KIRBY WRIGHT
I knew Wayne could hurt me if I didn’t keep my gloves up and elbows in. But he was tiring too. I glanced past the top hose and saw Chip Morningstar and Bernie Fredman. Wayne had made it his annual tradition to write “To a Real Panty Waist” in Chip’s yearbook. He’d told Bernie his nose was big because air was free. I spotted Ken Ito—Wayne had humiliated him at our sophomore class picnic by yanking off his trunks and making him run naked past the girls. I summoned my strength and threw a right that fell short.
Wayne countered with a left that sailed over my head. I got in close, crouched, and swung my left up in an arc. I delivered a bolo punch that struck Wayne in the heart. He winced and backed up. It was against the hoses that I threw a second bolo that looped over his right shoulder and banged his head with such force that it felt as if I’d busted my hand. He had to hold on to the hoses to keep from falling.
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