'You see, Eriksson? Dat's what happens when you mess with a madman with a temper. I came here to conquer pathetic weirdoes like you.'
Brendan felt like punching him in the face but he knew what would follow so he remained as cool as a cucumber and as quiet as a church mouse.
In the beginning of the third period Brendan began to feel a burning pain in the left side of his chest. At first he thought it was just temporary but it worsened by every second and restraining himself from showing it was becoming even more difficult. When Mr. Price came in on the last period for the Physics lesson the pain had now moved to his head. It was as though his brain was vibrating. He made a slight groan and Mr. Price noticed it.
'Something wrong, Brendan?' he asked him.
'No, I'm fine, sir. Just a slight headache.'
'We all know where dat came from,' Thomas whispered to Angus from behind Brendan's back and they both chuckled.
The bell for recess finally rang and as soon as it did, Brendan rushed to the boy's toilet. The pain was blurring his vision for a while then suddenly, it completely stopped.
He was now gasping. He was sweating more than he had ever done before. Did it have anything to do with the purple liquid he drank on Friday? He straightened himself up and looked in the mirror and strangely, his bruises and scars had miraculously vanished! Every single bruise and scar was invisible on his face now. He could not believe it. He began massaging his face affectionately in thanks as he stared into the mirror. This was just all too good to be true. Had the potion he had drunk been a healing potion?
He washed the sweat from his face in the sink and walked out. He walked towards the cafeteria still confused.
Simon was sitting there at their table. He went and joined him.
'What…What the…What the hell!'
'What is it, Simon?'
'Your scars!' His mouth gaped in shock.
'What about them?' He was determined to display as much ignorance as possible.
'They're gone.'
'Of course they are,' he shrugged, 'I had them treated.'
'But so fast?' He was beyond shocked but their conversation was brought to an abrupt end by the arrival of Thomas.
'Did you really think you could beat me, Eriksson?'
People turned their attention to them.
Brendan felt a sudden courage rise up inside his body, courage accompanied by hate, and he stood up. He said, 'You know what? You're pathetic, Bradley. You're just trying to make yourself forget how miserable your racist based life is by picking on me. You may think that you're big news but to me, you will always be a dirty, stupid rat-faced dog, you… rotten bully!'
People let out a huge gasp of shock at this daring remark. Simon placed his hands on his head and shook it mournfully knowing that his friend had gone way too far this time.
Thomas fumed and rage consumed his face. He threw a punch at Brendan.
Brendan ducked and closed his eyes. Oh, no, here we go again, he thought. But he did not feel the punch land on him.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked up. Thomas' fist had paused in midair.
Brendan looked all around him. Everyone looked like they were in a trancelike state as if some kind of "human pause button" had been pressed. The first thing that came to mind was that it was all just a prank. But a prank? Hadn't his entire life been meaningless already, just like a prank? Why now? Why like this?
Every single eye in the room was stuck on him, waiting for the punch to land, for him to collapse to the ground, get up and run like last Friday.
But Thomas wasn't moving either. The fist was there, inches from Brendan's face. This couldn't be a prank, Brendan decided. A prank against him that even Simon would partake in? Simon, three feet behind Thomas with his hands on his head, his entire body perfectly still. And Simon was a "fidgeter". Brendan knew Simon couldn't sit still for more than two seconds, but here he was, stiff as a mannequin. No. This was not a prank.
Brendan moved behind Thomas, taking a few seconds to peer into his best friend's eyes that remained stuck to where he, Brendan had been standing, in front of Thomas' painful fist.
Brendan looked around the room again. Nothing moved. No one moved. No one breathed. He went back to stand in front of Thomas and discovered that his fist was actually moving, but very slowly. His punch was in slow-motion.
Brendan smiled in tomfoolery. He moved back in front of Thomas and thought of a way to humiliate him as he watched his assailant's fist slug towards his face. He rubbed his hands together, jogged on the same spot for a few seconds like an athlete getting ready for a hundred-meter sprint.
He pushed Thomas' fist aside and then gave him a slight push on the chest with his hand.
Everything suddenly came back to life as if this time a "human resume button" had been pressed. What Brendan had not expected was that his "slight" push would send Thomas flying across the cafeteria and into one of the tables by the exit. Thomas groaned and rolled all over the wooden rubble in pain.
Everyone was now looking at Brendan, their mouths gaping at him. Angus was nowhere in sight. Not a single word was uttered.
Brendan jogged out of the cafeteria and skipped over Thomas who was still groaning on the floor. He headed straight for class and grabbed his books and ran out of the school, confusion dominating his mind.