He was five feet, three inches tall. He weighed a whopping 115 pounds. At eighteen years old, he was checking in to a new high school in the first month of the school year. His father was a fighter pilot in the Air Force. They moved a lot. They moved so much that his mother had her fill of it five years ago and divorced his dad.
He knew what it was like, checking in to a new school. He had done it many times before. It didn't make him happy because he knew that once again his ass would be on the line. Kids are not particularly kind to people who are a little different and his diminutive size definitely made him different.
He shouldered his pack and reported to the registration desk. It took him half an hour to check in. It took another hour to sort out his class schedule. He asked to see the physical education instructor, but the instructor would not be available until the next day. A bell rang and classes changed. It was lunch time. "Well, I better get this over with," he thought.
He made his way to the cafeteria. A big jock type kid yelled, "Hey boy the grade school is two blocks down." He ignored the jibe and checked out the serving line. His selections were all very healthy, passing up the fried stuff and the junk food.
He took his tray to a table in the corner and sat down to eat. The big jock type strolled over to his table. "What is a shrimp like you doing in high school? You're barely big enough to be out of kindergarten."
"I gonna ask you one time to leave me alone. Don't bother me. Go play with your friends." He replied.
Not taking the hint, the jock started to grab his tray. The kid shifted his weight, grabbed the errant wrist and gave it a quick twist. The jock doubled over in pain. "I asked you nicely to leave me alone. I meant it. The next time, I'll break it."
John Taylor was small, but he was highly skilled. He had attended karate classes since he was five. At twelve, he was a black belt. At fifteen, he attained instructor status. Now, at eighteen, he was a dangerous weapon. He had learned from the best martial arts instructors on the planet. When he found out that he was too short to be a fighter pilot like his dad, he had concentrated on his martial arts skills to the exclusion of all else. Even though he was small, there were few men who could defeat him. If the truth were told, he could have kicked the shit out of the entire football team at one sitting.
The jock had tears in his eyes as he nursed his wrist. The pain was incredible. It wasn't broken, but it would hurt like hell for several hours. He moved away from the table. "See ya later," he threatened.
"Bad idea," replied John.
A hush had fallen over the cafeteria. They had all been waiting to see what Curt would do to the new boy. They never expected him to be defeated so easily. They all stared at John as he ate his lunch.
The bell for fourth period rang and John trotted to calculus class. He liked calculus. It was simple, clean and followed never changing rules. He was a straight "A" student. School came easily to him. He liked it except the part where he had to shut off the bullies. He didn't enjoy hurting people, but he would take crap from no one, man or boy.
The rest of the day went without incident. When the final bell rang, he shouldered his pack and started the two mile run home. He ran everywhere. He never walked outside. He had absolutely no fat on his small frame. Endless practice had made him quicker than a cat. When he spotted the bully waiting for him at the gate, he completely ignored him.
As he passed through the gate, the jock made a grab for his pack. He easily avoided it, turned and walked over to the jock. "What's it gonna be? Which part of you do you want broken?"
"There isn't any way a punk like you can hurt me in any way!"
John looked up at him. "Last chance," he whispered.
The jock pulled his hands up to push John. John thumped him in a certain place on his breast bone. The jock collapsed, gasping for air. John left him there and returned to his run.
The next morning John ran to school. He went into the cafeteria and bought a carton of orange juice. A couple of coeds walked by him, whispering and giggling.
He trotted over to the attendance office. "May I please talk to the Phys Ed instructor," he asked politely.
"He can see you right away. Go to the teacher's lounge in this building. He'll be there. His name is Mr. Givens."
John found the teacher's lounge and found Mr. Givens sitting by himself with a cup of coffee. He introduced himself. "What's the problem son?"
"I don't have a problem. I would like to enroll in any martial arts class you offer. I also want to be considered for the swimming team and the wrestling team."
"Why don't you come to my office in the gym right after school. We can discuss your physical prowess then."
"Okay sir, I'll be there." He left the admin building and headed for his first class.
When the last bell rang, he headed for the gym. He strode into the instructor's office. "Good afternoon sir," he said.
"Okay kid, what's on your mind?"
"I want to get into sports. I am a skilled karate instructor, a good boxer, good swimmer and great wrestler."
"Aren't you a little small to want to do all these things?"
"Actually sir I have already done all these things in the schools I attended before I got here."
"I read about a kid named John Taylor who was a martial arts expert. Do you know who he is?"
"Yes sir, I do."
"Do you know him?"
"Sir, I am him."
"Do you have a free period? I would like to see what you've got before I make any rash decisions."
"Third period is open for me."
"Be here during third period tomorrow. Bring your gym shorts and a t-shirt."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir."
He ran home. The jock was nowhere in sight.
He couldn't wait to get to school the next day. He enjoyed physical activity immensely and his body needed regular work outs. Third period came and he sprinted to the gym.
"Okay boy," greeted the coach, "We'll start with some exercises. How many pull ups can you do?"
"I never tried for a record. My usual workout is twenty with my left arm, then twenty with my right arm, then fifty with both."
The coach blinked his eyes. "Show me."
John jumped up and caught the bar. He effortlessly performed the exercise.
"What does your regular exercise consist of?"
"Well sir I usually do the pull ups, then a hundred pushups, some floor exercises and a rope climb, if I've got the rope. Then I do my karate regime. I run two miles to school and two miles back every day, rain or shine. That about does it. Oh, I almost forgot, I usually run ten miles on the weekends because I don't get to run to school."
"Please take off your shirt."
John removed his shirt revealing a body that looked like it was chiseled out of granite.
"Okay, put it back on."
"Do I get on the team sir? I really need the contact."
"You could kill the football team."
"That's probably true sir, but I promise I won't damage anyone permanently."
The coach looked at him like he was a loaded machine gun. "I'll find a place for you. Do you play football?"
"I never tried."
"We'll give you a tryout this afternoon after school."
"All right!" John almost shouted.
The last bell rang and John headed for the practice field. Coach Givens was waiting for him. "How fast can you run forty yards?" he asked.
