Aaron gave an unassuming nod, and Mr. Bickmann returned to his desk. “All right, class. Let us take a closer look at the German occupation of Poland.” He set down his yardstick and a smile crossed his face. “Just think, Mr. Kowalski. It’s quite possible that my German ancestors fought against your Polish ones. A pity.”
Mr. Bickmann continued to drone on, but Rich couldn’t concentrate. For some reason, his mind kept wandering back to Axel and his pain. Beyond that, he fumed that Aaron had made him look like an idiot. Why on earth had he done that? Didn’t he know how it would make Rich feel?
Unfortunately for Rich, he had to listen to a forty-five-minute lecture before he could ask those questions. He tried to follow along with the text, but the characters swam before his eyes until they looked like Chinese. He closed his eyes briefly and imagined himself in an underground bunker, ear pressed up to a speaker, hearing the long and short beeps of Morse code.
The incoming messages told of enemy troop movements, reports from spies in the field, and orders between units. Silently, breathlessly, Rich took his pencil and began scribbling notes just as quickly as they could be relayed.
The minutes flew by, and before he knew it, he had a double-sided page of notes and hadn’t managed to get himself into any further trouble. The bell rang, and the students shuffled silently out of class. Rich stuffed the notes in his backpack, slunk into the hall, and glared at Aaron.
“Why did you do that? You made me look like a complete idiot!”
Aaron shrugged. “He asked the question, and I answered. It was as simple as that.”
Rich felt the pressure that had been building for the last hour start to bubble over. “When did you have time to learn all that? It would have taken me weeks.”
“You forget that I watched most of it happen. You were asleep for some time yesterday. I just had to review the material.”
Rich stepped directly in Aaron’s path. “We’re dealing with life and death here, and you’re wasting your time studying?”
Aaron raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “The pursuit of knowledge is never a waste of time. Besides, I could say the same thing about your sleeping.”
Rich shot a finger in front of Aaron’s face. “Hey, lay off. I just found out that my mother is probably dead. It’s a miracle I got up today at all. I didn’t notice you springing out of bed either!”
“We don’t know she’s dead, Rich, and you can’t get out of going to school. We might as well excel while we’re at it.” Aaron shook his head slowly. “Besides, paladins should learn humility. It was not my intention to embarrass you, but to teach you.”
Rich’s anger finally reached the boiling point. “Humility? You think I need more humility? Any time I even think about taking some pride in myself, it’s like there’s a race to see who can put me down first. If I were any more humble, I’d have to change my name to ‘dirt.’”
Aaron’s face remained cool. “You’re bragging about your humility? That seems to defeat the purpose.”
Rich exhaled in exasperation and turned on his heels. He shot into the crowd, intent on putting some distance between him and his annoying companion.
Aaron didn’t follow Rich to class, and strangely, no one seemed to miss him. His name was absent from the roll, and another person sat in Aaron’s seat. Rich kept his eyes averted, knowing that if he met his teacher’s gaze, he might be granted more insight than he’d ever want.
Lunch arrived, and he took his normal secluded spot. For the first half, no one came to sit with him. He stared glumly at the shriveled cheese and glistening pepperoni on his rectangular slab of pizza. There was something to be said for eating lunch with company.
As soon as he had this thought, he felt the table shift as someone took a seat across from him. He glanced up and expected to see Aaron, but instead, he found himself staring into Angela’s pretty face.
Her eyes studied the tray in front of her. “Hi,” she said. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Be my guest,” Rich mumbled. “I promise you won’t find any competition.”
She forced a smile as she lifted the rectangle of pizza between her finger and her thumb, nibbled off a corner, and grimaced. “This stuff is pretty hard to get down. I bet inmates eat better than this.”
Rich sighed. “I wish it was the worst thing I’ve had to swallow lately.” Angela returned the pizza to the tray, reached out, and placed a hand on his arm. Rich glanced up and inadvertently met her gaze. A strange mix of desperation and pity washed over him. A chaotic image flashed in his mind’s eye—angry faces, motion, and shouting—and then quickly faded. He teetered back on the edge of the bench and nearly fell off.
“Rich! Are you okay?”
Rich blinked rapidly and composed himself. “About as good as I can be, I guess. I’m, uh, sorry about last night.”
Angela raised the corners of her lips, though they didn’t quite form a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m really sorry this happened. I mean, I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now. Have you heard anything else yet?”
“No, nothing. I’ll let you know if I do.” They ate in silence for a few moments, Rich thinking he’d have better luck with his garlic bread, and Angela attacking her green beans.
