Jason made his way back into class alone, wondering, Was that a scornful note he had sensed in Mal’s voice? A small group of girls, whispering about something, broke up as he entered the room. Jason did not pay attention to a single word of the lesson. Huma D’Este . . . his thoughts could focus on nothing else. He rehearsed the lunchtime scenario. This time things would be different, oh so different.
Jason spotted the new girl as he sidled into the school canteen. She was sitting amid a group of girls, chatting animatedly. Some girlish giggles came from the company. Were they laughing at him? He shot them a look of disgust, but Huma seemed to be ignoring him.
Jason strode swiftly and purposefully across. Placing a heavy hand on Huma’s shoulder, he pressed down. Feeling he had the advantage of looking down at his victim by keeping her in the chair, he enquired loudly, “Huma—what sort of a name’s that? Huh, it makes you sound almost human!”
Even though he was pressing down hard on the tall girl’s shoulder, she stood up straight with no apparent effort. Again, he found himself locked within the stare of her riveting grey eyes. They were cold and bleak as rainwashed stone. Huma spoke his name as if it were two separate words.
“Jay son! What’s in a name, Jay son? Is your father a bird? It certainly sounds like it. Jay son, son of a jay!”
Mr. Forshaw, who was on canteen lunchtime duty, had been watching the body language of the pair. Sensing trouble, he made straight for them. “Excuse me, could somebody tell me what’s going on here?”
The moment was lost. Jason muttered something about going to the counter for food, and slouched off.
Mal and Carlene had saved a place for Jason. They moved over as he sat down, placing a slice of pie and a can of cola on the table. Mal could hardly wait. “Well, what did she say?”
Jason shrugged. “Nothing.”
Carlene looked at him disbelievingly. “You must have said something to each other, we saw you talking just before old Forshaw arrived. What was it?”
Fighting for control of himself, Jason clenched his teeth. He gripped the can of cola so forcefully that it crushed, sending liquid squirting all over his slice of pie. “Nothing! Just keep your noses out of it! We said nothing!” He stormed off from the table, knocking his chair over.
Carlene turned to the retinue, who were sitting at the opposite table. “Well, what do you make of that?”
There was a chalk cartoon sketched on the math class blackboard when Jason arrived. It showed a bird with huge muscle-bound legs and a human face, which resembled Jason pretty closely. Just so there would be no mistake as to the identity of the bird, a balloon issued from its mouth, enclosing some words:
“Duuuuh, I’m a jay’s son!”
Jason could not face Huma’s eyes. He turned on the rest of the class, yelling, “Come on, who drew that, eh?”
Mr. Wentworth, the math teacher, entered at that moment. He brushed the offending image from the board, calling over his shoulder, “Keep the noise down, Hunter. Right, pay attention, class, decimal conversion . . .”
His voice faded into the distance as Jason locked his eyes on the back of Huma D’Este’s head, sending waves of hatred pouring at her. The plastic ballpoint he was gripping snapped in two halves; a vein in his forehead throbbed like a drum. That girl! One way or another she would have to go. There was no room in his school for Huma D’Este!
Jason wracked his brain for a solution throughout the afternoon. She was very smart, so he would have to be smarter. More careful, too. He must pretend to call a truce, make friends. Then, when she was off guard, he would destroy her. Nobody treated Jason Hunter like that and got away with it.
Fate is fickle, and the company of unwilling friends short lived. Jason Hunter had his first experience of this as he came out of school that day. His customary group of hangers-on, even Mal and Carlene, had gone over to the enemy. They were standing on the steps, gathered around Huma, chatting animatedly. Jason controlled his rage, telling himself that after he had humiliated the tall girl today, and captured the one-hundred-metres sprint cup on Saturday morning, everything would change. He would be the star once more, the sole, undisputed leader of the pack. As he approached them, he could hear the muted laughter, someone even made a birdlike squawk. But Jason shrugged it off. He had laid his plans.
He stood in front of Huma, pretending to shuffle his feet awkwardly, keeping his head down. It was a ploy which had always worked well with parents and teachers. Flicking his blond hair aside, Jason gave Huma a charmingly sorrowful smile, playing the little boy just right. “Er, Huma, can I have a word with you, please?”
She turned the remorseless grey eyes upon him. “It’s a free country, you can have as many words as you please.”
He felt his jaw tightening, and checked it. “Er, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I joked about your name. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.”
As her eyes bored into him, she smiled condescendingly. “Think nothing of it, Jason, you didn’t embarrass me, you only embarrassed yourself by your own bad manners and lack of wit.”
It was the ultimate insult to Jason, being put down like an ill-mannered child in front of everybody. Something inside him snapped. He swung his open hand at Huma’s face, roaring, “Shuttup, you smart-mouthed—”
The tall girl avoided the slap by knocking Jason’s hand up. As he stumbled forward, she pushed the back of his neck hard. Jason tumbled down the steps, falling facedown on the ground. He scrambled to get up, but was sent back down. Huma had the flat of her foot firmly between his shoulder blades.
Leaning down on him, her grey eyes hard as granite, she warned him, “Stay down, Jason, you’re on your own now, so leave it alone and stay clear of me, do you hear?”
He struggled, but big and strong as he was, the tall girl’s foot held him there. A man’s voice called from the doorway, “Stop that this instant, stand still, you people!”
Mr. Knipe, the athletics coach, and Mr. Wentworth, the math teacher, came bounding down the steps.
Jason felt himself released from the restraining foot. He struggled up, fists clenched, trying to get at his enemy. He was hauled back by the huge, hairy hand of Mr. Knipe. Mr. Wentworth stood between Jason and Huma.
“Fighting with girls now, are we, Hunter?”
Wiping dust and tears from his face, Jason pointed at his adversary. “She started it!”
A clamour arose from the onlookers. Mr. Knipe held up his free hand. “Anyone not wanting to do twenty circuits of the school field, go straight home. Now!”
The area cleared as if by magic—the coach was a man of his word. Mr. Wentworth looked at Huma, shaking his head. “Not a very good start for your first day at school, miss.”
The girl’s grey eyes were soft and disarming as she smiled ruefully at the teacher. “It wasn’t serious, sir, we were only messing about.”
Mr. Wentworth, captivated by her, smiled back. “Messing about, eh? Well, there’s no real harm done. Go on, get along home now, and no more messing about.”
Huma flashed both men an extra-warm smile. “Thank you.”
When she had gone, Mr. Knipe turned to Jason. “What’ve you got to say for yourself, Hunter?”
The culprit avoided his eyes. “Nothing, Coach.”
There was an awkward silence as Knipe looked him up and down. “Not hurt, are you? Fit for the race tomorrow?”
Jason assured him, “I’m alright, Coach, I’ll win the cup.”
Knipe nodded. “Make sure you do, and no more of this wrestling with young ladies. See you tomorrow.”
He released Jason, watching him jog off toward the gates. “Pity we don’t have martial arts for the girls. She looked as if she had the better of Hunter there.”
Mr. Wentworth turned back to the school. “Hmm, we could do with a few more like Huma D’Este. That Jason Hunter’s a born bully, but he got his comeuppance from her. I quite enjoyed seeing him getting a taste of his own medicine.”