The combatants circled each other on the field of battle, the grass beneath their feet green from the spring rains. The crowd was deafening, cheering on their chosen hero or heckling the opposition. Swings were abandoned, monkey bars forlorn in the anticipation of a spectacle.
“Your dad is a greasy coon!” yelled Bobby.
His foe stared him in the eye. Bobby’s pals took up the chant but his rival took no notice and continued the loop around the makeshift arena.
This wasn’t normal. He usually had the kid on the ground by now, crying for his mommy.
The late afternoon sun shone in Bobby’s eyes and that is when his challenger struck. With the swiftness of a cobra a fist lashed out and connected with his nose. Bobby realized a second later that he was the one on the playground lawn, holding his nose, eyes watering in agony.
“Don’t you ever call me or anyone else names ever again. If I hear that you did, I will find you,” Rebecca said as she walked away, brown ponytail swinging in the breeze.