Mason resumed his slow swagger once more. As he drew closer, his buddies began to draw forward, wanting a ‘piece of the action.’ When they were about four feet away, Jerrold pulled something out of his locker. He had been waiting for this moment. It was a machete. Razor sharp. Two feet long. Still smiling his sappy smile, he said, “I want a piece of you, Mason the masturbator.”
To his amazement, Mason and co., though they had stopped dead in their tracks, were still looking for the advantage.
“What’d you call me?”
Jerrold went cold inside. To all outward appearances, Mason had un unbelievable amount of guts. But Jerrold knew otherwise. The truth was that Mason had absolutely no sense, and that made him extremely dangerous. He would ignore the threat of the machete. The only way Jerrold would be able to stop him would be to use it, and they both knew that he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
“What the hell is going on here?!”
Through a haze of fear and relief, Jerrold watched as Mr. Cowper, the Vice Principal and lethal enforcer of the school, strode through the knot of curious onlookers and walked right up to him. Jerrold didn’t take his eyes from Mason as Mr. Cowper said, in what he fancied must be his best impression of a threatening voice, “Give that thing to me. I want to see you in my office. Right now.”