Free Traps and Specters by Bryan Chick

to me.” He held out his hand inches from Ella’s face. His index finger was badly bruised and wrapped in a Band-Aid with the picture of a Transformer.
    â€œMegatron,” Ella said. “Niiiccce.”
    Walt pulled back his hand and coiled it into a fist.
    With unmoving lips, Richie whispered, “Don’t … upset … him.”
    â€œYou think you’re funny?” Walt spat out.
    â€œRichie’s the funny one,” Ella said. “Richie—why don’t you tell Walt a joke?”
    Richie didn’t move.
    Walt held out his arm. “The backpack.”
    â€œNo chance, White.”
    â€œThe backpack. Or we drop”—he nodded at Richie—“the nerd.”
    Doug took a step forward and shot out his chest a bit. He wore a white baseball cap, its flat bill cocked to one side. Beneath it, a messy mop of collar-length hair curled out, covering his ears, his neck, his forehead. He had an upturned nose that was nearly piglike. To her friends, Ella called him “the oinker.”
    Ella didn’t know how long she could stand her ground. But if she showed weakness, the scouts would pay for it the rest of their time at Clarksville Elementary. Walt fed off weakness.
    Ella glanced over her shoulders. Still, no one was in sight.
    â€œYou guys had this coming,” Walt declared. “You got no one to blame but yourselves.”
    Walt nodded to Doug, who immediately sprang his arm forward, punching Richie’s stomach. Air gushed from Richie and he buckled forward, his glasses shooting off his face and landing in a patch of oversized weeds. He dropped to the ground and rolled around, his eyes and mouth pinched shut.
    Walt reached out and fist-tapped Doug. With his head bobbing in satisfaction—as if to a musical beat that only he could hear—he uttered his tagline: “That’s what I thought.”
    Rage tore through Ella. Her cheeks flushed and her heart began to slam in her chest. She dove forward, reaching for Walt, who grabbed her arms and easily threw her to the ground. Dirt filled her mouth. She felt a tug on her shoulders and realized someone was stripping the pack off her back. She was yanked and bounced around. Her jaw struck the hard earth and stars began to shoot across her vision. Finally, the backpack slipped off.
    She rolled over. Walt had opened her backpack and was rifling through her stuff, throwing anything that didn’t interest him into the air—her books, her little purse, papers, the leftovers of her lunch. Doug and Dave cast around nervous glances—this was serious and they knew it. Not only had Walt just assaulted a girl, but he was now going through her belongings.
    Ella started to say something and stopped. Not because she couldn’t speak, but because she worried that she might start crying. And she wouldn’t give Wide Walt the satisfaction of that.
    Walt tossed out a handheld mirror given to Ella by her grandmother, then tipped over the open bag and shook out the remaining loose items—a piece of gum, a quarter, some lip balm. He threw the empty backpack aside. There was nothing in it that interested him.
    Walt looked at his friends. “Whatever she had … it’s not there anymore.”
    Ella’s lips trembled. She was close to tears.
    Walt stared down and shook his head. “I hope you turds learned something today.” To his friends he said, “C’mon—let’s get out of here.” The three of them turned and ran. Within seconds they were gone.
    Ella lay on the ground, her lips quivering. After some time, she crawled over to Richie. Her friend was still clutching his stomach. She touched his head, saying, “Your glasses …” She swept them out of the weeds and carefully placed them back on. She was sickened to see that one lens had a crack in it. “We’re okay, Richie,” she said. “They’re gone now.”
    She noticed her belongings