You follow his orders immediately, pulling a screaming Jenna along with you. As you cower with the rest of the students, a hulking figure walks stiff-legged into the room, growling and waving a mop over his head. He's wearing a janitor's outfit with a name patch on the chest that reads ARTIE. His wild eyes flash a dull yellow, and a string of drool hangs off of his droopy gray jowls. Mr. Nelson fires the gun at him but misses.
"Aarrrrrrrgghh!" Artie drops the mop and swings both arms at Mr. Nelson, knocking the gun out of his hands. It hits the floor with metallic click and slides under the teacher's deck.
"Every man for himself!" Mr. Nelson shouts. He picks up the mop and tosses it in your direction. Then he ducks past the trip and runs out the door. As Artie starts his slow but determined shuffle towards you and the rest of the students.
Without a second thought, you pick the mop off the floor and charge towards the meatbag janitor. You shove the mop head into his mouth and push him back against the front wall with all your might. "Somebody get the gun," you shout. "I don't think I can hold him like this much longer!"
A tall kid with an afro runs and slides under Mr. Nelson's deck. After a few seconds, he emerges from the other side, points the pistol at Artie's temple, and fires. The rest of other kids, still huddling together in the back, emit a collective groan of disgust as you feel a wet splatter against the side of your face. You feel the VM slump down to the floor on the other side of the mop. The kid drops the pistol to his side and holds his another hand up for a high five.
"That was awesome! What's your name, girl?"
"Jen," you say, slapping him some skin. A set of dimples punctuates his goofy grin, and you can't help noticing that he's really cute. You grin back, and you both stand there staring at each other for a few awkward seconds.
"Yeah, well.. I'm Michael. You should probably, uh..." He gestures to your forehead. "You got some... uh.. brain in your hair."
"Oh, right."
"But wait a second." Michael flips open the chamber of the pistol and drops a bullet into his palm. "Take this. You deserve it."
"Thanks," you say. You take the bullet and give him one more quick smile before leaving for the restroom.
As you clean yourself up in the sink of the girl's restroom, you notice a small scratch on your hand that must have happened during the attack. You check your watch. There should be still be plaenty of time to make it to the health office for the antidote, and none of your peers will ever have to know you've been infected.
The nurse at the front desk of the health office greets you with a warm, motherly smile. "Can I help you, child?"
"Uh... yeah. I, um..." you nervously stutter. The nurse stares at you, waiting for you to spit it out. "I need a..."
Suddenly the office door swings open and a boy with wavy hair and the bluest eyes you've ever seen walks in.
"Aspirin," you finish, pointing to your skull. "Headache."
The nurse nods and gets up from her desk. She takes a pill from the pharmacy cabinet and hands it to you. "Anything else?"
"No, thank you."
"Any time," she says, turning towards the boy.
"Hey, Nurse G.," he says with a grin. "How's it hangin'?"
"Fine and loose as usual." She reaches into her desk drawer for a small plastic inhaler and hands it to him. The boy puts it to his lips and takes a deep gasping breath. He notices you staring and a slight blush colors his cheeks.
"Asthma," he says with a shrug. "Totally sucks."
You smile sympathetically, but your brain refuses to cooperate and form an intelligent response. The best you can manage is a weak "Ehhh..."
Wow, that was embarrassing, but maybe you can recover. Perhaps your tongue will work well enough for something.
"Hi, I'm Jen," you say extending out a hand. You're relieved you can say the words, but you suppose that you only need the smallest part of your higher brain to be working when doing a basic greeting.
"Damien," he smiles and your legs nearly give out beneath you. He grips your hand with long, warm fingers.
"Okay then." He laughs and hands the inhaler back to Nurse G. "Later," he says to her and then he turns to you. "I hope I see you around," he says and then he leaves.
"Oh my god," you groan after he's left, reaching for a pillow and pulling it over your face in horror. "I'm such an idiot."
"Don't you worry about that," Nurse G. says, patting you on the shoulder. "I sensed some major fireworks happening just now." You look over at her expecting her to be laughing, but her eyes are wide with sincerity.
"Oh right. I'm sure he's totally into the blubbering idiot type."
"No, I'm serious," the nurse says, leaning in close. "I have a gift for matchmaking. And the chemistry between the two of you.." She waves a hand like she just touched a hot pan.
"Okay, so who is he?" you ask.
The smile suddenly fades from her face amd she crisses her arms. "I'm afraid that information is going to cost you a bullet."
