The Boys and the Street

The bigger boys threw stones at us across the street.

I didn't know why. We had done nothing to provoke them, not that I was aware of anyway.

We were playing around the old, abandoned house by our school, where we always hung out on the weekends, lost in our game when the bullies started harassing us.

We tried ignoring them and going on with our game, but they had collected rocks from somewhere and were now throwing them in our direction.

Luckily, we were far enough away from the street and sidewalk not to be hit by the stones. And they hadn't dared to cross, cars frequent enough to deter them for now.

I looked at the rest of my friends. Sure, we were scrawny and often preferred books to sports. And that probably made us easy targets for them since they were too dumb to figure out some other way to pass the time.

But we had our own way of fighting back. Not with fists, but with wits. And without telling our parents, which would only make things so much worse for us if we did.

"Do you think they'll cross the street?" one friend asked.

I glanced at each one, then at the other group of boys. "Maybe."

Nervousness flooded their faces as more rocks arched through the air, colliding with the pavement of the road and sidewalk.

"Then why are we still here?" Another friend paced on the dying grass that crunched with each of his steps.

I shrugged, "We were here first."

"But they will beat us to a pulp if they cross!"

"We can't leave now." I crossed my arms. "We can't let them win!"

"But how are we supposed to win?"

I stroked my chin, pretending to be Dad with his long beard, as I thought about a plan.

I turned to the house. We'd never ventured inside before, not knowing what dangers lurked within its decaying walls. But the door was unlocked.

"We could go inside the house."

Gasps filled the air as more cars drove by.

Friend One adjusted his glasses, "But we'll get in trouble."

I raised an eyebrow, "By who?" No adults were near us, which was one reason why we went there. And it was highly doubtful the people on the road would help us.

Besides, teachers taught us about stranger danger and always having a buddy with you at all times.

"One of us could get hurt," Friend Two continued pacing.

"We'll be careful."

They still seemed nervous, at least until a rock managed to hit one of them in the back, knocking him to the ground.

Clenching my fists, I stared them down, tempted to throw rocks back at them. But I'd probably just destroy a car window, getting me into big trouble with the driver and my parents.

So, I turned back to the house and started walking toward it. While it was creepy, I wasn't scared to go inside. And I didn't care if my friends remained outside on the lawn.

I jogged onto the porch and grabbed the doorknob. It was cold in my hand as I turned it. It creaked as I twisted it and opened the door, paint flaking off the wood.

Stepping inside, I couldn't help but shiver from the cold, musty air. It was mostly empty, except for a worn-down couch. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere.

I grabbed my inhaler from my pocket and took a couple of puffs. I didn't need to have an asthma attack right now. I would never live that one down.

I walked further inside, not seeing anything that could help us. But I would find a way to beat those boys at their game.

Because we had to win.

***

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