All Just For a Scholarship

A Slice of English Pugilism

As the sun hanged over Bullworth, light shone on the mess the students left during the Halloween, plastic cups with slithers of Dragon's Blood, crumpled up "Kick Me" signs and gunpowder residue from what I assume and hope was the firecrackers.
The quiet state of the boy's dorm proved the rather active night before; I had managed to sneak out of the dorm without hindrance from any walk of predator I had grown to discover, checking my timetable I noticed my two subjects: Gym and Shop.
Great I figured with oh too familiar sarcasm draining the sincerity of my thought, I now had to lug around my gym kit and some spare clothes in case of oil spills, because as everyone knows, British people are infamous for oil spillage to the highest degree (!)

Outside, life was minimal, while unsurprising, it did prove to be somewhat unnerving it seemed that the babbling of various cliques clustering the school grounds had became a common feature in my day to day life. Then again, all my lessons to this point had been centred on the main school building; it would appear that that was also contributing to my unease, the fact I had to cross Jock territory to get to class.
The silence intensified my fear as I crept between the two basketball courts, the anti-Jock graffiti slogans staining the individual walls as I reached the door at the right upon entering the Jock's habitat, inside a large basketball court with various motivational slogans with Bullworth blazoned on them.

It was then I encountered the school's head of perv- I mean physical education, Mr. Burton. Despite a bulging gut, the man did display some muscle...sadly, his top bald hair acts as one of his more prominent features and strips all layers of intimidation from him faster than his eyes strip the girls in the school.
Burton turned to me and gave a shrill whistle from the whistle round his neck, he then barked, "You, Brit Shrimp, get those stairs and change for Gym class! Don't you think that because you are the only one here means I'm gonna slack on ya!"
I walked downstairs with his last sentence ringing in my ears, only one here? Are you being serious? This school doesn't even bother to chase up their pupils I questioned as I changed into my PE clothes, I then ran up the stairs.
There, was two girls standing near Mr. Burton both of which unease by his wandering eyes, one was Erica who must also have realised the atrocious attendance of school pupils today and the other was a dark haired girl with two ponytails and wearing glasses.

"Ah, you dressed right then you three weaklings! Since your classmates have proved too puny to get out of bed, you shall be stuck with me for Gym; today I decided to teach you how to defend yourself in case of a mugger!" Burton announced to us, he then pointed at me, "Daniels, you shall be the mugger, come here." He curled his finger towards him as I approached; I then stood a couple of feet from him. "Now Daniels, as the mugger, how would you mug me?"
I then stood there in thought, did he actually I'd know this? If so, I really do not want to know the after school activities of Bullworth's students.
Right there, Burton socked me straight in the nose, I stumbled slightly as Erica and the ponytailed girl gasped.
"Too slow Daniels." Burton piped, I was fuming at that point, causing me to irrationally pounce on the man, Burton stepped out the way and clasped me into a headlock.
"Now you see here ladies, this is a headlock; this move is common among our perfects to detain reckless individuals." He explained to the girls, I then grinned slightly before pulling out of Burton's headlock and, instinctively kicking him in the groin, the ponytailed girl gasped but Erica snorted slightly as she watched Burton writhe on the ground with pain.
"And that ladies, was a groin kick, which has been a tried and tested method to counter any men big or small." I stated, mocking a now antagonised Mr. Burton, who began to stand up and grab me again, this time around the neck.
Burton snarled, "Some little blighters girls may require severe pain, hence choking them will work!" As I began to gasp for air, Erica walked behind Burton and flung her leg under him, kicking Burton once again in his crown jewels and collapsing, liberating me from my near demise.
Erica smiled, "You are right John. The groin kick does work!" I nodded, noticing a groaning Mr. Burton I turned.
"Umm...I better leave before he gets back up. Something tells me that class is basically dismissed for me!" I whispered to Erica, I then waved to the dark haired girl before rushing downstairs to change, with my exit planned to go via the doors to the swimming pool on the other side of the building.

I entered the Vale to escape any further confrontations with the red headed Gym teacher who will probably have his revenge on me in the next lesson, with an army of Jocks to aid him.
As soon as I entered, I regained my attention to the Boxing Club I recalled that Smith fellow pointed out the last time I came to the Vale, with hours to kill, I shrugged at the one hundred and one scenarios that could prove to result in bad news for me, and enter the surprisingly unlocked door of the Glass Jaw Boxing Club.