"What?" you ask incredulously. "Aren't nurses supposed to help people out of the goodness of their hearts?"
"Child, even nurses need to protect themselves. One bullet, and I'll tell you everything you want to know about him."
"What makes you such an expert on the subject, anyway?"
She shrugs. He's come in here for his asthma every day since he started school. Friendly kid. Likes to talk. And I've been told I'm a pretty good listener. You do the math."
"Fine," you say, handing over a bullet. "But this better be worth it."
Nurse G. pockets the bullet and smiles. "What would you like to know?"
"Well, his full name for starters."
"Damien Harris."
"Year?"
"Second."
"Who does he hang out with?"
"Anyone he wants to, really. He's a Kid A all the way. Smart, athletic, cute as a button and sweet as all get-out. Not a mean bone in Damien Harris's body, that's for sure."
"Who does he date?"
"Dana Blair. She's a Royalty. Head cheerleader and second year class president. Damien would have run, but he's too busy doing all the hard stuff."
You're crestfallen at this news. "Guess I should have saved that bullet after all."
"Oh, but wait, child..." Nurse G. whispers, clasping a warm hand onto your arm. "That boy ain't happy with her."
"Why not?"
"I don't know how much you've picked up on school politics, but everyone expects someone like Damien Harris to date Royalty. And he likes her okay as a friend, but that's all. He wants someone who is more than just a blonde ponytail and a pair of pompoms. An equal."
"Well, I'm sure I impressed him with my sparkling verbal skills."
"I'm telling you, girl, I saw something in his eyes. What clique are you a part of?"
"None of them," you say. "It's only my first day of school. I have no what I am yet."
"Well, whatever you are, you're clearly more interesting than Royalty, so here's a bit of advice: don't be afraid to be yourself around him. And whatever you do, don't play the ditzy, weak airhead routine. That's the sure way to turn him off."
"Thanks," you say, grateful for the inside information. "I'll keep that in mind."
The bell ending the first period rings, so you collect your things together and wave goodbye to Nurse G.
As you enter the Biology Lab, you see a tall, serious-looking man with safety goggles and salt and pepper hair standing at the head of the room. He's surrounded by variously sized flasks and beakers and an ancient-looking Bunsen burner. On the table directly in front of him sits something covered with a black cloth. You'd maybe be interested in what's underneath if it weren't for the fact that Damien Harris is sitting at one of the lab tables. You take an empty seat directly behind him, hoping that the back of his gorgeous head won't distract you too much from what the teacher has to say.
"Welcome to Biology," the teacher monotones as a last minute straggler slips in the door and takes a seat. "My name is Dr. Franklin. Today, we are going to start off the new year with a bang. Or rather, with a brain.." He pulls the black cloth away with a flourish to reveal a greenish-gray, rubbery-looking organ sitting in a large metal tray.
"Nasty!" some kid says in the back of the room, and a few of the girls moan sadly.
"Nasty it is, my friend. And that is because this is not your ordinary brain, but rather that of a victus mortuus. Much more mortuus than victus at the moment, I may add. And all of you.." Dr. Franklin picks up a scalpel and waves it in the direction of the class. ".. are going to have the pleasure of dissecting one of your very own."
"Mr. Franklin," a red-haired Royalty whimpers from the third row. "I think I'm going to be sick. Can I get a pass to the health office?"
"That's Doctor Franklin," he says, studying her with a curiosity one usually reserves for a rare insect or an extraterrestrial species. "And I suppose if you are too weak to handle something as significant as the core of VM existence, the matter within which lies the gratest single mystery of the Twenty-first Century, which the greatest scientists of our time haven't even fully mapped out yet... then yes, Angelina, you may have a pass to the health office. Anyone else care to join her before we get started?"
Dr. Franklin writes out a library pass for Angelina and hands it to her, then looks around the room with a raised eyebrow. "Everyone else is still with us? Wonderful. Let's get paired up into lab partners." He reads from the list on his desk. "Table one: Kelly Erwin and Spencer James. Table two: Belinda Davidson and Guang Lu. Table three: Jen Valentin and Damien Harris." The list continues, but you hear nothing else on it. You watch in awe as Damien stands, scratches his butt, and walks over to table three. Along the way, he play punches one student and high-fives another. You take a deep breath and follow him.
"So you're my partner?" he asks as you both sit down, a casual grin spread across his face.
"I guess so. I'm Jen." You give silent thanks that your voice is actually working and sounds relatively normal.
"Damien."
