up to him before. And it was the first time I’d ever been in a fight. He never went near me or my friends again.