{{ON HIATUS}}

Chapter 2

My body swung helplessly through the halls. The Giants (my new, shiny nickname for them) had been dragging  me around the school for at least ten minutes now, on my way to God knows where. You could consider it a grand tour for the new kids...accept I'm the only new kid, and I was stuck in the grip of three hulking fists. At first, I was kind of freaked out; thought they were going to take me somewhere discrete to give me a proper beating—somewhere where no one could here my cries—but as time dragged on, this whole thing got pretty boring. Even the people following us—cheering and laughing, some grimacing at the sight—lost interest as they saw this wasn't going anywhere, and drifted away back into the halls. I sort of wished they'd take me to a dark room or something, and throw a couple punches. At least it would bring on some worthy action, and maybe give me a reason to take these guys a little more seriously.

I snuck a glance at the seeming "head" of this pathetic group of bullies. His forehead looked as hard as steal. I wanted to tell him to smash it into a wall to see which one would break first; him, or the concrete. I could probably slap him across the face with a brick, and he would barely feel a thing, but his cheeks where surprisingly pudgy. The scary man I'd seen early suddenly looked like a giant five year old, and so did all the other guys. One even had a unibrow. A freaking UNIBROW. How did I not notice that earlier? This struck me as hilarious and I had to choke back a laugh. I couldn't believe that these big babies with goofy smiles plastered all over their faces even appeared intimidating. Sure, they could still hurt me, but they didn't look like the stereotypical bully.

 Okay, this is just stupid. 

"Hey," I called to no one in particular.

This seemed to give them a little scare because they all merely jumped out of their skin. I assumed they weren't used to bored victims.

Black haired, unibrow guy glared down at me. "Did someone give you permission to speak?" Just the way his eyebrows wrinkled as he annunciated almost every word made this whole situation a whole lot more fun. 

I scoffed. "Yeah, me." I went to point at myself, but I couldn't jerk my hand out of "Steal Foreheads" clammy hand.

"Just shut your damn face hole." 

Now I actually laughed; not just a giggle, I cackled like an overly excited hyena on steroids. "Face hole?!" I choked out, "W—Who the hell says f—f—" just the thought of his phrase made me howl.

It could have just been nerves, but I felt like I could say or do ANYTHING to these guys. I felt powerful, and nothing could stop me.

Then my giggling fit was interrupted when my back slammed against the floor. My neck jerked back, snapping my head into the linoleum with a thud, and all the air I'd been sucking in got knocked out of me. It wasn't so funny anymore. I rolled over, wide eyed, as a blurry foot lifted and connected with my stomach. I wheezed and curled myself into a protective ball, fighting to catch my breath.

I braced myself for the next hit, but nothing happened. So I laid curled up in the halls as people passed. There was no sign of Alex, and I felt completely alone.

The moral of this story is: don't piss off your schools personal group of bullies. No matter how chubby looking they might be, giant five year old men are not to be underestimated.