Non-classifiable
"Cut it out!" the driver shouted. He might have said it again, but I couldn't tell for sure over all the noise.
In a weird way, I was having fun. When some of the kids around me started laughing, I laughed too. I reached for the ball of paper that had landed on the floor and threw it as hard as I could toward the back of the bus.
"Hey, new guy!" a voice called. "You pitch like a girl!"
I bristled. It was my own fault; I'd called attention to myself.
I knew whatever I did next was important. This was what my mom would call a defining moment. She says life is all about defining moments, only most people miss them. They're too busy doing other stuff.
For a couple of seconds, I bucked and danced at the end of my line. I was like a rag doll shaken by a giant.
Was it a great white shark, twisting and turning me from side to side, like a bulldog with a rat in its jaws?
I couldn't see what was happening. It was dark, and air bubbles kept exploding around my face mask.
Don't panic! I told myself. Don't panic!
I tried to think it through. I didn't feel razor-sharp teeth cutting through my wet suit. So it wasn't a shark.
Don't panic. Don't panic.
Mr. Eyepatch stepped out from behind an old truck. At full speed, I almost speared myself on the huge knife he held waist high in my direction. I managed to throw myself to the side and dodge the knife.
I stopped a few stumbling steps later, turned to face him, and gasped for breath.
He snarled something at me in Russian.
