TAMING THE WILD RIDER

The hallways were filled with screams. Everyone was running toward the screams instead of away from them. Several folks sped past me, nearly toppling my backpack off my shoulder as they brushed past. Everyone was excited to see whatever was going down.

I ignored my better judgment and followed the student wave after readjusting the strap on my rucksack.

I rounded the corner in the corridor cautiously and looked over the gathering mass of nodding heads while standing on my tiptoes. They were all staring at something I couldn't quite see yet, muttering to each other. I dodged under a few arms and worked my way to the front, slowly ignoring the strong smell of hormonal teenagers who still hadn't realized the value of deodorant.

My conscience was warning me to turn around and avoid getting entangled in the chaos unfolding a few feet in front of me. However, there was an even more powerful force propelling me ahead into the growing cluster of pupils. I continued to crouch and edge closer.

Then I caught sight of him.

slamming the face of another lad.

Hudson Zane, covered in blood and perspiration, appeared oblivious to the gathering crowd surrounding him and the spectacle he was creating. His white shirt was lying limply across his body, shredded, perhaps by the other guy's futile attempt to stop him. His ripped lip and broken nose sent dark blood streaming down his chiseled chest and over his destroyed shirt.

He was also red-cheeked and puffed up, and he kept pulling back and hitting the other boy in the face. His attacks had an almost animalistic rage and aggressiveness. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.

Teachers were yelling and buzzing about anxiously, begging the lads to stop but being too scared to physically intervene to stop Hudson's fists. However, the crowd's jeers were so loud that their entreaties to stop were hardly audible, with most of them joyfully screaming Hudson's name. This was a performance put on solely for our amusement.