The last possible thing Harry Bergen saw himself doing was running.

It wasn't that he was out of shape; far from it. Physically speaking he was a rather slim specimen of boyhood; a physique he owed all to a balanced diet coupled with an exercise regimen which while routine was guaranteed to produce as little perspiration as possible.

To put it bluntly, Harry hated to sweat. Yet given the current circumstances, the gross, clammy, sensation of salty moisture that profusely exuded in the wake of strenuous exertion felt like heaven compared to whatever fresh hell Shanna, Sigmund, and Niccolo were all too gleefully ready to dole out that morning. As of late, Harry's place in the pecking order of playground persecution had been moved up with the absence of Stumpy; and being the prim and uptight lad that he is, the school bullies didn't need to bust their brains when it came to finding ways to torment him.

"Gotta…keep…(huff!)…going…can't…(gasp!)…stop…(wheeze!)…"

His legs were on the verge of giving out at any minute.

His heart was ready to pop like a zit.

Sweat poured by the bucketful all over his face and about his body.

By now, only two things kept Harry running; a) sheer force of habit and b) survival. He could feel Sigmund and Shanna bearing down on him as he gave his all along the black-top trying to keep his distance. In the end, his efforts proved to be in vain as he found himself tripped by a foot extending itself from behind the dumpster. Before Harry even had a chance to brush himself off, a third figure pounced and shoved him against a wall as the twosome finally caught up with him. A well-dressed girl followed this new bully wearing a look of disgust over the smell of the dumpster.

"Ok creep. Gimmie." Niccolo barked.

"I don't have any money." Harry whined.

"If he ain't got money, he ain't got nothing!" Shanna huffed.

Undisturbed by Harry's pleas, the bully cracked his knuckles and yanked off his victim's little red bow-tie.

"You're running out of time, creep." He sneered facetiously.

"No. Please!"

"Little baby gonna cry…Sigmund."

Nodding his head in the direction of the dumpster, the bully holding Harry yanked the child out of Shanna's hands and towards the malodorous metal box.

"Those are my kind of guys." Shanna gushed. "Real psychos!"

"Cool it Shanna, Niccolo is mine!" Noreen shot back as she applied polish to her nails.

Niccolo hoisted the plastic covering off the dumpster, an action which only made Harry whine even more. Sigmund gave the blubbering boy a charley-horse, allowing his cohort to restrain him by the ankles while he retained his grip on their victim's wrists. Before he knew it, Harry found himself hoisted and hauled the fetid container. Any and all sensations of fresh air seemed to be tepid hints of a memory as the already potent stench emanating from the green box only seemed to get stronger and stronger with each step forward they took. Sensing the futility of it all, the dapper dude gave one nauseated croak before going limp.

"I guess there goes the dignity of your last words." Sigmund chuckled.

"Think again."

As the two bullies looked at the source of the sudden and authoritative voice that bought their plans to a halt, Harry let out a sigh of relief. From the corner of his eye, he could see Brawny standing against the fence giving his knuckles a crack.

"Sigmund, drop him."

"Your words." Niccolo responded sarcastically.

One would think that when in a hole with someone like Brawny, that person would do everything in their power to dig themselves upward. Harry's tormentors were no such people.

Rather than be frightened, the two bullies simply smiled and hurled Harry headfirst into the dumpster. His muffled screaming could be heard inside the dumpster as the refuse latched onto his flesh and seeped into his clothing. For good measure, Shanna sat atop the enclosure and began to kick violently at the siding; further adding to their victim's state of misery. As Brawny turned his wrath towards the foul foursome, Sigmund bashed at his challenger's face with Harry's backpack, while Niccolo sat on him as he struggled to get off the ground. Shanna meanwhile intensified her kicking against the dumpster; clearly her attempt to drive home the futility he found himself facing.

"I've got to hand it to you Brawny, I'm not the easiest guy to disappoint." Niccolo began. "[It] takes a whole lot to get under my skin, but congratulations; you've just won the solid gold fidget spinner."

Niccolo permitted his cohorts ten seconds to giggle over his rapier witticism before silencing them with a wave of his hand and continuing.

"Look at you." He sneered. "Being held back has softened you, turned you into a massive pusscake. Sigmund and I could've used a guy like you for our little outfit, but no…"

"No is right." Brawny grunted. "I'm not like you. I've sat with these kids, ate with these kids, learned with these kids. I didn't see you care when I was failing class, but they did. Stumpy and Fifi especially. I owe the two of them a debt that-"

"Yeah, yeah and I'm sure your Nobel Peace Prize is in the mail." Shanna interjected after leaping off the dumpster. "We gave you a chance at real power, and you flushed it away."

"You know, speaking of flushing. "Niccolo began. "I was wondering this morning how exactly we could best exhibit our pity with the way you've wasted your potential. And right now, I think I got me one of those idea things people keep talking about."

"Yo, Noreen. Get that phone out. This is gonna be legendary." Shanna called as her cohorts hoisted Brawny up.

Oddly enough, she was right.

Before either Niccolo or Sigmund could lay the smackdown on Brawny, the dumpster lid finally busted open and Harry took his first breaths of clean air. Seeing him break out of the malodorous prison proved to be that metaphorical can of spinach motivating him to slam Sigmund against the wall. As Shanna attempted to outrun Harry, Brawny doled out a ferocious beating on the two miscreants, ending with the two of them hurled into the same dumpster where they sought to imprison his friend.

