The Return of the Indian by Lynne Reid Banks

Chapter 1
A Defeat
Omri emerged cautiously from the station into Hove Road.
Someone with a sense of humor and a black spray can had
recently added an L to the word “Hove” on the street sign on the
corner, making it “Hovel Road.” Omri thought grimly that this was
much more appropriate than “Hove,” which sounded pleasantly like
somewhere by the sea. Omri would have liked to live by the sea, or
indeed almost anywhere in the world rather than Hovel Road. He
had done his best to understand why his parents had decided to
move here from the other house in the other, much nicer,
neighborhood. True, the new house was larger, and so was the
garden. But the area was a slum.
Omri’s father objected strongly to Omri’s calling it a slum. But
then, he had a car. He didn’t have to walk half a mile along Hovel
Road to the station every day, as Omri did to get to school, and
again—as now—to get home in the gloomy afternoon. It was
October and the clocks had gone back. That meant that when he
came out of the station it was practically dark.
Omri was only one of many children Walking, playing or hanging
around in Hovel Road at this hour, but he was the only one who
wore school uniform. Of course he took his blazer and tie off in the
train and stuffed them into his schoolbag, but that still left his white
shirt, black trousers and gray pullover. However he mussed them
up, he still stood out the others he had to pass through.
These others all went to a local school where uniform was not
required. Under other circumstances, Omri would have begged his
parents to let him change schools. At least then he wouldn’t have
been an obvious outsider. Or maybe he would. He couldn’t imagine
going to school with these kids. After a term and a half of running
the gauntlet of their mindless antagonism every working day, he
regarded them as little better than a pack of wolves.
That group waiting for him on the corner by the amusement
arcade. He knew them by now, and they knew him. They waited for
him if they had nothing better to do. His passing seemed to be one
of the highlights of their day. Their faces positively lit up as they
saw him approach. It took all his courage to keep Walking towards
them.
At moments like this, he would remember Little Bear. Little Bear
had been only a fraction of Omri’s size, and yet he had stood up to
him. If he had felt scared, as Omri did now, he never showed it.
Omri was not that much smaller than these boys. There were just so
many of them, and only one of him. But imagine if they’d been
giants, as he was to Little Bear! They were nothing but kids like
himself, although several years older. Except that they weren’t like
him. “They’re rats,” he thought, to rouse himself for battle. “Pigs.
Toads. Mad dogs.” It would be shameful to let them see he was
afraid of them. He gripped his schoolbag tightly by both handles
and came on.
If only he had had Boone’s revolver, or Little Bear’s knife, or his
bow and arrows, or his ax. If only he could fight like a cowboy or an
Indian brave! How he would show that crew then!
The boy he had to pass first was a skinhead, like several of the
others. The cropped head made him look some-how animal-like. He
had a flat, whitish face and about five gold rings in one ear. Omri
should have detoured a bit to be out of range, but he would not
swerve from his path. The skinhead’s boot shot out, but Omri was
expecting that and skipped over it. Then a concerted movement by
the others jerked Omri into evasive action. Speed was his only hope.
He broke into a run, hampered by his heavy bag.

The Return of the Indian by Lynne Reid Banks