The Ribbajack by Brian Jacques Page B

off guard, he would destroy her. Nobody treated Jason Hunter like that and got away with it.
     
     
     
    Fate is fickle, and the company of unwilling friends short lived. Jason Hunter had his first experience of this as he came out of school that day. His customary group of hangers-on, even Mal and Carlene, had gone over to the enemy. They were standing on the steps, gathered around Huma, chatting animatedly. Jason controlled his rage, telling himself that after he had humiliated the tall girl today, and captured the one-hundred-metres sprint cup on Saturday morning, everything would change. He would be the star once more, the sole, undisputed leader of the pack. As he approached them, he could hear the muted laughter, someone even made a birdlike squawk. But Jason shrugged it off. He had laid his plans.
    He stood in front of Huma, pretending to shuffle his feet awkwardly, keeping his head down. It was a ploy which had always worked well with parents and teachers. Flicking his blond hair aside, Jason gave Huma a charmingly sorrowful smile, playing the little boy just right. “Er, Huma, can I have a word with you, please?”
    She turned the remorseless grey eyes upon him. “It’s a free country, you can have as many words as you please.”
    He felt his jaw tightening, and checked it. “Er, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I joked about your name. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.”
    As her eyes bored into him, she smiled condescendingly. “Think nothing of it, Jason, you didn’t embarrass me, you only embarrassed yourself by your own bad manners and lack of wit.”
    It was the ultimate insult to Jason, being put down like an ill-mannered child in front of everybody. Something inside him snapped. He swung his open hand at Huma’s face, roaring, “Shuttup, you smart-mouthed—”
    The tall girl avoided the slap by knocking Jason’s hand up. As he stumbled forward, she pushed the back of his neck hard. Jason tumbled down the steps, falling facedown on the ground. He scrambled to get up, but was sent back down. Huma had the flat of her foot firmly between his shoulder blades.
    Leaning down on him, her grey eyes hard as granite, she warned him, “Stay down, Jason, you’re on your own now, so leave it alone and stay clear of me, do you hear?”
    He struggled, but big and strong as he was, the tall girl’s foot held him there. A man’s voice called from the doorway, “Stop that this instant, stand still, you people!”
    Mr. Knipe, the athletics coach, and Mr. Wentworth, the math teacher, came bounding down the steps.
    Jason felt himself released from the restraining foot. He struggled up, fists clenched, trying to get at his enemy. He was hauled back by the huge, hairy hand of Mr. Knipe. Mr. Wentworth stood between Jason and Huma.
    “Fighting with girls now, are we, Hunter?”
    Wiping dust and tears from his face, Jason pointed at his adversary. “She started it!”
    A clamour arose from the onlookers. Mr. Knipe held up his free hand. “Anyone not wanting to do twenty circuits of the school field, go straight home. Now!”
    The area cleared as if by magic—the coach was a man of his word. Mr. Wentworth looked at Huma, shaking his head. “Not a very good start for your first day at school, miss.”
    The girl’s grey eyes were soft and disarming as she smiled ruefully at the teacher. “It wasn’t serious, sir, we were only messing about.”
    Mr. Wentworth, captivated by her, smiled back. “Messing about, eh? Well, there’s no real harm done. Go on, get along home now, and no more messing about.”
    Huma flashed both men an extra-warm smile. “Thank you.”
    When she had gone, Mr. Knipe turned to Jason. “What’ve you got to say for yourself, Hunter?”
    The culprit avoided his eyes. “Nothing, Coach.”
    There was an awkward silence as Knipe looked him up and down. “Not hurt, are you? Fit for the race tomorrow?”
    Jason assured him, “I’m alright, Coach, I’ll win the cup.”
    Knipe nodded.