Enemy Match Chapter 1

Enemy Match

Chapter 1

Today. 4 pm. School gym. You and me, Macdonald. We’re going to settle this.

You’re kidding, right? I said turning to face my arch nemesis—ok that’s a little overdramatic. Daryl Peters was tall and muscular and was good at every sport—especially basketball. All—well at least most—of the girls at Port Salser Collegiate liked him because he was a total jock.

Dumb jock to be precise.

I, on the other hand was not as tall nor as muscular and I wasn’t as good as Daryl was at sports. I was however, at least as good looking or even more than he was and I took consolation in that. Not that I’m vain, I’m just telling it like it is.

Daryl Peters was my enemy. No other way to say it.

Since day one of high school three years ago when our little feud started—he was a bully and I didn’t put up with his crap—and that annoyed him to no end.

No, I’m not kidding, he muttered, bouncing the basketball then twirling it on his finger like a pro.

What’s going to happen at 4? I said staring at him with a sneer. You going to finally learn to tie your shoes?

He ignored the jibe. I’m going to take you down. Once and for all.

I pointed my thumb to my chest. Me? I said.

Is there a problem, gentlemen, a voice piped up behind us. Mr. Detmar, our gym teacher and basketball coach.

No problem, coach, Daryl said smoothly. I was just giving Macdonald here some pointers.

Yeah, well, get back to practicing with the rest of the class, Detmar said glancing between Daryl and me.

Yes coach, Daryl said as he turned to walk away. He turned back to me and once he realized Detmar had moved off, did the throat slitting motion with his hand then pointed to me. Then walked away.

Dude, what was that all about? A voice said in my ear.

I turned to one of my friends, Reed Wyatt. He was about an inch shorter than my 6 foot and had spiked blond hair.

I don’t really know, but Peters had challenged me to something today at 4.

A fight? You’re kidding? Reed remarked.

What’s this about a fight, Reed’s identical twin brother Rhys said coming up to us at that moment.

Justin and Daryl Peters, Reed said. Justin

Whoa, dude, are you crazy? Rhys remarked.

What do you mean? I asked, affronted. You don’t think I can take that tall—massive—muscular jock? By myself?

Reed and Rhys just looked at me.

Suddenly there was a startled look on both their faces then something whacked me in the back of the head—hard!

The basketball that Peters had just twirled on his finger only a minute before bounced and rolled away across the gym floor. I turned around livid, to face Peters, my face red and my head throbbing.

What was that for? I said, rushing at Peters who just shrugged.

Sorry, I lost control of the ball.

Yeah right! Well I’m going to lose control of my fist, I blurted moving towards him with my fist clenched. I was ready to pop that jerk. Never mind waiting til 4.

Justin! A voice rang out across the gym.

Mr. Detmar.

I froze in place and turned around, Detmar approaching us again. What’s going on with you two? He muttered coming up to me.

Someone threw a ball at Macdonald’s head, someone called out.

Yeah, another voice remarked. That had to hurt.

Is this true, Justin? Detmar said, studying my face.

Yeah, I muttered looking at Daryl. This jerk threw it at my head, I motioned to Peters.

Detmar turned to Daryl. Did you throw the ball at Justin’s head?

No, coach, Daryl said with a smarmy smile. I was passing it to Jake here and he missed it. It was an accident.

Yeah, Jake said. I missed the pass. Sorry Macdonald, he said with a grin. Jake was a buddy of Daryl Peters so the two of them had orchestrated this little episode. But of course, I had no proof.

OK, that’s enough practise today guys, hit the showers.

Everyone headed off to the locker room. I started to walk with Reed and Rhys when Detmar called me back.

Are you OK, Justin? He asked.

Yeah, I said. I’ll have a headache for about a month or so. It’s all good.

You were ready to pop Peters. What’s up with you guys. I know you don’t get along, but there’s something more. Am I right?

It’s all good, coach, I said, with a grin. It’s nothing.

There was no point in telling Coach Detmar about our little feud. Whenever we had an altercation, Peter’s usually came out smelling like a rose. He was well liked at PSC and most people didn’t believe he was a world class jerk that I knew him to be. If there was one thing Daryl was good at it was not getting caught dishing out his pranks.

He had won the school many sport championship pennants over his high school career and this seemed to afford him some measure of slack with the teachers here. I on the other hand had not won the school any pennants so was not given as much slack.

And Peters knew this. And used it to his advantage whenever possible. He may not have good academic marks—he could barely tie his shoes—but if being cunning and manipulative and being a bully was a sport he would win pennants in that as well.

Very well, Detmar said.

He knew there was more but didn’t push me. In his eyes, Peters could do no wrong, so if I said anything he would just defend Peters anyway.

Can I go now, coach, I said wiping sweat from my brow. I have a history test next period.

Sure, Justin, he said resignedly. I moved off and headed to the showers.

