The Realest Ever - By Keith Thomas Walker Page 0,32
to his nappy hair.
“Quit messing with Kyra!” Donovan told him. He stood defiantly with his little fists balled.
Marvin shook off the rest of his shock and sneered at him. “Boy, I’ll beat yo bitch ass!”
“Stop!” Kyra wailed. “Please, stop!”
“Come on!” Donovan said. “I ain’t scared!”
“Get that boy away from my house!” Deidra shouted.
“Come on, you pervert!” Donovan yelled. His eyes were locked on Marvin’s.
Kyra had never seen him fight before, but Donovan’s boxing stance was official. For a brief moment she thought Donovan would be able to stand his own. But Marvin had been in plenty of fights during his life as a junkie. He grinned and closed the distance between them with quick, purposeful strides.
“You gon’ do something about it, little punk?”
“Kyra, get that boy–”
WHAP!
Deidra was cut off by the sound of palm hitting cheek. Donovan didn’t see it coming. And when it connected, he couldn’t see anything past a blinding flash of red and white. Donovan stumbled backwards. The side of his face exploded with blistering pain. Kyra screamed again, and so did a couple of street people who were drawn to the fight like moths to a flame.
“You come to my goddamned house starting shit!”
PAP!
Marvin berated Donovan as he whooped him. But he wasn’t fighting him like he would a man. The second blow was another slap that connected with the side of Donovan’s head. His world spinning, Donovan dropped to one knee. He didn’t feel the blood leaking from his split lip, and he couldn’t hear any of the people shouting around him. Vaguely he caught sight of a loose brick in the lawn. He reached for it instinctively.
But Donovan’s senses were slurred. His movements were telegraphed. Marvin saw him go for the weapon, and he decided to put an end to this. He reared back with his right leg, planning to punt the runt’s face like a football, but Donovan’s brain cleared up for a fraction of a second, and he saw the sneaker coming. Donovan blocked the kick with his arms, and then he grabbed Marvin’s leg and threw all of his weight at him.
Marvin fell to his back with the teenager on top. Donovan knew he’d lose the fight if he didn’t take full advantage of his superior position. He swung blindly, as hard and as fast as he could. Marvin blocked the first eight punches, but the ninth one landed square on the chin. Donovan didn’t notice Marvin’s face grow slack, and he didn’t see the man’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Donovan did realize that all of his subsequent blows were landing flush, but he didn’t slow up.
If I stop, he’ll get me, he told himself. If I stop, he’ll get me.
The warning played over and over in his head like a mantra. Donovan’s heart was jack-hammering. Blood began to leak off his chin. He had Marvin fully mounted. The dopefiend’s limbs were stretched limply in the grass. After five more blows, Donovan felt his fists starting to bleed. A few punches later, Donovan realized it was Marvin’s face bleeding, not his hands.
By then Donovan knew the man was unconscious, but he was still too afraid to stop. The two blows Marvin delivered were the hardest Donovan had ever been hit in his life – and he knew the dopefiend wasn’t really fighting him at the time. If he let up, Donovan fully believed Marvin would kill him. So he hit him again and again. He didn’t stop swinging until one of the bystanders grabbed him from behind and pulled him off his opponent.
“Stop, man! You killing him!”
Donovan broke free of the stranger’s grip, but he didn’t go after Marvin again. Everyone could see that Kyra’s tormentor was no longer a threat to her or anyone else – not for the rest of the day at least.
Kyra rushed to Donovan’s side. He turned to retrieve his backpack while the crowd surrounded Marvin. Most gawked. A couple of people took pictures with a new gadget called a “camera phone.” One person had the sense to roll Marvin onto his side so he wouldn’t swallow his tongue while unconscious.
“Cuh, come on,” Donovan told Kyra. His chest rose and fell rapidly. His face was a mess with sweat and blood. His hands and knuckles were throbbing with pain. But Donovan didn’t acknowledge what just happened. “We gotta, we gotta go do our homework,” he panted. “Go to my mama, go to my mama’s house.”