Yes, a rich punk decides to play dominance games

"Well, if it isn't the yard boy?" The aggressively male voice was accompanied by a sharp punch to Matt's spine. "I think it's terribly open-minded of the administration to allow a free breakfast child, don't you, Freddy?"

{if fantasy = 1}Matt shook his head to free it from his memories of staring at Ophelia's exposed tits. Damn, talk about moving from a fantasy of perfection to the reality of hell. And that punch hurt... a lot.{endif}

Matt blinked to hide the tear that threatened to roll down his cheek. If he got called a crybaby now, he'd never live it down.

He turned slowly to see a blond boy who looked like he'd never met a weight machine he didn't love. The punk had muscles on top of muscles. Naturally he wore a football jersey and a pair of baggy shorts that exposed a couple of inches of boxer shorts. High style, Matt figured. Freddy was the typical sidekick... he looked like an offensive lineman, with a little fat on top of muscle but a good six inches on the punk and probably ten in Matt.

Unfortunately, Matt figured either one of them could tie him in knots... and they would think they were letting down the team if they didn't gang up on them. Equally unfortunately, he couldn't rely on brilliant repartee to put them in their places... they wouldn't recognize brilliance even if he could produce it.