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    Tap Out
    Tap Out
    Tap Out
    Ebook97 pages58 minutes

    Tap Out

    By Sean Rodman

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    It was supposed to be a brand-new start for him. But old instincts die hard, and Dar is used to fighting for everything.

    When Darwin's father went to prison for assault, his mom decided it was time to move him from his inner-city school to the elite Norfolk Academy. Dar is convinced by a new friend to take part in an illegal fight club, He starts competing in no-holds-barred matches between students. He quickly rises to become the best in the ring. When one match goes too far and a student is almost killed, Dar faces a choice. Everyone tells him he's a fighter, but he needs to decide for himself—who is he, and what is he fighting for?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateApr 1, 2015
    ISBN9781459808775
    Tap Out
    Author

    Sean Rodman

    Sean Rodman is the author of several books for young people. When not working on his own books, Sean is the executive director of the Story Studio, a charity that inspires, educates and empowers youth to be great storytellers. He lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

    Read more from Sean Rodman

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      Book preview

      Tap Out - Sean Rodman

      Nineteen

      ]>

      Chapter One

      Dear Son,

      It has been a while since I wrote to you. I am sorry and will not make excuses for that. The last letter you sent to me was about how much you hate your new school. I think that I would hate it too, but your mother thinks it is the best for you. And there is not much I can do from where I am, is there?

      So all I can do is give you some good advice. I think it is a father’s job to tell you how the world is. Not what it should be. And I tell you that you must fight every single day of your life. Whether with your fists or just the way you live every day, you will have to fight for everything. I know that I have.

      And so when you wrote that you hate your new school, that is okay. In fact, I think hate is good.

      Because in the end, the winner of any fight is decided by a few small things.

      The winner is the one who doesn’t crap his pants.

      The winner takes fewer punches than the other guy.

      And the winner hates just a little bit more. And has enough control to let that hate out, hit by hit.

      Dad

      ]>

      Chapter Two

      I don’t want any trouble, I say.

      It’s a lie.

      I’m actually kind of hoping the bald guy makes the first move. It’s been one of my bad days, where my skin doesn’t feel like it fits. Like I’m just waiting for someone to come at me. I’m edgy. Pissed off. Looking for a fight. And I found one—this over-muscled chrome dome shoving around a skinny kid with glasses in front of the convenience store.

      The bald guy in the Lakers jersey looks slowly over his shoulder at me and then snorts. He exaggerates letting go of his victim—his fingers snap open to release the kid with glasses. The kid’s wearing the same uniform as me. The uniform of Norfolk Academy.

      Bald guy swaggers toward me. What, you standing up for him? Private-school code of honor? He laughs and shakes his head. Would be funny, except your friend Jonathan here owes me money. So, you step off and let me finish my business.

      Mason, says the victim—Jonathan—from behind him. Take it easy, bro. We can sort—

      I stand my ground. Know what? I don’t know him and I don’t know you. And I don’t care what your business is with him. But you don’t do it on the street in front of me.

      Or what? You gonna get your nice white shirt all dirty? Mason gives me a shove, both hands on my chest. I stumble and then come back fast. Push him with one hand on his Lakers jersey. He doesn’t move, but his expression darkens. Game on.

      We circle, staying on the balls of our feet, staying light. Mason fakes a punch, just testing me out. I keep out of range. He starts to get frustrated and holds his hands out, as if to say, What are you waiting for?

      I fall for it and step in toward him with a wild roundhouse swing. I miss, and he takes the opportunity. A hard jab connects with my jaw. I stagger back, falling to my knees. Little zips of light flash in my eyes.

      Mason laughs. He turns to his victim, who is still pressed against the front of the convenience store, eyes wide. Jonathan, you need a better bodyguard. While he’s turned sideways, I push up off from the ground and wrap both of my arms around Mason’s legs. He goes down like a tree, grunting as he hits the concrete. Then I’m on top of him, one forearm across his throat, pressing hard.

      Are we done? I growl. He grimaces, shakes his head. His eyelids are starting to flutter. Another couple seconds and he’ll be out. But a firm hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me backward, off of him.

      What the hell are you kids doing? It’s the owner of the convenience store behind us. A short guy with a white mustache and a pissed-off expression. Mason is coughing on the ground. Look, I don’t want any trouble. All of you, get out here before I have to call the cops!

      Hey, no cops. There’s no problem, says Jonathan, stepping forward and pulling me away from the irate owner. Let’s go. He pushes me down the street, away from the store. I look back and see Mason, still on his hands and knees. Head down and breathing hard.

      I think I owe you, says Jonathan. He keeps us moving down the sidewalk, then across an intersection on the red light. Who are you?

      I’m Darwin—Dar, I say. "You don’t owe me. I just

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