The Ribbajack by Brian Jacques Page A

if you ask me. Hahaha!”
    The buzzer sounded. Jason turned to the remainder of his cronies, a bright tinge rising to his cheeks. “Wait’ll lunch break, I’ll make her sorry she ever met me!”
    Standing out of range of Jason’s kicks or shoves, Mal grinned. “I’d like to see that.”
    Jason made his way back into class alone, wondering, Was that a scornful note he had sensed in Mal’s voice? A small group of girls, whispering about something, broke up as he entered the room. Jason did not pay attention to a single word of the lesson. Huma D’Este . . . his thoughts could focus on nothing else. He rehearsed the lunchtime scenario. This time things would be different, oh so different.
    Jason spotted the new girl as he sidled into the school canteen. She was sitting amid a group of girls, chatting animatedly. Some girlish giggles came from the company. Were they laughing at him? He shot them a look of disgust, but Huma seemed to be ignoring him.
    Jason strode swiftly and purposefully across. Placing a heavy hand on Huma’s shoulder, he pressed down. Feeling he had the advantage of looking down at his victim by keeping her in the chair, he enquired loudly, “Huma—what sort of a name’s that? Huh, it makes you sound almost human!”
    Even though he was pressing down hard on the tall girl’s shoulder, she stood up straight with no apparent effort. Again, he found himself locked within the stare of her riveting grey eyes. They were cold and bleak as rainwashed stone. Huma spoke his name as if it were two separate words.
    “Jay son! What’s in a name, Jay son? Is your father a bird? It certainly sounds like it. Jay son, son of a jay!”
    Mr. Forshaw, who was on canteen lunchtime duty, had been watching the body language of the pair. Sensing trouble, he made straight for them. “Excuse me, could somebody tell me what’s going on here?”
    The moment was lost. Jason muttered something about going to the counter for food, and slouched off.
    Mal and Carlene had saved a place for Jason. They moved over as he sat down, placing a slice of pie and a can of cola on the table. Mal could hardly wait. “Well, what did she say?”
    Jason shrugged. “Nothing.”
    Carlene looked at him disbelievingly. “You must have said something to each other, we saw you talking just before old Forshaw arrived. What was it?”
    Fighting for control of himself, Jason clenched his teeth. He gripped the can of cola so forcefully that it crushed, sending liquid squirting all over his slice of pie. “Nothing! Just keep your noses out of it! We said nothing!” He stormed off from the table, knocking his chair over.
    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