You want to shout "I know who you are! You're Damien Harris, the cutest boy I've ever seen in my entire life! I can't believe I'm touching you and you know I exist!" But instead you just murmur, "Cool..." with as much disinterest as you can muster.
"So you must have just moved to Zeta Sector, right? I don't remember you from last year, and I'm sure I would have."
You swoon a little when you hear this, and the butterflies begin to flatter in your belly. He would have remembered you! But the truth is, you tested out of first year science and fast-tracked into second year Biology.
You take a deep breath and go for it. "Actually, I'm a first year. I guess my test scores were pretty good, so I got bumped up a class."
"Huh." Damien looks thoughtful for a moment. "I totally didn't take you for an Ehrlich."
"Well, I wouldn't say that I'm an Ehr—"
"Jen the Brain." He interrupts, smiling proudly. "I totally just came up with that right this second. Pretty cool, huh?"
Before you can respond, you're interrupted by Dr. Franklin at the front of the room.
"Can I have everyone's attention, please?" With the dramatic flair of a Shakespearian actor, Dr. Franklin pulls a large bag from behind his desk and holds it triumphantly at shoulder height. Through the clear plastic, you can see about a dozen VM brains floating in a hazy yellow liquid. "Behold: your specimens. Each table should have a set of dissection tools and a metal tray, so please make sure that tray is ready when I come around."
Once the brains have been distributed, he flips on the front board to reveal a full-color diagram of a human brain side-by-side with a VM brain.
"We're going to start today at the posterior," he continues, motioning to the back section of the human brain with a red laser pointer, "In an area we call the cerebellum. This is the part of the brain that controls precision. It's what allows us humans to perform coordinated movements playing tennis or dancing the Hockey Pockey." There are silent questioning glances between students and there is an awkward pause as Dr. Franklin waits for someone to ask what the Hockey Pockey is, but no one does. Clearly dissapointed that his clever bait failed, he continues. "It's also the very first area to be impacted by the VM virus.
Even in the lowest levels of infection, subjects will develop stiff limbs and trouble walking. Now, you'll notice that the cerebellum of the VM brain is severely atrophied when compared to the human organ. Anyone know what that word means? Atrophied?"
A student at table one shoots up his hand. But before Dr. Franklin even has a chance to call on him, the boy shouts out the answer. "Decreased or withered away due to lack of use!"
"That's correct, Erik, but I do ask that everyone raise their hand and wait to be called on. You'll find that I'm generous with the bullets in this class, but I like to give everyone a fair chance at earning them."
"Sorry," Erik says, hanging his head.
"No hard feelings, my boy. Now, our first task is to seperate this sad little raisin of a cerebellum from its attached brain stem. So go ahead, decide between partners who's going to handle the scalpel, and FYI: the person doing the cutting has a better chance of earning bullets."
"So do you want to cut, or should I?" Damien asks you. "I mean, I'm okay doing it if you're not. I know girls usually don't like this sort of thing, but honestly I think it's kinda cool."
"Me too," you shyly admit. "Is it okay if I cut?"
"Sure. Knock yourself out," he says, sliding the scalpel and other tools your way.
You carefully cut the cerebellum away from the brain stem, concentrating as much as you can knowing that Damien is watching your every move. Dr. Franklin clears his throat and again aims his red dot at the human side of the giant diagram.
"Can anyone tell me the name for this gray matter covering the brain's surface?"
"I totally know this," whispers Damien.
Determined not to let a little crush get in the way of increasing your bullet stash, you shoot your arm up before Damien gets the chance.
"Yes, Miss Valentine?" Dr. Franklin asks with a pleasant smile.
"That would be the cerebral cortex."
"You are absolutely correct." He walks over to hand you a bullet.
"Way to go," Damien whispers, looking impressed.
"You can see that the human's cerebral cortex has a number of folds and grooves," Dr. Franklin continues. "The more of these a brain has, the higher the intelligence of its owner. But for the VM, unfortunately, higher thinking is not an option. The surface of his brain is almost entirely smooth and extremely thin. What we need to do now is peel this layer off like an orange in order to see what lies beneath. So begin at the basal ganglia, making a very small incision along the anterior of the left hemisphere. And I'm not kidding when I say this: please proceed with the utmost caution."
Even with Dr. Franklin's warning, you're not fully prepared for what happens next. Just as the tip of your knife penetrates the gray matter, a thick glob of green goo spurts out and nearly hits the lens of your safety glasses. Judging from the disgusted reactions of the students around you, everyone else is experiencing similar results.
