Renegade Rising (The Renegade Series) Read Free Page A

war of words had ensued. Gisbo was sixteen now and done with schooling under him. It was about time he let him have it and end things for good.
    “I really can’t blame them for picking on you,” Mr. Foogal said. Gisbo’s eyes narrowed and looked straight at him. Again, Mr. Foogal felt the top of his head burning, just waiting for the name calling to begin.
    “This going somewhere, scrotum head? Or can’t I get you outta my ass for at least one summer?” Gisbo asked. The vein in Mr. Foogal’s forehead pulsed dangerously. He stood in silence and waited for the last student to leave the classroom. No sooner had a girl stepped one foot upon the steps outside than Mr. Foogal slammed the door with tremendous force and rebounded upon Gisbo with ten years of pent up frustration behind him.
    “Listen, you foul mouthed little crap! I passed you just so I could get you out of MY ass for a summer! Don’t you forget that. Don’t you ever, EVER forget that! You are the stupidest thing to ever walk through my classroom! You’ll amount to nothing but a ditch digger in this life! You know that?” Mr. Foogal hissed in his ear, the vein in his forehead looking as if it would burst. Gisbo only clenched his fist.
    “Oh, what’s this? You wish to hit me? That’s how you solve all your problems, isn’t it, boy? Just punch them away? Well, go ahead! You’re sixteen now, you’ll go to prison, so you better it make it good. I’ll take a hit just to know an animal like you will go right where he belongs, his cage!” Mr. Foogal hissed. It had finally happened. Ten years and it had finally happened. Mr. Foogal lost it. He grabbed Gisbo by both shoulders and pushed him so hard that the boy fell right off his feet. In disbelief of his own actions, Mr. Foogal first looked down at Gisbo, and then at his trembling hands.
    “You . . . you like that, you little crap? Come on, get up, right here, give me a good one! Punch your way into prison!” Mr. Foogal challenged, pointing to his chin.
    Gisbo coughed once, got up slowly and shook himself off. He than snapped a gaze upward and looked Mr. Foogal square in the eyes.
    There it is again, that damned look! What is behind those eyes that makes me feel so, so, Mr. Foogal thought.
    Inferior floated to the top of his mind.
    It was then Gisbo gritted his teeth and took a bold step forward. Mr. Foogal’s eyes flashed with surprise and he found himself taking a nervous step backward right into a desk. He held up his hands in defense, feeling as if this moment wasn’t real, as if he were dreaming, when suddenly . . .
    “OH GIZZZZZY!!!” a voice bellowed from behind the schoolhouse. Upon hearing the voice, a voice he hated much more than his teacher’s, Gisbo growled and stormed out of the schoolhouse without a glance back. Mr. Foogal let out a huge, shaky sigh of relief and he found the courage to shout out a few last words.
    “You’ll get it this time! You’ve bit off more then you can chew now!” Mr. Foogal shrieked, laughing hysterically at his own clever pun. He mentally patted himself on the back, feeling good as he rose up to his full height and took a walk over to his desk and collapsed into a chair.
    “You’ll get it this time, boy. The wolves are gonna get ya!” Mr. Foogal said, smiling to himself. “And I’m not telling a soul!”
    The sky was heavy and gray. It seemed to swell, looking as if it would burst into rain at the slightest prick. Even so, Gisbo marched on behind the schoolhouse, through the bushes and past the fallen pine tree. His long, dark brown, nearly black, hair fluttered out and behind his tattered bandana. He was mad and when he was mad, his hazel eyes flared open like a bull’s.
    I’ll kill ‘em this time, I’ll kill ‘em all . . . Gisbo thought.
    He came upon the open field as quickly as every time before. An ominous feeling of déjà vu swept over him as he glanced around, spying familiar faces. These familiar faces, however, he was only used to