Word travels fast in an elementary school.
Within a week, everyone knew what had happened to Samuel.
Apparently, Eddie wasn't impressed.
Unlike Samuel, Eddie's favorite weapon wasn't a Bic pen.
It was his brand-new blue bicycle.
He seemed to think owning two wheels made him king of the neighborhood. Anyone who had to walk was beneath him. Being a girl only made you a bigger target.
One afternoon I was walking home from school, making my way up the long hill toward our house, when I heard the unmistakable clicking of bicycle pedals behind me.
I didn't have to turn around.
I knew it was Eddie.
I started walking faster.
He started pedaling harder.
I broke into a run.
On my right was a thick cedar hedge.
Without thinking, I dove behind it.
The smell of fresh cedar surrounded me. My shoes sank into the damp earth as I crouched low, hoping he hadn't seen me.
That's when I noticed a stick lying beside my foot.
About sixteen inches long.
Just a stick.
I picked it up.
The sound of Eddie's bike was getting closer.
In one quick motion, I threw it.
The stick didn't hit Eddie.
It hit the front spokes of his bicycle.
The bike stopped.
Eddie didn't.
He flew over the handlebars, landed face-first on the asphalt, and skidded several feet down the road.
I slowly stood up from behind the hedge.
He was moaning.
One knee of his jeans was ripped open.
His face was covered in road rash.
He never looked toward the hedge.
He limped to his feet, picked up his bicycle, and, hopping on one leg, slowly walked it back down the hill.
I watched until he disappeared.
Then I stepped out from behind the hedge and continued walking home.
Eddie never bothered me again.
Looking back now, I realize neither Samuel nor Eddie taught me how to fight.
They taught me something much more important.
There comes a time when every little girl decides she has had enough.
That week, I finally decided I had.