Dr. Franklin's mouth twists into a self-satisfied smile. "That students, is what we call the VM fountain. It signifies the very top levels of infection: anywhere between 18 and 20. If you shoot a VM and you see this liquid in its brain matter, you know you've bagged yourself a ripe one. Now, continue up and around to the forebrain area, then take your forceps and peel it back, securing it to your gel pan with the pins in your dissection kit."
"Whoa," Damien whispers, leaning forward far enough that you feel his warm breath on your arm. "If you're getting grossed out, I can take over."
"No thanks, I'm fine." You are a little worried that his closeness will make your hands start to shake, but luckily he leans back in his seat just as Dr. Franklin approaches your table.
"Very nice work," the Doctor says, dropping a bullet next to your tray. Damien eyes it enviously. After inspecting everyone else's trays and distributing a few more bullets, Dr. Franklin returns to his desk and points the red dot at a small portion of the very center of the human brain diagram. "Anyone know—" He doesn't even get a chance to finish the question before Damien's hand shoots up. "Mr. Harris, care to give it another go?"
"Yes. That's the thalamus."
"That's correct."
Damien takes his bullet and gives you a satisfied smile. You smile back encouragingly.
"The human thalamus sits perched on the top of the brainstem, controlling things like eating, drinking, defecation, and copulation. Normally, it's no bigger than a walnut. But a VM's thalamus can swell up to the size of a grapefruit when fully infected. This, ofcourse, explains why a VM's drive is so out of control. And it's why, when you shoot one, you must always aim for directly between the eyes."
"Yeah!" A Bagger suddenly shouts from behind you. "Preach it, Dr. F.! Hallelujah!"
Dr. Franklin crosses his arms and peers at the back of the room. "It's nice to see you paying attention, Biff. Do you care to tell the class what sense the olfactory bulb monitors?"
"No sir, I do not," Biff says with a toothy grin.
Once the class gets over their amusement at Biff's antics, Dr. Franklin moves on to another student, who answers the question correctly and gets rewarded with a bullet. He walk the class through the finer points of the VM thalamus, as well as the hippocampus, medulla, and basal ganglia. And though you don't get the chance to earn any more bullets, you learn quite a bit for your very first high school science class. At the end of the period, Dr. Franklin asks everyone to store their brain in the walk-in cooler for more work tomorrow. As the bell rings, Damien slings his backpack over his shoulder and gives you a shy smile.
"Hey, I'm glad you're my lab partner," he says. "You did a really good job."
"Thanks," you say, and suddenly you feel like you're floating six inches above the ground as you enter the hallway into the mob students.
You make your way to the lunchroom with the rest of the Zeta Sector student body and join the ridiculously long line for food. While you wait, you decide you might as well take this opportunity to learn the layout of the cafeteria.
All the tables nearest to the food line, you spot Val Killmeade sitting with a bunch of tough-looking girls and guys in leather jackets. This is obviously the Bagger section. At first glance, they appear to be the typical gathering of jocks you'd see in any old high school movie, laughing and jostling each other as they eat. But you quickly notice that they all seem more than a little distracted. Kids sneak glances over the shoulders of their friends as they discuss details for the Homecoming scrimmage. A freckled boy with a Rambo-style headband wrapped around his curly mullet scans the food line coolly as he shoves forkfuls of food into his mouth. Everyone seems on edge and waiting for something to happen. But what?
You nervously turn your attention to the tables along the wall where the Ehrlichs are sitting. They're not as interactive as the Baggers, mostly clustered in quiet groups of two or three. You recognize a couple of kids from your Biology class eating brown bag lunches and getting an early jump on tomorrow's reading assignment, and you make a mental note to yourself to pack a lunch for tomorrow too.
In the farthest corner, you spot Chase and his friends. They're all laughing at a shared joke, and Tatum reaches forward to lightly slap Chase's cheek. Chase sneers and puts up his fists jokingly. You waves as he looks over in your direction, but he must not have seen you because he doesn't wave back.
A dozen or so cheerleaders and other attractive girls make up the Royalty section. Their tables join with those of the Ehrlichs and Baggers in creating a horseshoe formation, at the center of which sits Damien Harris and his girlfriend, Dana. How did Damien get through the line so fast, you wonder? You watch as he dips a calcium tot into his ketchup cup and waves it in front of Dana's mouth as if she were an infant. She frowns and turns towards the girl sitting next to her, as they start talking animatedly about something. Damien shrugs and pops the tot into his own mouth, which purses adorably as he chews. Suddenly a voice behind you snaps you back to reality.
