A fist slammed into the soft flesh of Pete's stomach, not once, not twice but three times.
With each blow Pete gave a soft grunt as the air was forced out of him, he was vaguely aware of the guffawing laughter of the group of moronic attackers that surrounded him, but by now Pete had managed to block out most of his surroundings, he had learnt that much with the regular beatings, he could even block out the pain, well…virtually
The beatings were just part of his routine now; they ran like clockwork, twice a week, just after Gym class. Of course if Pete had dared to stray anywhere near the football field at any other time they wouldn't have passed up the opportunity to beat him up, it seemed to hold some sort of perverse entertainment value for the savages, luckily Pete wasn't that stupid.
Said savages were the Jocks; not many brain cells but plenty of muscle to make up for it; and virtually untouchable…well Russell might stand a chance, but Pete was certainly no Russell.
So Pete just lay there and took it as he was thrown to the ground and a different Jock launched his foot into Pete's groin, Pete couldn't help it, he yelped in pain and immediately cursed himself for doing so. It made the Jocks happy to see that they were causing their victim pain, hell that was the point. The first few times Pete had cried with the pain of the beating; that was the worst thing he could have done, it only made things worse, gave them more ammunition, gave them more of a reason to continue victimising him (not that they needed a reason).
After what seemed like hours but was in reality only a few minutes the violence stopped, the Jocks had got bored as they always did, well until the next time. As the Jocks left, laughing their heads off (as usual) Pete heard one of them pause, a second later he felt a gob of spit hit him on the side of his cheek, Pete screwed up his face in disgust, much to the spitter's amusement.
But eventually even the spitter left him in peace, finally alone Pete reached up and wiped the spit away with his sleeve; well they had never spat on him before, that was definitely a new addition to their routine, who said Jocks aren't creative?
Pete pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so and surveyed his surroundings. He was sat on the concrete verge of the football field, between the bleachers and the steps up to the gym (which was the path that the Jocks had taken), there was no way he was going to make it back up the steps and all the way to the dorm in his current condition; even if he had been physically able to, he had no desire to get too close to the Jocks, that would just be tempting fate.
At the same time Pete was well aware that he had to get out of sight, the Jocks had been known to come back for seconds. Fortunately for Pete the Jocks did not have the patience or the intelligence to come looking for him if they couldn't spot him straight away, it was like the worlds easiest game of hide and seek.
Pete half crawled to the edge of the bleachers, then, clasping the rail tightly for support made his way round to the gap at the back. Once there he lowered himself slowly and carefully to the floor, wincing again as twinges of pain erupted all over him. His back was now resting against the concrete wall, all he could see was the underbelly of the bleachers, top make out spot for students and teachers alike (well the only teachers that actually used it were Ms Phillips and Mr Galloway, and that was only a rumour). Pete snorted in faint amusement; the only kiss he'd ever received was from his mother.
Pete tilted his head back, resting it against the concrete, and closed his eyes. He would wait until football practice started; Pete should then be able to slip away unnoticed while the brutes were concentrating on running after a ball. That just left him an hour or two to kill, plenty of time to dwell on the miserable existence that was his life.
The thing was that Pete knew that he wasn't the Jocks only victim, not by any standard; in fact every single one of the Nerds had at some point felt the force of the Jocks fists. But that was why the Nerds went everywhere in groups and spent every spare moment hoarded in the safety of the library, the Jocks would never set foot in the library, Pete doubted whether they even knew what one was.
The problem with Pete was that he didn't have any friends, he wasn't part of a clique, not because he didn't want to be, no it was because he didn't fit into any of them, he was too cool to be a dork but too dorky to be anything else. So where did that leave Pete? Alone and vulnerable, that's where. It really was no wonder that he attracted the attention of bullies, of course it was the wrong sort of attention but what else could he expect, it wasn't as though his physique was even remotely intimidating, he could try to get fitter but Pete wasn't exactly the best sportsman in the world…it probably wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway, it still wouldn't have solved anything, even if it wasn't Pete who got beaten up it would be someone else.
What Bullworth needed was a vigilante of sorts, someone who wasn't afraid to stand up to people like the Jocks, someone to stop them picking on weaker kids, someone to teach them a lesson, and preferably someone who would want to be Pete's friend. Basically someone needed to run all the cliques, Pete knew that Gary wanted to do just that, to "run the school" as he put it.
Gary…the closest thing to a friend that Pete had, sure he was a bit of a sociopath; sure he teased Pete mercilessly about everything, but he was someone to tag along with, stopping Pete from spending all of his free time alone. In Pete's mind having a "friend" like Gary was better than feeling completely and utterly invisible to everyone. Even if now the Jocks were beating him up, at least they were noticing him.
What is that saying? A kiss with a fist is better than none.