“Mrs. Griffon is so hot, dude.”

“Dude, gross. That’s my mom.”

“Since when did your mom become a teacher?”

“She’s always been a teacher.”

“Oh. That’s hot.”

“Brian, stop it. Stop creeping on my mom.”

“What? I can’t help it. Just look at her.”

That was the moment I decided that I wanted to punch Brian in the face. He kept talking after that, but I wasn’t listening. I was visualizing what path lay ahead of me if I did choose to sucker punch this pervert.

I imagined my fist making contact with his cheek. There would be a catastrophic explosion of power against his face, sending him to the ground. His head would bounce off the ground, only adding to his pain and discomfort. I would stand victorious over this so called friend, having defended my mother’s honour. Then Brian would realize how wrong he had been in thinking my mom was hot and apologize for his mistake.

It all seemed so perfect, so wonderful in my mind. How could it possibly go wrong?
I pulled my fist back, and let it begin its righteous flight toward it’s fleshy target. That was when the principal stepped into the hall.

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