"Hey," a chubby boy is saying to the scrawny kid next to him. "Did you hear what happened first period in the hallway?"
"Yeah man," his friend replies. "Everybody knows. Some girl peed in the garbage can. Tell me something I don't know."
"Nah," the first kid says, his tone getting serious. "I heard that she took a dump, man. Patrick told me he heard it from the guy who knows someone who saw it happen."
"No way."
"Way. It was right outside Mr. Nelson's history class. This kid turned the corner and she was just sitting there like—Hey, look at me popping right here out in the open. La-di-dah."
"She said that?"
"Well, no, but after she ran off, he looked in the can and saw.." He pauses and looks around before continuing with a whisper. "A giant turd. He said it was the size of a baby's arm."
"What? That sick. Like, really mental. You think she was fecto?"
"Double digits, for sure. They should do a DNA test on it and expel her. They can't just let some freaky fecto chick run around popping everywhere. It's not sanitary."
The fat kid sees you looking at him and gives you a slow, casual nod. You notice he's got bad acne and a few wispy hairs on his chin. "Hey, how's ut goin'? You first year?"
"Uh huh," you say, trying to avoid his creepy gaze as you finally get close enough to the stack of orange and yellow trays to grab one.
The scrawny kid grins a mouthful of braces connected on each side with neon green rubber bands. "Hey, so are we! I'm Kyle and this is Dillon. So what classes have you had so far? Who's your favorite teacher? Where are you going to sit for lunch? Do you want to eat with us?"
A lunch lady wearing a hairnet and clear plastic gloves interrupts Kyle's barrage of questions. "Protein loaf?" You take one look at the lumpy orange subtance sitting on her spatula and shake your head. You continue to slide your tray down the line, taking a vita-patty and a basket of calcium tots until, finally, you're at the very last food station.
"Vegetable medley?" This lunch lady's hairnet covers just the very top of her tall gray beehive. She seems extremely happy to be performing her job.
"Yes, thank you," you say as you debate whether or not to tell her about the fuchsia lipstick smudge across her two front teeth.
She scrapes up the last few multi-colored bits from the pan with her big metal spoon. "Hold on just a sec, sweetie." She turns to a woman passing behind her carrying a tray of fresh dinner rolls. "Hey, Carol, do you mind grabbing me a new veg vat?" Carol stops dead in her tracks and slams the rolls down onto a nearby table. Then she turns slowly to look at the veggie lady, grunts something indistinguishable, and stiffy marches back into the kitchen area. The veggie woman turns back around and rolls her eyes dramatically. "Looks like somebody is a grumpy goose today. You sit tight, hon. She'll be right back."
"Excuse me, ma'am?" Kyle shifts nervously from foot to foot like he has to pee. "Do you know what brand those veggies are? Anything made by Bio-9 makes my throat swell shut."
"I think they're Gen-5, but I am not entirely sure. You should probably just skip them to be on the safe side, hon."
Thirty seconds later, Carol returns from the kitchen with a steaming pan of vegetables. She shuffles over to the end of the service line and drops it on the table.
"Bout time, darlin'," the veggie lady drawls, spooning a pile onto your tray. "Now, take this empty pan back in the kitchen, and pick up the pace, wontcha? You're slower than a tortoise on sleeping pills." As she continues to deride her co-worker's job performance, you notice that Carol's arms and legs are stiff, her head is tilted at a strange angle, and she's got a haunting, blank look in her eyes. Then everything suddenly shifts into slow motion as Carol takes two awkward steps towards the veggie lady and pounces. As the two women tumble to the ground, the veggie lady's beehive slides off her nearly bald scalp and hangs precariously from one ear.
"Help!" she cries. "Somebody get this crazy cow off me!"
Without giving it a second thought, you dive over the service table and smack Carol in the back of the head with your lunch tray. Bioengineered vegetables fly everywhere and you leave a nice-sized dent in her skull, but she's otherwise unscathed. She continues to scratch and claw at the poor veggie woman, who is actually doing a pretty impressive job fighting the un-D off. You turn your tray and hit her again with the sharp edge, leaving a nasty gouge across the back of her neck. This tactic is successful in getting Carol to stop fighting the veggie lady, but now she's turned her attention to you. You keep one eye on her as you scan the area for more powerful weapons. Suddenly a square-jawed Bagger appears next to you. He's holding a large meat fork.
