The bully got iced

It was the last day of school in the 8th grade. My junior high was adjacent to the high school, so over 600 kids were milling about with that freedom of feeling like you can do anything, and unfortunately, some people acted that feeling. 

My mom had taken some friends and I to get ice slushies at a little kiosk across the street. One of my friends was a super-sweet, super-nice person who had a kind of vulnerable look about her. I suddenly heard her make an indignant sort of noise behind me. Her red slushie was splattered all over her white shoes, and she was just as frozen as her drink. This boy I didn't know (a few years older, but not much bigger than any of us) was within arms reach of her, pointing and jeering. He had casually walked by and pushed her cup out of her hand so it dumped all over her.

Later, she said, "I was more scared for you than anything, because I saw your nostrils flare, and I thought, Oh, boy--here it comes!'"

As for myself, I was so mad I didn't even think. I just said, "Hey!" and walked back towards him. He accepted my challenge and grabbed the bowl-end of my plastic spoon. I tightened my grip, and then shifted my arm just enough to push him backwards as I snapped the spoon in half. He knocked my drink out of my hand, but I made sure that the icy, sticky syrup landed on him, not me. He was the one who had to go home covered in goo.

Nothing really much happened. No one got hurt, and nothing was destroyed that wasn't going to go in the trash five minutes later anyway. What I really remember is the moment I made eye-contact with this bully--and stepped towards him.