She finished them quickly and looked back up at Rich. “So, what do you think about the project? Could we still do it soon, or do you need more time?”
Rich winced. More time was exactly what he needed. “No, it would be good to keep my mind busy with something else.”
Angela nodded and finally managed a full smile. “Okay, what about after school today?”
Rich lowered his voice. “I’ve got detention.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Maybe I could get it too, and we could work together.”
“No, don’t worry about that. We can work afterwards. No need to be seen with the likes of me more than you have to.”
“What do you mean by that? You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m not working with you just because you know a lot about history. You seem like a nice person, and I feel bad that no one ever comes over to talk to you.”
She fumbled around for words, sighed, and then began again. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m here for you if you need me, okay?”
Rich’s eyebrows shot up. That wasn’t something he was used to hearing. “Okay, thanks. I’ll remember that.”
They talked for the rest of lunch and then cleared off their trays with the food largely uneaten. “How about my house, four o’clock?” Angela asked.
“Great. I’ll be there, unless a meteor hits my house or something. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
They walked together out of the lunchroom and parted ways down the crowded hall. Rich toyed briefly with the thought of stepping in to watch the next round of track team tryouts during study hall, but he decided he’d rather not think about yesterday. Instead, he spent the time going over his history notes, determined not to lose to Aaron again.
Aaron. Rich wondered where he was right now. Was he trying out for the track team, or doing something actually important? Rich regretted storming off on him, but Aaron seemed to be able to take care of himself, for the most part—but Rich cringed at the thought of what would happen if he told the wrong person they looked “groovy” or started talking like Shakespeare.
After study hall came gym—just running laps around the outdoor track. Rich suited up and took off at a pace somewhere between snails and molasses.
He had managed to make it around a few times when his eyes caught sight of something behind the bleachers. He slowed from a half-hearted run to a walk and squinted at the bleachers as he passed by. There was definitely movem
ent there, as if someone were hiding behind them.
He passed by and ran faster. It was probably nothing. As he made his way around the track, however, an uncomfortable feeling settled over him, nagging at him to go check it out.
He shook his head and kept running, telling himself that nothing good happened under the bleachers. If the teacher caught him sneaking away, he’d get extra laps for sure. Then again, if his nemesis happened to be lurking there, he’d have a much bigger problem.
He passed the bleachers again and ran on past. The discomfort intensified and threatened to make him sick. He clutched at his stomach, its contents sloshing around like a wave pool. Hoping that no one was watching, he increased his pace to reach the bleachers again before he lost his lunch.
“Good hustle, Witz!” called the teacher from the sidelines.
Rich ignored the compliment and veered off the track. As soon as he was out of sight, he stopped and rested against the back of the bleachers. He tried to catch his breath for a minute, and felt the nausea leaving.
When he glanced up again, he saw a small group huddled in the shadows under the bleachers. They were dressed in gym uniforms and spoke rapidly in low voices.
They were tall guys, probably ninth graders, all hunched over like a football team planning a tricky play. Rich inched forward and kept to the shadows as best as he could. He strained his ears to figure out what was going on, but he couldn’t make out anything. As he got closer, he had to hold back a gasp. Across from him stood Axel, his face blank and cold.
The rational part of him urged him to run. Whatever was going on, it wasn't something these guys wanted anybody to know about, and that meant trouble. However, some other part, the one that had brought him here in the first place, told him he had to act.
He crept closer and summoned every ounce of the bravery he'd stashed away over the years. He only hoped it would be enough to avoid getting beaten up or stuffed into a locker. He got as near as he could without being seen, took a deep breath, and then stepped out into the open.
"Hey, guys. What's up?" It wasn't Einstein, but it was all he could think of to say.
Five scowling faces turned at the sound. "Beat it, four eyes," said the one nearest him. “We're busy." The tall boy with black eyes stared him down. A variety of punishments passed through Rich’s head, from gym-shorts wedgies to doubling the number of bones in his body by getting them broken.
Strangely, he stood his ground, glancing up at Axel for support. "What are you guys doing?" But as soon as the words left his mouth, he saw exactly what they were doing. One of the boys held a handful of small bags full of white powder, while several of the others clutched wads of bills.
“Having a tea party,” replied another boy sarcastically. “Go put on a party dress, and maybe we’ll let you join us.”
Axel blinked and turned to Rich. “What are you doing here? I don’t think this is your kind of thing.”