"Hey, Trip," he shouts, raising his weapon. "I think you're done." He plunges the fork downward and the tines enter Carol's eyeballs with two hollow pops. Her arms immediately go limp, and the Bagger lifts the corpse up and over his shoulder, gleefully waving it like a rag doll. The cafeteria erupts in cheers.
"Biff! Biff! Biff!" they chant as you help the victimized veggie lady to her feet.
"Oh my stars!" She says, straightening her beehive and dusting off her rear end. "That was sure somethin', wasn't it though?"
"I'm just glad you're okay." You smile and pick a kernel of corn from one of her gray locks.
"All thanks to you, sweetheart." She fishes something out of her apron and hands it to you—a bullet. "Go on and take this. You deserve it."
The rest of the lunch ladies gather around her, hugging and crying until their friend led off to the health office by another Bagger. You look around for Kyle and Dillon, but they seem to have disappeared. You join Chase and his friends at their table as a team of military police arrive to dispose of Carol's corpse and secure the perimeter.
"What the hell happened over there?" Chase asks as you plop down on the bench between him and Nick.
"I don't really know," you say weakly. "It all went so fast."
"Dude stuck a fork in her, that's what happened!" Nick's eyes are wide with excitement, and he pumps his fist in the direction of the Bagger table. "You the man, Biff!" Biff turns around and sends a thumbs up back in Nick's direction as a cheerleader climbs desperately up his torso to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Look at that," Nick says, shaking his head. "Maybe there is something to being a Bagger, after all." Caroline punches him in the shoulder, and the two lock lips in a noisy kiss. As everyone groans and turns away, you notice a few leftover tots on Chase's tray. Your stomach growls furiously.
"Take them," he says, pushing the tray towards you. "I'm pretty sure I'd just puke them up after what I just witnessed."
"Are you referring to the meatbag or this terrifying PDA?" asks Tatum, and Caroline comes up for air long enough to punch her, too.
Chase puts a hand on your shoulder and pulls your forehead to his—something he used to do when you we're little and had a secret to share. "Hey, I'm really glad you're okay."
You nod and notice Tatum watching you, her eyes narrow black slits rimmed with green mascara fringe. You're just about to say something nice to her when the PA system crackles and the principal's voice booms from the speakers.
"May I have your attention please?" A screech of feedback causes everyone to stop talking and plug their ears. Principal Gupta continues. "As you may all be aware, there have been an unusually high number of... um, situations... concerning VMs at Zeta High today. Everyone needs to be aware that this is not typical, and we are taking this seriously and investigating our security measures. Because of this, you are all dismissed, effective immediately, and classes will resume on Friday of this week. And yes, the Homecoming game is still on. All of your parents have been notified, and I've assured them that all precautions are being taken. So there's no need—" It's impossible to hear the rest of his announcement, as the entire student body is now rushing for the cafeteria exit.
After exchanging quick goodbyes with your friends, you and Chase exit the school to catch the next subway car home. While you're waiting for it to arrive, you hear the sounds of a struggle nearby. You turn and see that Rambo kid has Dillon up against the side of the school with an arm across the kid's throat.
"C'mon, Fatty!" he says, lifting Dillon's shirt over his navel with his free hand and poking his bare belly. "Gimme the bullet. What are you gonna do with it—eat it?"
"I... earned... it... in history class!" Dillon gasps, struggling to free himself from his much taller and stronger captor.
You rush over to the pair and pull on Rambo kid's collar. "Hey, let him go!"
Rambo kid glances over his shoulder, and his eyes go wide when he sees you. "Okay, okay." He removes his arm from Dillon's throat and pulls the kid's shirt back down over his belly. "Sorry, about that. Didn't realize you were friends."
"Maybe you should pick on someone your own size," you say, picking up Dillon's discarded backpack and handing it back to him.
"Yeah, well..." Rambo kid says with a shrug. "Protection has a price, you know. Nice job on the un-D earlier, by the way. I would done it, but you got to her first."
"Thanks." You hear the subway train pulling up, so you turn around to catch it.
"Wait!" Dillon shouts, running up to you and slipping a bullet into your hand. "Thanks for watching my back."
"No problem," you say. You nake it through the subway car doors just moments before they close and grab a seat next to Chase.
"Look—it's Jen Valentine!" he mockingly gasps. "Every fat kid's hero!"
"Shut up. At least I didn't just stand there like somebody I know."
"Hey, I was planning on helping him out. You just beat me to it."
"Yeah, whatever," you say, settling back in your seat and basking in the warm feeling of heroism.