Summers within

The Florida summer of 1998 had just begun, and the air still carried the faint, sweet scent of freedom from the confines of eighth grade. I walked with a bounce in my step, the lingering smell of sweat and must from Tasukete Middle School a rapidly fading memory. Three years of relentless torment, of being labeled the 'nerd' for simply existing, were finally behind me. I was free.

My thoughts drifted to my sister's upcoming birthday, and the surf shop shortcut called to me. I imagined her face lighting up when she saw the perfect gift, a warmth spreading through me that chased away the last chill of school.

But the warmth evaporated instantly as a hulking figure materialized in the narrow alleyway: James Codwell, the ringleader of my personal hell. His face, slick with sweat, contorted into that familiar, sickening smirk. "Hey Gaaaaybrial," he drawled, the word a practiced barb, aimed to pierce.

I steeled myself, my face a mask of indifference. "Yes, James?" I asked, my voice flat. I knew better than to provoke him in this confined space. A hand lashed out, a heavy blow to my cheek, sending me sprawling to the asphalt. My vision blurred, and as I looked up, two more hulking figures emerged from behind him. I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable.