Jason strolled into Maple Grove Middle School, acutely aware that his scrawny frame and high-pitched voice made him stand out like a sore thumb. The moving truck had barely pulled away from his new house when his mom shoved him onto the school bus. New town, new school, and unfortunately, a new bully.

His first encounter was at the locker. Jason was struggling with the combination lock when a shadow loomed over him.

“Hey shrimp,” boomed a voice. Jason looked up to see a tall, burly kid with a sneer plastered across his face. “You’re in my spot.” The name tag on his locker clearly read “Jason,” but he wasn’t about to argue. The kid’s name, as Jason later found out from whispered conversations, was Butch.

Lunchtime was no better. Jason, with his tray full of pizza, was on his way to an empty table when Butch stuck his foot out, sending Jason sprawling. The entire cafeteria erupted in laughter, but Jason picked himself up, his cheeks burning, and moved on.

Gym class was, predictably, the worst. During dodgeball, Jason felt like the prime target, with Butch leading the assault. “Hope you’re enjoying the welcome party, twig!” Butch yelled.

Jason had had enough. As they were lining up to go back to class, he whispered just loud enough for Butch to hear, “Meet me after school. Behind the gym. 3:30.”

Butch scoffed, “You challenge me? Oh, this is rich!”

“3:30,” Jason repeated with steely determination.

Word spread like wildfire. By the time the last bell rang, half the school was buzzing with anticipation. Even the 8th graders, the undisputed rulers of Maple Grove, were chattering about it.

In the quiet corridors of Butch’s mind, a monologue raged, “Oh no, why did this twerp have to challenge me? I’ve never thrown a real punch in my life! All I do is intimidate. And now, I’m in deep trouble. I hope he doesn’t actually know how to fight.”

As 3:30 approached, a crowd had gathered behind the gym. Butch, trying to look menacing, arrived with his gang. “Alright, shrimp. Ready to get crushed?” he bellowed, trying to muster confidence.

Jason took a deep breath, pulled off his shirt, tied it around his forehead, and assumed what looked like a karate stance.

Butch’s inner thoughts were screaming: “Karate?! Why did it have to be karate?!” He looked at Jason, looked at the eager crowd, and then down at the growing wet patch on his pants. “I, umm… I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

The crowd sighed in collective disappointment. No punches, no kicks, not even a single shove. They dispersed, some laughing at Butch, others slightly sympathetic.

As Jason was putting his shirt back on, he sighed in relief. “Thank goodness he didn’t know,” he thought. “Because the only karate I know is from binge-watching movies during summer.”

And so, Maple Grove witnessed one of the most epic non-fights of its history. Two bluffers trying to out-bluff each other.