"Jen, Jen, look at what I did! I learned how to do it!" Jonah hops up and down, dribbling the basketball. Six years old, and he was already better at basketball than I was.
I laugh at him. "Good job." I was sitting on a bench by the basketball court, watching as he made a basket. My parents were at work, and I promised him I would take him to the park. I watched as two fifteen year olds came up behind him.
One of them took his basketball, and the other one shoved him into the grass.
"You think you're any good? Do you actually think you can do anything?" The one who shoved him demanded. "Because making the ball go into the net is nothing. What you did was nothing, you little pipsqueak." The one who took his ball shoved him to the ground again. Tear are threatening to spill from Jonah's cheeks, and I'm up and behind them before they know it.
"Excuse me." I say, and they turn around. Both of them are boys, and, with sweatpants and baseball hats on backwards. They look me up and down before sneering.
"Can we help you, sweetheart?" One asks, moving to touch my waist. I grab his arm and flip him around so that his hand is pinned between my shoulder blades.
"My dad taught me that one." I hiss in his ear. "Don't call me sweetheart."
"Jen, don't hurt him you'll get in trouble!" Jonah whimpers from behind me. Very slowly, I let the punk go, and at first, fear is prominent in his eyes. But then his fear fades and he starts to guffaw with his friend.
"Yeah listen to your brother you-"
And then, before I realise what's happening, my wrist snaps forward and I punch him in the face. I do the same to the other kid, and they both fall to the ground, groaning and holding their noses. When they pull their hands away, their noses are bleeding with a steady trickle of blood.
"Don't you ever come near me or my brother again." I say, helping Jonah to his feet.
On our walk home, Jonah was still sniffling, and I had my arm wrapped around his shoulders.
"Jen, am I pathetic?" He asks suddenly. I squeeze his arms tightly and then answer.
"No, you most certainly are not. If anyone is pathetic, it's those to dweebs back there." I say, leading him into an ice cream shop. We both buy mint chocolate chip ice cream, and finish it by the time we're in our driveway.
"I can't believe you punched them." Jonah says, hopping onto the couch and grabbing the remote.
"No one messes with my brother."