Bibles & Ball Bats by Israel Allen

Some of the seniors didn’t like that, guys who didn’t make the team and guys on the team whose buddies didn’t make it. They came for us in the locker room after practice, wet towels, athletic tape, and a couple of straight razors. The razors scared me, made me think they weren’t just playing a joke. I don’t know exactly what they had planned, but they made the mistake of catching us together. My granddad taught me two things: how to shoot skeet and how to box. The first was for fun, really. The second was because he knew I was a rich kid in a poor town, and I’d get picked on if I couldn’t take care of myself. Before that day in the locker room, I’d only been in three fights, but I’d won them because of what he taught me. It’s not hard to win a fight if you know how and the other guy doesn’t. I don’t know who taught Junk to fight. Maybe he just learned by trial and error. He’d been in one practically every week since first grade.
There were six of them and two of us, but we didn’t have to talk or think much. We understood each other. We got back to back and started punching. I was too scared to remember much, but it ended with all six of them out cold and Coach Graham and I tackling Junk to keep him from stomping someone to death. We’d have been kicked off the team, but when Coach saw the razors, he understood. It was the other boys who got kicked off the team.
Junk and I were real friends after that. Pretty soon, we were best friends.