Some might argue that it had been wrong of me to remain on the sidelines a couple of days earlier when the smaller kid popped Victor in the nose. I get that. Here’s my defense. I’d seen enough to know that Victor had, over a period of time, relentlessly bullied that kid verbally. I mean, I’d gotten a taste of it myself when I wandered over after the event.
The problem was, Victor didn’t appear to have a good sense of self-confidence or self-respect. He lashed out at everyone else to build himself up. What I’d hoped was that by letting the two of them sort it out, Victor would realize that actions had consequences. And maybe they’d even gain a little respect for each other.
Good intentions. Bad result.
Especially if the current situation was any indication.
I arrived at the outer circle just as I heard the ringleader say, “Dude. You are absolutely the jerk who spray-painted our cars. Got it on video. You should be thanking us for this. We didn’t call the cops.”
I groaned.
It drew their attention. Football players, I guessed. Crew cuts giving them the blocky-headed look of linebackers, matching the squareness of their shoulders.
I ignored the collective hostility of the five jocks.
“Seriously?” I said, speaking to Victor. “Spray paint? Their cars?”
“Geek boy,” the ringleader said. “Might want to stay out of this.”
He had a wispy beard. Young face. Adult body. And some serious rage.
“I understand the anger,” I replied to Wispy Beard. “What’s the damage, you think?”
“Their cars were pieces of crap,” Victor said. “They should pay me for hiding the rust spots.”
“Guys,” I said, stepping between them and Victor, “I’d like to hit him myself. Trust me.”
Wispy Beard snorted. “Be like someone threw a marshmallow at him.”
The others laughed. Apparently Wispy Beard spoke for all of them.
“I mean it,” I said. “All told, what was the damage? I know about this place online. Sort of like a public trust fund to help people who have been vandalized. I could fill out the forms for you, make sure you got the money within a week.”
At that moment I had a flash of how difficult it must be to be a parent. The public fund didn’t exist. It would come from my generous monthly allowance, which I rarely spent through anyhow. But if I stepped in and covered for Victor, how would he ever learn? Maybe I should set up a plan for him to pay me back. What kind of stupid, attention-seeking move was that anyway, getting caught spray-painting cars at a high school?
Yes, what Victor Lang needed was tough love. Just not right now. Five high-school kids against a middle-school kid was unfair. So, I told myself, in this moment I was protecting the concept of fairness. Not enabling Victor and his obvious lack of social smarts.
“I love sucking pimples,” Wispy Beard said.
I cocked my head. So far the other four weren’t closing in on me. They would wait for Wispy Beard to give them the nod.
“Each to his own and all that,” I said, incredulous. “I mean, it’s not illegal, so who am I to judge? But seriously, people actually let you suck their pimples?”
Wispy Beard’s face flushed, the taut skin on his cheekbones tinged with white. “That’s what he spray-painted on my car. Those words. I love sucking pimples.”
I glanced at Victor and shook my head. “Really? Really?”
“I had to use little words that these morons would understand,” said Victor.
“And you know they are right here, listening to every word you say.”
“I used the word moron because it’s highly unlikely it’s in their vocabularies,” Victor said. “We should be good.”
Wispy Beard thumped himself on the chest. Like a gorilla.
“Listen, guy, I’m as mad at him as you are,” I said. “But five of you, all bigger than him? There’s nothing fair about this fight.”
“It’s not supposed to be fair, or even be a fight,” Wispy Beard said. “It’s supposed to be punishment.”
The skinniest of the five stepped toward me. Not that he was skinny in any sense. He must have outweighed me by forty pounds.
“Can you think of a better way?” Skinny Guy asked me. “Let the cops handle it and have us in court arguing that we don’t love to suck pimples?”
I turned to Victor. “Why would you do this?”
“To force Team Retribution to send in the bodyguards,” he answered. “Any moron could understand the brilliance of this. But maybe you’re not even qualified to be a moron. Looks like you’re going to have to take a beating. Maybe then the bodyguards will show up.”
I let out a heavy, heavy sigh. For Victor’s stupidity. And for the fact that I seemed to be down to two choices—let them beat him up, or stop them.
“They’re not going to beat me up,” I said.
“Good thinking,” Wispy Beard said. “We’ll let you slide on this one. Get gone.”
I locked my fingers and placed both hands on top of my head, palms down.
“What I meant,” I said to Victor, “is that if they don’t walk, I’m not going to let them beat you up. Painful as it is to help you out of this hole you dug.”
“Try not to bleed on me when they’re finished with you,” Victor said.
Could the kid be any more obnoxious?
I swiveled toward Wispy Beard, palms still on the top of my head, and said, “Bring it. You and me. I leave my hands on my head. You win, I walk away and he is all yours. I win—no hands—all of you walk away. Deal?”
I’d been hoping a direct challenge to him would make the others back off.
I was wrong.