ON MY third Tuesday at school, I made a friend. Richard Montrose was a small, mousey-haired boy, whom I recognized from my English and history classes. He was a year younger than most of the others. He didn't say very much, but was always being complimented by the teachers. Which of course made him the perfect target for bullies.
Since I didn't take part in games on the quad, I spent most of my lunch breaks strolling around, or in the computer room on the third floor of the building at the rear of the school. That's where I was when I heard sounds of a scuffle outside and went to investigate I found Richard pinned to the wall by Smickey Martin - the guy who'd called me an asswipe on my first day at school - and three of his pals. Smickey was rooting through the younger boy's pockets. "You know you have to pay, Monty," he laughed. "If we don't take yer money, someone else will. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't."
"Please, Smickey," Richard sobbed. "Not this week. I have to buy a new atlas."
"Should have taken more care of your old one," Smickey snickered.
"You're the one who ripped it up, you..." Richard was on the point of calling Smickey something awful, but drew up short.
Smickey paused threateningly. "Wot was you gonna call me, Monty?"
"Nothing," Richard gasped, truly frightened now.
"Yes, you was," Smickey snarled. "Hold him, boys. I'm gonna teach him a-"
"You'll teach him nothing," I said quietly from behind.
Smickey turned swiftly. When he saw me, he laughed. "Little Darrsy Horston," he chuckled. "Wot are you doing here?" I didn't answer, only stared coldly at him. "Better run along, Horsty," Smickey said. "We ain't come after you for money yet - but that's not to say we won't!"
"You won't get anything from me," I told him. "And you won't get anything from Richard in future either. Or anyone else."
"Oh?" His eyes narrowed. "Them's awful big words, Horsty. If you take 'em back quick, I might forget you said em.
I stepped forward calmly, relishing the chance to put this bully in his place. Smickey frowned - he hadn't been expecting an open challenge - then grinned, grabbed Richard's left arm and swung him towards me. I stepped aside as Richard cried out - I was fully focused on Smickey - but then I heard him collide with something hard. Glancing back, I saw that he'd slammed into the banisters of the stairs and was toppling over - about to fall head first to the floor three storeys below!
I threw myself backwards and snatched for Richard's feet. I missed his left foot but got a couple of fingers on his right ankle just before he disappeared over the side of the handrail. Gripping the fabric of his school trousers hard, I grunted as the weight of his body jerked me roughly against the banisters. There was a ripping sound, and I feared his trousers would tear and I'd lose him. But the material held, and as he hung over the railings, whimpering, I hauled him back up and set him on his feet.
When Richard was safe, I turned to deal with Smickey Martin and the rest, but they'd scattered like the cowards they were. "So much for that lot," I muttered, then asked Richard if he was OK. He nodded feebly but said nothing. I left him where he was and returned to the soft hum of the computer room.
Moments later, Richard appeared in the doorway. He was still shaking, but he was smiling also. "You saved my life," he said. I shrugged and stared at the screen as though immersed in it. Richard waited a few seconds, then said, "Thanks."
"No problem." I glanced up at him. "Three floors isn't that big a fall. You'd probably only have broken a few bones."
"I don't think so," Richard said. "I was going nose-down, like a plane." He sat beside me and studied the screen. "Creating a screen saver?"