The words hung in the air for a second, simple and utterly ridiculous.
The arm around my neck went rigid. The faux-friendly gesture was gone, replaced by a tense, angry grip.
The other bullies, who had been watching with eager grins, froze.
The boy being bullied, still pressed against the lockers, let out a tiny, choked sound that might have been a gasp or a sob of terror.
Shit.
Well, frankly, I didn't actually mean to say that at all.
It wasn't part of some master plan to provoke him; it just came out naturally, like that.
It was the kind of automatic, smartass response my brain cooked up when faced with overwhelming stupidity.
It was a reflex, like jerking your hand away from a hot stove, except my mouth was the hand and his ego was the stove.
But damn, my mouth would put me in fire sooner or later.
Well, it looked like it already did.
The air in the hallway went from tense to electrically charged.
