Jackson and I approached Lewis to retrieve the ball, explaining that it belonged to Jackson. Predictably, Lewis responded with taunts and insults. With the clock ticking on our fleeting recess period, I wasn’t inclined to discuss feelings. I answered with a swift punch to Lewis’s throat. That my knuckles landed right below his Adam’s Apple (the “sweet spot,” as I would learn years later) was dumb luck, but he dropped the ball immediately and began gasping for breath. I kicked him in the stomach and he folded at the midsection like a dime-store beach chair. Before Jackson could pick up his ball, we were surrounded by teachers.