For the slightest of seconds, Brawny felt triumphant. Yet as he turned around and came to earth courtesy of Robert Simmons looking out from the window of his office, any good feeling s he may have had came to a sudden and screeching halt.

"Brawny. My office. Now."

"But Principal Simmons!" Harry whined. "Brawn-"

The boy could feel his classmate's hand gently grip his shoulders, wordlessly letting him know that while he was grateful for Harry's support, he was all too aware of the consequences.

"It'll be fine. I knew what doing this meant."


(One Day Later)

"Mr. Simmons?"

"Harold?"

"No. Harry. From the day before yesterday."

"Ah, yes. Right, right, right. Come in. I assume you have Mr. Smith's letter?"

"Yeah. It still stinks that Brawny had to be suspended and all, even if-"

"I am aware. But sometimes things are a matter of principle."

"Oh yeah? I think it's just a matter of Niccolo and Sigmund liking to see people bleed."

"Now you and I both know that I couldn't exactly let Brawny totally off the hook. But if it's any consolation Harry, your testimony cut down his punishment in a big way. And I'm sure he knows that."

"He does."

It pained Robert to open the filing cabinet and pull out the manila folder belonging to Brawny; empty other than the report detailing the incident. Up to now, he had (behaviorally speaking) been a model student. But rules were rules. Given the scale of injury both Niccolo and Sigmund walked away with after the fight (a shattered jaw and three fractured ribs respectively), Brawny found himself staring down a world of punishment which included expulsion, anger management and time in a scared straight program…that was until Harry filled him in on the full story. Though Robert admired Brawny coming to the defense of his fellow classmate, said admiration wasn't enough to completely give him a mulligan on this one. He was to be suspended for a month and a half and issue a written apology to the parents of the two boys.

After Robert shut the cabinet containing the RS 59 student disciplinary reports, he slowly makes his way back to his desk hoping for a moment of silence to catch his bearings. Only for such hopes to be dashed as a bloodcurdling scream filled the hallway…

"WHERE YOU GOING CORKSCREW? YOU KNOW MOMMY NEEDS HER SUGAR!"

Mr. Simmons began to exit his office, but as he opened the door, he found himself almost knocked over by a blur he could only assume was the child known as Corkscrew. Cowed by the sudden presence of the agile intruder, Mr. Simmons could only stand and watch wordlessly as Corkscrew quickly slammed the door shut and proceeded to barricade it with one of the two office chairs before scampering under the desk in the fetal position.

"Um…"

Like a Prairie Dog peeking from its dwelling, Corkscrew quickly shot up from underneath the oak bureau and gave the addled administrator a crisp 'shush!' before returning to his time and thoughts.

Mr. Simmons looked back at the door before crouching down next to the kid in an attempt to coax him out from his hiding space and speak with him man to man.

"I'm not usually this curt, so let me apologize for starters." The kid began. "I just don't want…(mouthing the word Rhoda)… to know I'm here."

"Rhoda?"

"You know, that messy girl in Ms. Czek's class with the patched overalls, short ponytail, and perpetual stain of chocolate around her mouth?"

"Ok…" Mr. Simmons began as he painted a mental picture. "But let's start with you. First of all, I want you to come out from under my desk and then tell me your name."

Corkscrew hesitantly crawled from under the Principal's desk and seated himself in the chair not being used to hold back the amorous girl. Unbeknownst to him however, a queasy and dark feeling began to overcome Mr. Simmons as he took in the sight of this eerily calm child. Of all the students thus far that defined déjà vu, the pompadoured boy with the orange shorts, red rectangular glasses and bi colored shirt (mustardy yellow, save for a brown collar and bottom) sent every nerve of the apoplectic administrator into overdrive. Even his voice, calm and collected as it was, had a cartoonish quality eerily similar to one particular member of PS 118's student body.

"My name is Theodore Garrigan, but most kids call me Corkscrew-"

Before he could continue on that, an animalistic knocking at the door brough both men back to reality. The entrance way rattled violently with each pound Rhoda delivered.

"I know you're in there." She sing-songed. "You and I are meant to be whether you like it or not Corkscrew. LET ME EEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNN!"

"You gotta help me Mr. Simmons." Corkscrew pleaded. "She'll eat me alive."

"Open this damned door this instant!" Rhoda replied.

"Please, just open the window. I won't go all that far."

Rhoda begins to scratch her fingers into the door.

"I can see the boy's bathroom from here Mr. Simmons. Just let me bolt across the blacktop! I'll wave to you from the window. Hell, here's my lucky pen…(Corkscrew places a quirkily colored Wankyland pen on Mr. Simmons' desk. By now he is starting to cry before his principal) I swear on it I won't do anything crazy!"

"I can almost smell you in there. You smell so nice." The girl continued from the other side of the door.

A sudden chill descends upon the room as a chunk of wood and the handle whiz through the air and land atop Mr. Simmon's desk. Slowly it opens, the ominous creak muted when stacked against a chorus of libidinous chortling coming from Rhoda as she passes through the threshold.

"Oh Theodore. The doorknob that was keeping us apart is gone…Isn't…That…Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice?"

Not wanting to wait for any blessing to escape, Corkscrew bolted through the window and in the drop between the office and pavement skinned his knee as he landed on the ground below him. With a quick glance and a final seethe in his scamper to freedom, the last thing the lad saw from the corner of his eye was the silhouette of Rhoda, maddened with adolescent infatuation, barge through the room; and in the process sending both Mr. Simmons and the door to his office landing on the floor with a sick and ominous thud.