Pretending to chase his Frisbee, Randal, one of the school jocks, stepped close to Rot. "You keep your nasty hands off Wendy." Randal followed his warning with a punch toward Rot's gut.
He'd been disappointed that grown women of the 21st century were underwhelmed by his black belts in martial arts and he'd never had occasion to use his Kung Fu and Jujitsu for real. But his punch-avoiding skill had traveled through time with him. He shifted his body, moving with the punch rather than trying to block it, his forearm brushing Randal's punch just slightly away so that Randal's fist smashed into the hard plastic of the cafeteria table rather than into Rot's stomach.
"That must really hurt," Rot offered.
"You jerk. I'm going to--"
"What? Punch me again." Rot stood, his hands raised in what he intended to look like a surrender gesture. "Give me your best shot."
"You asked for it, punk."
Rot tried to remember if Dirty Harry was out yet or if Randal was creative. But he wasn't given long to think because Randal launched not a punch but a kick to Rot's groin.
"You leave my brother alone you--"
Rot wondered if Lauren would have been that supportive of the earlier version of himself. Then again, the earlier version never would have gotten himself in this situation. He spun, driving a turning back kick into Randal's wide-open gut, then stepped away as Randal stumbled into the cafeteria table, his face connecting with Lauren's macaroni and cheese.
"Hey, what's going on here." Apparently Mr. Moss was on lunch detail. Which was lucky. If one of the football coaches had been on duty, Rot would have been busted no matter who was at fault.
"Randal was chasing his Frisbee and got carried away," Rot said.
"That right, Randal?"
"Yeah, sure." The look he gave Rot said he wouldn't be forgetting what actually happened.
Then again, the look Wendy gave him said she wouldn't forget, either.
Comments