Inside the rather modest building, heavy bags swung back and forth as they felt the sting of the boxers' punches hitting into them, a ring that seemed acceptable under the Marques of Queensberry held two fully kitted, helmets, vests and all boxers dukeing it out over the course of fifteen rounds while spectators cheered and jeered over the fight.
"Go Biff, I'm counting on you!"
"Fifty dollars says that Hopkins is gonna bite it!"
"Move like a bee, sting like uhh...bee!"
Seeing as the ring caught the most attention, I decided to closer to the fight, there I noticed Jimmy in dark boxing attire, hugging with a tall though more slender than Russell boy with ginger hair as the two threw cheap shot hooks into each other's ribs.
I turned away from the fight to a boy sitting at a rather simplistic wooden table, the boy was blonde and was wearing the same brand of school vest as almost every other spectator in the room, I approached him and looked over the sheets on his table, the boy looked up.
"Say, you are that British boy who fought Russell weren't you?" he enquired, I looked up to his eyes, given away attention to my dented nose thanks to Mr Burton, the boy widened his eyes, "Did you fight him again?"
At first the cogs in my head trundled slowly with no ability to comprehend what he was talking of, and then I looked at my nose and its pitiful state.
"Oh this?" I indicated to my nose, "Nah, I got it from Burton at Gym, but he lost some billion sperm cells in return."
The boy rolled his eyes, "Well, I am pretty sure you are aware that a true fighter uses actual art or technique, take boxing for example, not a single one of the Greaseballs have dared enter the ring because they know under Queensberry Rules, only the Preps can win!" he announced, just as a boy cried "Knockout!", I turned around to see Jimmy throwing his hands into the air in celebration, I turned back to the blonde boy.
"Well, us and Hopkins. But no other pauper has dared fight here, and I doubt anyone will!" he added, I smiled at the statement before asking, "When can I fight?"
The boy's eyes widened as he heard my question, "You want to fight? You, a limey pauper? Oh I would love to watch this!" he sneered, he then clicked his fingers at a dark skinned boy in a green boxing vest and shorts, the boy approached the table, "Chad, this pauper wants a fight in the ring, give him a few rounds and show him why Preps are the true boxers!"
Chad nodded as he then walked towards the ring, the blonde boy then tossed some ragged boxing clothes to me.
"You can get dressed upstairs in the office, nobody will be up there!" he stated, before approaching the ring and shouting to the spectators, I walked up the staircase nearest the entrance as the cheers faded along with the blonde boy's announcement of Chad "the Terror Terrier" Morris fighting John "the Pauper 'cross the Pond" Daniels.

Dressed in ruby red vest and shorts with a faded white trim and blue gloves, I walked down the staircase, feeling like Apollo Creed more and more with every step to the point I was feeling like calling Chad a 'Stallion' the irony in it seemed all too humorous as I entered the ring.
"Now, I'm sure you know the rules Chad, but for the pauper's sake, let me go over the rules in the pugilism match." The blonde boy sneered as we meet in the centre of the ring, "You can only use punches, no aiming below the belt, no hugging, the match is split into fifteen rounds with three minutes per round." The rest of the blonde prep's rules faded as I stared at Chad, his fencing scar suddenly coming into notice as the light shone on him.
"Now touch gloves, and head to your corners." The blonde boy said before exiting the ring, we punched our fists as Chad whispered, "I'll have you in two rounds at least pauper!" we then retreated to our corners before the bell ringed for us to meet back up, this time words gave way for punches.

Unsurprisingly, Chad immediately began jabbing with his left into my nose, shattering my already rather poor defence in the process. In return, I began to swing two hooks with my left into his ribs, the last punch winding him enough for him to bend over, opening him up to a right uppercut, the punch knocked him into his corner.
There, I rushed towards him and wailed on his torso with more and more hooks. The blonde boy shouted us to break out, my doing so sadly opened up an opportunity for Chad to bounce back, with a right straight into my nose.
My head violently whipped back on impact, my gut open to a maelstrom of hooks from Chad who then began to pin me to my own corner, despite this, the blonde boy did nothing to break us up.
With this revelation punching into my head along with several hooks into my jaw from Chad, I pushed him off me to regain ground, sealing my nose away with my guard, waiting for the bell to toll, ending the first round.
At the corner, I drank some water and rested myself as the spectators hollered.
"Bash that Brit Chad!"
"Show him what the Stars and Stripes has to offer for him!"
While it was ironic that those comments came with Faux-English accents, it did nothing to help me realise that I was fighting an old salted boxer with little experience under the Marques of Queensberry and with fresh wounds for this guy to exploit to his heart's content!

The bell rang as Chad and I reproached each other for Round 2.

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