Adolescent misery

It was a friday afternoon, mild for early April, shortly before my 14th birthday. I was walking home from school, alone as usual. As I passed the patch of trees on the field just outside the school gates, I heard a familiar voice call out and my heart sank.
  'Oi, fatboy, why did you grass me up? Running to Nanny were you?'
The voice belonged to my arch nemesis David Smyth, who, along with his three accomplices, seemed to feel it was his his calling in life to make my existence as unbearable as possible with taunts about my weight and regular beatings at any moment he or his cronies felt like it.
  I could feel my heart beating violently against my ribcage, and for one mad moment I considered running for it, but I knew I'd never get far; David was a natural athlete whereas I certainly wasn't. David sidled up towards me, an amused smirk across his face. His grin widened as he said; 'You got me put in detention, fat boy.' He must have noticed the look of shock on my face as he laughed again and said; 'Oh, did you think I'd be suspended? Ha, even the teachers think your a waste of space!'
  His face was now offensively close to mine and I knew it wouldn't be long. Around us I noticed a crowd gathering in eager anticipation of their favourite entertainment- bloodshed. Most of them didn't even know my name, yet still they would bay for my blood like rabid hounds.
  David's hands came up slowly, as if daring me to retaliate, how I wished I knew how. Then he pushed me hard in the chest. I staggered back until I bumped into someone. A solid punch to the back of the head told me it must have been one of his friends I'd bumped into. Then they were all punching and kicking me. I did everything I could to cover my face. Preferring the dizzying sickness of punches to the top and back of my head, to my Nan's sadness at realising her faith in the system was unfounded.
  They really went to town on me this time, screaming obscenitys between blows. After a time you switch off to the pain, it's only the first one or two punches that you feel. This time was different, more pre-meditated; this one was a punishment beating rather than a 'little slap'. They took their time and savoured it. Towards the end, I was lying face down on the grass, with both hands over my face. I must have had my legs slightly apart, as next one of them ran up behind me and kicked me so hard that I almost passed out. I dimly remember his grunt of exertion mingling with my howl of pain. They turned me over and proceeded to spit all over me, before turning and walking slowly away laughing and joking as they relived it all again. I raised myself unsteadily onto all fours and vomited several times, before painfully staggering to my feet.
  Enough's enough I decided. I'm going to see my Dad. He hadn't been part of my life since before my second birthday, so I was understandably a little nervous about this. I knew however that he would be able to help me as he had been a more than useful amateur boxer in his youth. This was what I needed, I couldn't go on like this, I had to get in shape and learn to defend myself. Nan had told me that dad had opened up a taxi service in town, with its office in the high street.
  I felt nervous as I opened the door to the small office, scared of rejection perhaps, but I took a deep breath and walked straight in. My dad's eyes widened alarmingly when he saw me and he spluttered; 'Hello, how are y.....' he broke off looking at my torn bloodstained shirt and deshevelled appearance, frowning slightly he asked;
  'What's happened to you, who did this?'
I explained it all.
  'I can't have my son getting bullied.' he said.
  'Well what do you suggest I do about it then?' I asked, somewhat needled by this last comment.
  'I know one of the trainers over at Chelmsford boys club; go there a couple of times a week for a few months, and you won't worry about this David Smyth anymore'.
  So the following Wednesday evening, I huffed and puffed my way through a gruelling regime of pushups and situps, interspersed with skipping and shadow boxing, conducted in a drab, cabbage fart smelling hall, with other like minded boys. When the hour was up I staggered back to the car where Nan tutted disapprovingly, (nan hated violence, but was always supportive, no doubt hoping this was just a phase, that would be over soon).
  By the end of two months, my weight was down by a stone and a half, I could throw fast combinations of punches, and keep it up. I was ready. Walking back from lunch that tuesday afternoon, I could see David and his mates leaning on the lockers ahead. I waited for the comments to start;
  'Slim fast eat your slim fast....Ha ha, looks like he has don't he, still a fatty though'.
But their laughter was short lived; as I drew level I drove my fist straight into David's solar-plexus causing him to pitch forward, gasping desperately, as his head came forward I brought my knee up, connecting hard with his face, blood spurted everywhere as his nose exploded. At this point the bravest of his cronies grabbed my shoulder, but I pivoted under his grip, catching him on the jaw with a solid right hook which rocked him. Before I could follow it up he turned and ran away taking the rest of the gang with him, except for David who was on all fours retching at my feet.
  I walked away along the corridor and it was as if a spell had been lifted, people who hadn't wanted to know me throughout my school career, suddenly wanted to be my friends. At the end of the day I walked home in a crowd for the first time ever. When I got home nan saw the blood on my shirt and again asked what had happened. This time I smiled and told her not to worry. I knew I wouldn't need to hide anything from her again. Those days were over.