CHAPTERONE
Hamish Angus McDonald stared at Mark Jones, Jr. He was two years older than Hamish and three inches taller, but he was slow, both mentally and physically. His family had plenty of money, and he let everyone in school know about it. But it didn’t change who he was.
He was blonde, blue-eyed, the girls all liked him, not for the hair and eyes, but for the money, and he was a grade-A bully.
“Hammy, Hammy,” he teased. “Like a ham sandwich.”
Hamish ignored the boy for as long as he could, the other kids laughing behind him. All except one. Daphne Coolidge was the nicest, prettiest girl in school, and she disliked Mark as much as Hamish did.
“What’s the matter, Hammy? Not going to defend your stupid name?” he teased.
“Stop it, Mark!” said Daphne. “His name isn’t stupid. You’re the stupid one.”
Only in seventh grade Daphne was being brave standing up to Mark. The girls standing with the ninth grader would end up bullying her as well if she wasn’t careful.
“Can’t stick up for yourself, Hammy?” scowled Mark.
“Let it go, Mark. You’ve had your fun. My name is my name. I wouldn’t change it for anything. It belonged to my great-grandfather. Don’t be angry with me just because you have a common name.”
Mark’s face turned red as he heard some giggles in the crowd. Hamish looked down the road, hoping the school bus would get there quickly. He’d promised his father that he wouldn’t fight unless he absolutely had to. It was about to be an absolute had to situation.
“Shut up! My name isn’t common. My folks have millions of dollars!” yelled the teenager.
“Money has nothing to do with it, Mark. Just go away. You’re not even supposed to be at this stop. This is for middle school.”
Mark took a step forward and shoved Hamish in the chest. His eyes went wide when the younger boy barely moved from where he was standing. Hamish might be shorter than him right now with the two-year age difference, but he was solid as a rock.
“Don’t put your hands on me again,” said Hamish calmly. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Because you’re a scared little bitch,” smirked the older boy. Hamish just shook his head, grinning in his direction. He’d warned him. He’d asked nicely. There were witnesses. So, if anything went down, it was all on Mark.
“Go away, Mark.”
Mark shoved him again, but as his hands hit Hamish’s chest, he gripped his wrists and twisted his hands backward, just like his father had taught him. The other boy screamed in pain, and the group of kids all backed up, not believing what they were seeing.
“I asked you nicely to leave me alone. If you touch me again, I’ll break both your hands,” said Hamish calmly. He released the other boy’s hands, shoving him backward. He landed on the grass, tears in his eyes. Hamish wasn’t going to make fun of him. That’s not who he was. He stared at him, then offered him a hand to help him up.
Mark thought he’d kick out at the boy, but seeing the wide, big hand reach out to him, he thought wiser of it. No one had been able to defeat him before. No one. He might not beat him in a fight, but he’d find another way. He swiped at his hand, then stood.
“You got lucky, Hammy,” he said with a nervous grin. “Lucky because I just remembered I have to be home by four. My old man and me are playing golf tonight.”
“Good for you,” nodded Hamish. “Make sure you take care with those wrists. Your swing will be off for a few days. Have fun.”
When Mark left, the crowd dispersed and went their separate ways. All except the half-dozen kids waiting on the bus. Daphne walked up to Hamish, smiling at him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m good,” he grinned. “He’s just a bully, Daphne. Bullies don’t respond well to someone showing them up. He’ll come at me again.”
“Why doesn’t this bother you? You’re obviously a better fighter than him. You could beat him up, and he’d leave you alone.”
“No. I would beat him up, and he’d come at me again, maybe next time with friends.”
“He doesn’t have friends, Hamish. No one likes him. My sister is a sophomore, and she said that no one speaks to him in high school. I think that’s why he bullies the middle school kids.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. He doesn’t have friends, so he makes enemies.” He could tell that Daphne still didn’t understand. “Look, my father taught me a long time ago how to defend myself. He was a former college wrestling star and later became a boxer and now owns his own gym and teaches self-defense. I’m a big kid, but my hands are unusually large. I could really hurt someone and not even know it.” The bus came to a stop in front of them, and Daphne looked at him.
“You’re really different, Hamish,” she smiled. “But I like different. And I like you.”
