Crushed

1. My Big Bad Black Angel

He was a big bad black angel. But only to those who deserved it. For me, he was my hero, my enemy, and my crush.

* * *

My brother, Adrian, and I were running for our lives. Perhaps it wasn't quite that dire, but it sure felt like it. We were seven and being chased by eight-year-olds and a big ten-year-old, one of which was holding a sturdy stick.

"Amy, go! Go faster!" my brother panted, running just a few steps behind.

"I . . . can't," I gasped, feeling as though I would drop from lack of breath.

"Damn it!" he hissed, suddenly stopping and spinning back on his heel.

"W . . . wait! What—"

But the kids had caught up to him. Not willing to let him to face them all alone, I also stopped, but stumbled and fell to my knees, gasping for breath. When I looked up, I could see the five kids had spread out in a line in front of us. Most were either smiling in evil anticipation or glaring at us with hate.

"Stop!" Adrian said, holding his arms out wide in a barrier. "Leave us alone!"

"No one tattles on Jamison and gets away with it!" Simon said, smacking his fist into his hand.

"Yeah!" two other boys chimed in.

"Then you shouldn't have been cheating!" Adrian retorted bravely, though his voice shook. "You had it coming!"

"Oh yeah?"

Jamison stepped forward, and I shuddered. Jamison Tuttle: ten years old, pudgy, mean face, crooked teeth, and the village bully. I eyed the stick he was holding warily. I had seen him doing pull-ups on the school tree earlier that day; I knew Jamison had the strength to cause a lot of hurt with that piece of wood.

"I'm going to get you, you little witch!"

Jamison's threat made me drag my gaze to his face, only to immediately wish I hadn't. Sweat was pouring down his face, and drool and foam flecked his lips. He was mad.

"You think you could be a hero or something for telling on me?" he snarled. "Well guess what? Even heroes die someday."

I didn't dare say anything. Especially tell him that he was right. I wanted to be a hero. I was a nobody, and I wanted to be somebody. I knew telling the teacher about Jamison's cheat sheet would get me recognition. It did, but not the kind I wanted.

"You leave her alone!" Adrian snapped, stepping between me and the bullies.

"Look at the brave brother!" one of the boys hooted. "Trying to save her from a thrashing?"

"Get them!" Jamison shouted.

I froze, unable to move, unable to even make a sound. A whimper came out of my throat when the bullies reached Adrian. He stood his ground for about two seconds before he fell to the ground and all but disappeared under two of our attackers. The remaining three, including Jamison and his stick, came at me. Faintly, I could hear Adrian screaming for me to run, and yelling foul curses at his enemies, but I still couldn't move.

"Say your prayers!" Jamison chanted as he brought the stick down on my head.

It didn't even hurt, for a moment. Everything went fuzzy and there was a horrible ringing. It seemed to me as though I were underwater, everything moving slowly. Then the pain came, and I screamed.

"Yeah, take that you tattle-telling rat!" Jamison said, bringing the stick down again.

It struck the side of my face, and then my shoulder. The other boys were kicking me with their feet. I curled up in a ball and hoped it would be over. It hurt too much to move, and I was afraid that even if I did move, it would hurt even more.