Once dressed in regular clothes, I met Reed and Rhys in the corridor outside the gym. We were all dressed similarly in cargo shorts and t-shirts. Reed and Rhys in flip flops—I in my usual red high-top sneakers. We all had history as our last period of the day so we headed that way to get ready for the test.

We were silent as we entered the class room. Unfortunately Peters was in this class. He was seated at the back talking in hushed tones to two of his buddies—one of which was Jake Prestwick—the one who had “missed” catching that basketball.

They went silent when I came in the room. I took my seat on the opposite side of the room trying to ignore Peters. I glanced at him once and he was staring at me. I smiled back at him and he turned back to his books.

OK, class, Mrs. Clemens remarked. Put away your books and take out a pen. The test will start shortly.

At 3:30 after the last bell rang I headed to my blue SUV parked in the student parking lot at that back of the school. A slight breeze had sprung up and clouds scudded across the sky, threatening rain.

Someone was waiting for me.

No, not Peters.

It was my girlfriend, Melissa Mulhall. She was pretty and had dark blond hair. She had her hair back in a ponytail because of the heat. Her blue eyes looked concerned as I approached.

Are you OK? She said. I heard what happened in gym.

How did you find out? I asked.

Jori Prestwick is in my math class. She says her brother Jake missed catching a basketball and it hit you in the head. Daryl Peters threw the ball.

Yeah, I said ruefully. He got me again.

You have to do something about that guy, Melissa said as I opened the passenger side door and she climbed in.

I got in the drivers side and started the engine. I cranked the A/C to max and the pulled out of the spot. What can I do? I muttered. Peters is Golden Boy around PSC. Everyone likes him.

Not everyone, Melissa said.

Well a lot of people do. Remember Mr. Unger, our former homeroom teacher. He sided with Peters that one time. He said I got too much publicity solving my cases.

He was just jealous, Melissa replied as we pulled out of the lot and headed down Main Street towards the southwest part of the city, where Melissa lived. And he’s not the majority—well he wasn’t the majority at school. A lot of people think Peters is a jerk.

Maybe, I said. But Peters wants to meet me back at school at 4. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I can’t not show up. I’ll look like the wimp.

Why didn’t you tell me? Melissa exclaimed. I want to be there to support you. In whatever it is you’re doing.

Are you sure, I said, stopping at a traffic light. I never thought—

Yeah, you didn’t think, she muttered. Now turn around and lets go back to school.

I shook my head, but turned at the light and headed around the block. 10 minutes later we pulled back into the lot at PSC. Most of the cars had left but one familiar car remained parked in its usual spot.

Van’s still here. I mumbled. He’s usually the first one out of the lot at home time.

I pulled in next to his car and got out. Melissa followed me back into the school. The corridors were quiet now.

As we neared the gym I could hear the sound of a basketball bouncing.

Justin! A voice called out behind us. I turned to face my best buddy, Van Gilman. He was an inch shorter than my 6 foot with dark hair and a devilish grin. He was a good guy to have around in a fight as he worked out and was more muscular than me. He played goalie for the local hockey team and was what you would call a sports nut.

Heard you and Peters were facing off at 4. Why didn’t you tell me? he said coming up to Melissa and I.

Because I don’t know what we’re facing off for. Peters didn’t tell me. I think it’s just a joke.

Oh, it’s no joke, buddy, he said, clapping me on the shoulder. Jake Prestwick was telling us all in English Lit about the face off in the gym.

What—face off? I grunted. Peters just said “we’re going to settle this”. Settle what?

Dude, you don’t know about the challenge. What did you expect? You basically blabbed on Facebook that you could beat Peters at any sport and that he was a real loser and that you would challenge him anytime. I read it myself. You posted it last night.

I—posted that? I didn’t, I said, turning to Melissa who was just shaking her heard.

I read it myself, Van said. So did half the school. Peters reposted it this morning and is going to challenge you. All his buddies are going to be there. I’m surprised you didn’t ask us—your friends, to be there. Once Peters issued the challenge. For support, you know. You’re gonna need it, dude. I’m sorry, I am your best friend, but you are NOT better at sports than Peters.

I—didn’t say those things on Facebook. There’s been a mistake.

What? You’re kidding, Van said, sobering up. But it was there. Don’t you check your Facebook like every 5 minutes like everyone else?

No, I said. I don’t. I haven’t been on for days.

Van and Melissa both gasped.

Come on guys, you’re not serious. I wouldn’t say such a stupid thing on Facebook. I know I’m not better than Peters.

Well it’s too late now. Peters is in the gym waiting for you, Van said checking his watch. I checked mine. It was 3:58.

Suddenly the door burst open and Peters and a few of his buddies came out into the corridor.

So you did show up, Peters muttered. Let’s get this thing started. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. You can’t say those things and get away with it, Macdonald.

I looked at Van but he just stared at me.

I turned back to Peters. Let’s get this done!