It was fall when it all started. The winds blew so cold they'd take your soul away. Red and orange leaves piled at the front of every house. Rotting pumpkins. The sun hid for most days, behind a sky as grey and as dull as Mr. French's 5th period Econ class. Smart folk were bundling up, while others held on to their stylish summer dress and suffered.

I ate a bologna and cheese-whip hoagie alone on the bleachers, waiting for the last bets to roll in. It was hours after the final bell, there were three cars in the parking lot, and the sky was creeping into a deep navy.

In each of my pockets rested a thick stack of dollar bills, the sudden growth of which made my forehead perspire. It seemed that many people preferred a beat down to a competitive match.

My ass cheeks were almost entirely frozen solid when I heard another hiss between my legs.

"You Freddie the Junior ?" It said through the shadows. Whoever they were they were not alone. Four of them, probably freshman, jostled one another for comfortable positions between the metal bleacher bars.

"Whose asking?" I said after a harsh swallow and a cough.

"Pete Brock, sophomore, I want 13 on Topaz." I caught his words in my red notepad.

"Just 13, man? that's the worst number to pick for anything. Wouldn't hurt to toss in a few more bills, make your bad luck go away," I said and drew a line ending in an 'X' and handed it down.

"Don't need luck when you're backing Topaz," Brock said, then handed back up the book with two 5's and three 1's crumpled inside "You got the time, man?"

"4:45." I said.

"Better get moving", Brock hissed to his companions.

It was a short drive to the old Varsity soccer fields. Very few people came here because it's famous for being the site of a raw sewage line eruption in the 70's. Today folk just drink and screw in their cars here, so you're liable to kick a glass bottle or two in the tall grass. It actually took an entire afternoon to clear our arena.

As I crunch through the grass I saw the crowd. With pockets stuffed with cash I was the last to arrive, again. As I grew closer, the din of thirty or so classmates grew louder. It was now 5:10 and people were getting excited. From the outside I saw them pointing to the people just beyond them that I couldn't see. The people within the circle.

"Ho, Ho 'the money man'," Willy John, a fellow Junior with cheeks as red as his leather jacket waved me over with much enthusiasm. "He showed Freddie, he e'fing showed," laughed Willy John, bouncing by the balls of his feet.

"What a saint," I said with a grin. "Must be shitting down his legs into his shoes."

"Have a look, Fred." Willy John made a path through our classmates, who, seeing Willy John and I, knew that the action was about to begin. I walked right through to the inner circle without a single word of protest. I stopped right outside of the fight circle.

Steven Topaz, a varsity golfer whose dad drove him to the next town over for rugby practices, stood with his hands on his hips, looking like a Greek statue, brown curls swaying in the frigid air. He was backed by three of his buddies, who massaged his shoulders and whispered aggressively in his ear. He wore tight, expensive looking athletic gear and exuded the confidence of a man who's seen battle. No wonder he was the clear favorite, with 80 percent of the bets on him winning by knockout and another 19 on him winning by a forced tap.

The other boy, Jimmy Tuckerson, stood awkwardly on the other side of the circle. No one rubbed his shoulders or whispered in his ear. He wore jeans and a sweater three sizes too big for him. Tuckerson was stiff, his wide eyes trained on the swaying grass at the center of the ring. Under his Dakota Black-Rings baseball cap he was shaved nearly bald. He played no sports or did anything much outside of school that anyone knew of.

"Alright five fifteen, " called Willy John. His coat crackled as he held his arm up for silence. Soon all that could be heard was the wind playing the grass like a piano.

"Any last words?" One of Topaz's buddies called, triggering a smattering of laughter from the crowd.

The tension was remarkable as we all stood, waiting for the action to start. Some couldn't help but mutter assurances of Topaz's victory, while others mocked Tuckerson for his high likelihood of defeat.

"Alright," called Willy John," I want a good clean fight, no assholery, no ball kicking or eye poking we got that?" Both boys nodded. "One two three, fight!"

As Willy John threw himself backward Topaz advanced and Tuckerson stood stiff with horror. He grabbed Tuckerson by the collar and flung him toward the center of the fight circle. He had attempted a trip, but Tuckerson had been too solid on his feet. The crowd cheered as Tuckerson stumbled . WHAM!

"Right in the face," screamed a sophomore named Abbie who played JV Tennis.Topaz threw a strike that snapped Tuckerson's head to the side, as soon as he turned his neck straight another in the same spot sent him toppling backward, his hat spiraling into the greedy crowd.

"Woah mama," exclaimed a basketball forward named Billy, " that's gotta hurt." Several other onlookers made similar comments. That second strike might have put a good number of them down.

Tuckerson fell to one knee and covered up tight while Topaz advanced again. Topaz released a flurry of strikes to Tuckerson's sides and the top of his head. Topaz wound up and kneed Tuckerson hard in the gut and clapped him on the ears while giddily yipping as if he were on a rollercoaster.

"Tuckered out, Tuckerson," he jeered.

"Tuckered out Tuckerson," chanted the crowd. "Tuckered out Tuckerson."

The crowd cheered Topaz 's name as well, cradling their golden boy. To them he was like God himself. Oh how he'd be praised tomorrow at school , but then Tuckerson dropped his hands and took every proceeding blow like the freakin Terminator. He then retaliated with the cleanest right hand any of them had seen, straight into Topaz's jawbone.

What happened, happened so suddenly that no one seemed to realize for a few moments. Mid cheer, many of their faces fell slowly. Their memories pieced in the second between Topaz wailing on a balled up Tuckerson, to Topaz lying in the grass, stiff as if blasted by a freeze ray.

"Ha!" The sound erupted unintentionally from my mouth then was preceded by a fit of manic laughter. I laughed so hard and laughed so loud. I couldn't stop laughing. Thoroughly disappointed, piece by piece they started to turn and walk away. I was on my hands and knees, outside of myself, drooling with streaming eyes. Willy John patted me on the back.

"Jesus, Fred, you alright, man," he said.

"I- I- " with stinging lungs, I was determined to read the florissant sign flashing in red and green neon at the center of my brain. "I w-won!"