“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.
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