T.J. tried not to look anyone in the face as he scrambled to pick his papers up off the hallway floor in front of the art room. Why did Andy Clifton choose him to pick on? T.J. was skinny for an eighth grader, there was no getting around that. And he hated to fight. Those two qualities made him a bully magnet. And Andy Clifton was definitely a bully. He sneered down over his shoulder at T.J. as he swaggered away after knocking T.J.'s books to the floor. He did it just because he could. Andy was only a seventh-grader, and slightly shorter than T.J. But he was a little more muscular and he hung around with the other tough kids. So he took advantage of T.J.'s timid nature to shake him up. And T.J. was shook. He grabbed his books and hurried around the corner. His stomach churned.

Most days T.J. stopped at Matt's house after school. Matt lived straight across the road from the junior high. They were in the same eighth-grade class. They both liked to build models. They both liked to race their bikes on the track behind the school. And T.J. could watch the street from Matt's living room, and cut out for home when the coast was clear.

The two boys worked on Social Studies homework at the dining room table. "We kicked some serious butt on the red team in gym today." Matt said.

T.J. scribbled an answer on his paper. "I hate Bombardo."

"Why?" Matt asked. "It beats running laps, doesn't it?"

"I just don't like it. I always get knocked out early."

"Heck, all you have to do is catch the ball and the other guy goes out."

"I can't. Some of those guys really whip it." T.J. rubbed his arms, reliving the sting of getting smacked with a whipped basketball. He turned back to his studies, pretending to be fascinated with the Bolshevik Revolution. The room grew quiet.

"I heard Andy Clifton got you again today," Matt said without looking up from his book.

"Yeah," T.J. replied. "He's a jerk. What'd you get for 3a?"

"Lenin. When are you going to do something about him?"

"About who?" T.J. knew darn well who. But he wanted to avoid the topic.

Matt looked across the table. "You know. Clifton. Are you just going to take it?"

"No, I'm not going to just take it." T.J.'s voice had an edge. He knew what Matt would say next. And he'd give anything to hear something else.

"You've got to fight him, Teej. Make him back off. It's the only way."

"You think I want to get my butt kicked?"

"By who? Andy's a shrimp. Was 3c 1917?"

T.J. checked his paper. "I had 1918. OK, Clifton's a shrimp. But he's got big friends."

"And you've got chicken feathers in your shorts!" Matt chided.

"What, were you checking me out before gym?"

Matt threw a crumpled paper at T.J. "Gross! But you still have to make Clifton back off."

"So I've got to hit him?"

"Either that or get used to chicken feathers."

T.J. became a master of evasive maneuvers. He left his bike at Matt's house so he wouldn't be an easy target at the bike rack. He never took the same streets home twice. In school, though, he was trapped. T.J. tried avoiding the art room hallway, taking the hallway by the office to get from Math to Social Studies. But that route was longer and he usually ended up tardy. When he walked down the art room hallway he tried carrying his books under his right arm. Clifton just pulled a U-turn and got him from behind. It went on for two weeks. Every day Matt asked when T.J. was going to flatten Clifton. And every day T.J. evaded Matt's question.

No one, not even T.J., knew what was special about the day. Maybe nothing was. T.J. walked down the art room hallway, looking ahead but down. He wasn't checking oncoming traffic like usual. His mind was on the results of his last Social Studies test. He almost made the corner when he felt the familiar pound against his books and heard them hit the floor. He stopped dead, holding just his three-ring notebook. Andy Clifton looked back, taunting with that mean sneer, daring T.J. to do something about it. Clifton laughed and strutted down the hall, joking with the kid next to him. T.J. threw the notebook down. Hard.

Something in T.J.'s brain flipped from yellow to red. He wheeled around and stormed after Andy Clifton. He stared at the back of Clifton's head like a hawk darting down after a field mouse. His arms were tense and his head felt hot as he caught up. T.J. hit Andy Clifton hard between the shoulders. That got his attention. He spun around and threw a fist at T.J's head. It grazed his ear. A crowd of kids stopped and circled the two. T.J. stepped up and threw some badly-made body blows at Clifton's ribs. Clifton threw some back. They landed with dull thumps. Andy Clifton was a better fighter, but not good enough to back T.J. off.

The fight didn't last thirty seconds. T.J. stared at Andy, who pressed his back against the display case next to the art room door. Somehow Andy Clifton didn't look the same. The sneer was gone from his face; his eyes looked disbelieving, almost puzzled. Andy still wasn't afraid of T.J. But now, by heaven, T.J. wasn't scared of him, either.

T.J. looked Andy square in the face. "Don't ever do that again!" he shouted, and T.J. wheeled around and stooped to pick up his books for the last time, pushing a kid he didn't know out of the way as he left the circle. He breathed hard, and he didn't catch his wind until he was almost in the Social Studies room.

After school Friday Matt and T.J. worked on math homework at Matt's house. "I still can't believe you wailed on Andy Clifton! Right in front of the whole school!"

T.J. kept his gaze on his math paper. "It wasn't the whole school, Matt. Did you get 2.15 for number six?"

"I got 2.1414. Did his friends come after you?"

"No."

"Did Clifton knock your books down again?"

"No. In fact he's been...I don't know, not exactly nice, but better."

"Respectful?"

"That's it! He's been respectful. I still can't believe it."

Matt leaned his chair back and smiled. "Told ya. You just have to hit a bully once and make him back off. It always works."

"I guess you're right," T.J. shrugged.

"I heard there were chicken feathers by the art room after the fight. Must be they fell off you." Matt laughed.

T.J. stood up and turned around. "Oh yeah, they're all gone," he said over his shoulder. "Want to see?" He grabbed his belt.

"Don't, you pervert!" Matt yelled, and threw an eraser. T.J. made a backhanded grab for the eraser and caught it. He spun and pointed at Matt, a huge grin on his freckled face. "Psyched ya!"

"You're going to be a monster at Bombardo, Teej."

"One thing at a time."