“They didn't resemble boys. The feral expressions on their faces said it all: I was meat and they were hungry. I rocked on the balls of my feet, waiting, unsure what would happen if I ran. They were fast. Running track at school had blessed me with stamina, and I was strong too. But no match for these beefy linebackers who bulked up in the gym every day. Three to one. Those could have been good odds if I were a trained martial artist, but I was never much of a contact fighter. Too afraid... I'd get hit, I'd close my eyes during sparring and get hit anyway every time. My luck pretty much sucked for the self-defense tricks we'd been taught too. No keys with which to jab at eyes. No heels to grind into insteps. No mace to spray. I retreated, a few steps at a time. By the time I'd figured out what they were up to it was too late. They'd forced me down the path into the shadowy cover of the trees.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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