User blog:Coloured Flames/Brooklyn in Bullworth part 7-- Dog vs Big Cat

'''Long paragraph is long. Derp.'''

After art I suddenly realized how exhausted I felt. Damn jetlag. I yawned audibly, but told myself not to go to sleep, or I would wake up at four in the morning and just get tired again tomorrow. I sighed and leant against a locker, watching people walk past without much interest.

My eyes had started closing when I heard a voice growl: "Aye rich boy? Get outta my way!"

I snapped my eyes open and saw a guy in a leather jacket stalking towards me.

"Alright, no need to be rude." I sniffed, stepping out of his way. He turned to glare at me, eyes burning.

"You sassin' me, punk?" He snarled, his lip curling like an angry dog's.

I felt my heart rate pick up as I scented danger, but I wasn't in the mood to be pushed around. Not in America.

"No, and if you had any senses you would already know that!" I shot back, tilting my head cockily.

He lowered his head and leaped forward. Not quite expecting a response that quickly, I jumped out of the way. I heard a thump, which told me that he had crashed into the wall. I turned my head to see the Greaser's fist flying from no where. I didn't get out of the way fully, but managed to shift sideways so he hit my shoulder, not my face.

"I don't even know you yet!" I hissed, leaping away from another swing.

"Ricky!" he growled, aiming a kick at my ribs, which hit (and hurt.) "No need to ask your name rich boy! You're Husky-Dog!"

"It's Brooklyn you wanker!" I spat, hitting his arm away with the side of my left one.

"Brooklyn the Australian Husky Dog!" Ricky sneered at me through his arms.

I let my arms down and stepped back. He suddenly gave me an idea.

Back in Sydney, my, ahem, girlfriend, owned a Husky which, whenever you playfully tried to swipe at it, it would dodge and you would hit a chair or something instead. Which hurt.

I purposely pressed my back against the wall and tried to look as if I was tired. Ricky smiled kinda scarily, and threw a punch in my direction. I dropped out of the way, and the gross thunk of fist against concrete told me what I wanted to know.

I threw myself away from a kick, which didn't hit my stomach (thankyou God) but managed to swipe my legs out from underneath me. I got flattened on the ground again, and had to roll like I was on fire to get away from Ricky's great anger.

I finally realized that a bunch of people had gathered to watch us fight. I couldn't tell who had come by just their legs, but there were a quite a few. I didn't want to get beaten in front of everyone.

Ricky clearly didn't either.

"What kind of Dog keeps running away?" He taunted as I got out of the way from his fists, AGAIN.

"A dog who doesn't want to die!" I shot back.

"What a stupid dog!"

"Look who's talking, Kitten!"

My nickname for him gained me an angry glare from Ricky and a few laughs from the crowd. The Greaser swiped his hand at me, and he caught the side of my head. I got knocked over and when I tried to get back up, Ricky slammed his foot down on my back and kept it there, pinning me down.

"Get off, Kitten!" I snarled, attempting to get back up.

"EVIL DOERS." A voice suddenly roared. I felt the weight of Kitten's foot lift off my back and I quickly scrambled to my feet. Everyone was running everywhere, as a prefect burst through the crowd and pursued Ricky. Another authority figure started running towards me as well. He made a wild grab at my shoulders, but I rolled out of the way and started to run off.

I could hear him chasing after me, shouting random insults that weren't actually decent. But I had a good advantage: my speed. Running always seemed to wake me up, and I suddenly felt alive. His voice got quieter and eventually he just gave up (either that or I ran too far ahead).

Panting more out of exhileration then exhaust, I turned my head back to the fight scene and frowned. If all Greasers were that bad tempered, maybe I would be better off in a different clique.

Their rivals, perhaps?