Embarrassment

I threw myself into the ring, knowingly not quite prepared for what I might have been facing once I slipped my hand around the handle of my new best friend.

Oh boy, was that sword heavy.

Now, who was I to say I could win this fight? I knew my chances were slim; even that smelly guard knew I was about to get pummeled to a squealing pulp. Except I still knew I needed to do it, or at least try. A few black eyes in places that eyes aren't even located never hurt anyone, right?

I lifted my massive sword and stepped to the painted center circle of the battle ring. My eyes locked with Garrett's and my head suddenly failed me. It went blank. Totally blank. Sword skills? Nope. Fighting skills? Nada. Running skills? Not even a chance. My ears, though, in the distance, allowed me to joyfully hear the annoying announcer counting down. 3, 2, 1...

Garrett struck with amazing speed, making a B-line straight for my jaw. Luckily, he overestimated my height and even luckier for me, something told my head to duck. I swiped at his thigh, the closest thing in my range of sight. I felt my blade skim it just a little and I saw only a small amount of blood trickle down.

The idiot looked down with wide eyes full of surprise, for what reason I'm not sure. But it gave my body and brain just enough time to compose itself once again and get steadied before he took another sorry swing. My cheek this time felt the wind this time.

It may seem as though I was doing quite well for the circumstances, except my heart was about the only thing working as fast as anything else should have been. I swear if he had stopped for another second to breath, he'd hear it slamming against my skin.

Bonehead as he was, his sword moved amazingly quick, even if without too much accuracy or technique.

It slashed next at my legs, but this time catching. I was sure where the blade hit me, because pain hadn't reached my brain yet, so I looked down with raised eyebrows and a surprised look of my own.

My first thought as I mentally assessed my situation, I'm sure, was not something I should mention.

The draft hit next. I quickly realized it was a windy day as my cacky shorts, now attached by less threads than I'd wish to explain, flowed freely in the cold wind. He'd swiped at my legs, for sure. No doubt about that, as my audience, containing friends, parents of all, teachers and guards, instantly decided holding their laughter would not be necessary, for my sanity or theirs.

Garrett Dill had just struck my pants. And they were now free as a bird on a sunny summer day.