The Badlings

Chapter 17. The Healthy Boy Fight

A well-paced book is like a time bomb. It has a clock. If you won't watch it, it might explode right in your hands. Or else, it might make your heart burst from pounding. At the very least, it will make you bite your nails and wish the minutes wouldn't tick off so quickly.

The boys stared at the door, their hearts—you guessed it—pounding. Victoriously and quite rudely, the door stared back. It had nothing to stare with, and yet it seemed to dare them pry it open.

"He got Bells!" shouted Rusty, shaking the knob that wouldn't budge. He turned around and blurted out the phrase he'd been nurturing since Blackey told them about Dracula's misfortune: "Thanks to you, moron." His eyes on Peacock, his fists clenched, he pulled back his arm and with the relish of one having waited for this opportunity since the beginning of time, punched him square in the nose.

Peacock staggered back. "You hit me!"

"And I'll hit you again!" cried Rusty, advancing. For all his height and knobbly build, he towered over his gangly friend who appeared to have instantly shrunk.

Peacock raked his hair in an effort to appear unconcerned. "You want to fight, is that what you want, monkey?"

Rusty opened his mouth, searching for a word to retort. When no word came, he hunched, tucked his shoulders, and charged, ramming his head straight into Peacock's stomach.

Peacock's eyes widened from surprise. He swayed and doubled over, gasping.

Elated by this unexpected advantage, Rusty clobbered him left and right.

Grand watched this spectacle with mixed feelings. On one hand, instinct told him to grab them by the hair and pull them apart, like he did with his little brothers. On the other hand, he wanted to shout encouragements and directions to Rusty for a better aim or hook or kick.

He decided to give them another minute.

Rusty pounded on Peacock's crouched back until his arms got shaky. "Man," he wheezed, "this is...hard. It's making me...tired."

Peacock peeked up. "Are you done?"

"I...think so," panted Rusty and clonked him on the head one more time, for closure.

When no more hits came, Peacock said, "Good job, Rusty. Are you proud of yourself?"

"Don't talk to me like nothing happened!" flared up Rusty. "Liar!" And he smacked him in the face, which finally broke the shackles of Peacock's cowardice. He sprung up and pushed Rusty away. 

"Get off me, gibbon."

Grand concluded that he had satisfied his yearning for justice and stepped between them. "Guys, I think that's enough."

"But Grand," pleaded Rusty, "he lied! He lied and he got Bells in trouble!"

"Um." Grand rubbed his nose. "He was scared."

"That's no excuse!"

"Like you never lied before?" snarled Peacock.

Grand sighed. It was high time to employ the maneuver that had never failed him. He grasped Peacock and Rusty by the hair and held out his arms, which, considering Grand's intimidating girth, was hard to ignore and terribly impractical to attack.

It took them another fuming minute.

"Okay," said Grand patiently, looking both of them over. "I'm going to let you go, but if you start fighting again, I won't just stand and watch." He waited for his words to sink in. "And Peacock? I think Rusty is right. I think you should apologize." He released his hold.