Before Rich could answer, the boy with the bags cut in. “I don’t care why you’re here. You’ve got five seconds to leave, or you’ll spend next Christmas wishing for your two front teeth!” The boy balled his other hand into a fist. It was covered with metal rings with sharp edges that glinted wickedly in the low light. One punch from that, and Rich would need more than a trip to the dentist.
“Lay off him, Spike,” Axel said. “He’s not a rat. I know him. He’s all right.”
Spike shook his head and thrust one glinting finger into Axel’s face. “You. Shut up.” He turned the finger on Rich. “You. Time’s up. Say your prayers, even if it won’t help.”
Spike advanced on him, and Rich turned his attention to Axel. “Axel, you don’t have to do this. You’re different.”
Axel stared at Rich blankly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Spike drew back and flung one pointy fist at Rich’s face. Rich ducked and sidestepped. Close one.
“This isn’t making you happy,” Rich said to Axel. “It could even kill you. That what you want?”
Axel shifted from one foot to the other and tried not to look in Rich’s direction. Rich sidestepped another punch, but didn’t see the sweeping leg until it was too late. His legs disappeared from under him, and he fell hard. Spike continued to yell and kick him while the others watched in silence. Rich felt like a soccer ball during a shootout, the intense pain coming in sharp stabs all over his body. He writhed and tried to break free, but the older boy was too fast for him.
Suddenly, a voice broke in, and Spike stopped kicking. “Hey, Spike, that’s enough. Leave him alone.”
Spike whirled around to face Axel. “I’ll be done when I’m done. Back off.”
Axel stayed put. “No, you taught him a lesson. He won’t bother you anymore. You’ve taken this too far already.”
Spike grunted, balling his fists. “Maybe you don’t appreciate the trouble I went through to get your fix. It’s not cheap, and it’s not easy. Are you telling me you want me to take my stuff somewhere else?”
Axel gazed at Spike, barely blinking. “Maybe I do. I use it to take the edge off the pain in my back. But you’re just as bad as the people who caused me that pain in the first place.” Axel stepped closer until he stood almost nose ring to nose ring with Spike. “So, yeah, take your stuff somewhere else.”
Spike launched into a frenzy, throwing punch after punch at his new opponent. Axel countered and blocked the punches with little effort. Spike changed his tactics and grabbed Axel in a wrestling hold that brought both of them tumbling to the ground.
Rich watched in horror, silently thanking Axel for stepping in and cursing himself for getting involved in the first place. What had he accomplished? Probably only a black eye and a bunch of bruises for them both.
Just as he had this thought, a familiar tingling came over him. It started in his chest and worked its way to his fingers. Wherever it went, it soothed the burning pain in his side, leaving him feeling better than he had in a long time. He sat up and clutched the amulet at his chest. It glowed bright and warm.
Rich got to his feet in time to see Spike land a final crushing blow to Axel’s face. Axel’s eyes rolled back, his mouth gaping open. Spike stood, took a bag of white powder from his pocket, opened it, and dumped a little in Axel’s mouth.
“Think of it as a parting gift. If you do change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Spike used his foot to turn Axel over, which left him facedown in the mud. Axel’s gym shirt was torn, exposing an ugly series of bruises up and down his back. Rich winced as he remembered the pain he had felt when he looked into Axel’s eyes that morning.
Spike turned and flinched when he saw Rich on his feet, looking no worse for wear. The drug dealer wiped a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth and sneered. “Not smart enough to stay down, huh? Looks like they haven’t been teaching you the right things in school.”
“Do you even go to this school? Why haven’t I seen you around here before?”
Spike jutted out his chin. “Man, I practically own this place. I keep to the shadows, and most people are afraid of the dark. They don’t bother me there.” Spike cracked each of his sizable knuckles and advanced on Rich. “But enough chat. I prefer to let my hands do the talking.”
Rich thought about running, but the amulet’s warmth against his chest reassured him. This time would be different. Spike jabbed at Rich’s face. Instinctively, Rich shot up his hand, and a brilliant barrier of golden light flared up between him and his attacker.
Spike had no time to react before his hand slammed into the barrier, sending a shockwave of golden energy snaking up his arm. He recoiled, snarled, and struck again, but the barrier protected Rich from the blows. The energy wound its way up Spike’s arm
and worked its way down his chest and to his legs. His punches grew weaker and weaker until his knees collapsed and he fell, twitching, to the ground.
Rich gasped, unsure what had just happened. It must have had something to do with unlocking another of his paladin powers, but he had no idea how he had called on it. He rushed over to Axel and turned him over. He tried shaking him, but Axel remained unresponsive. He placed a hand on Axel’s arm, hoping that by some chance, the amulet had also granted him healing powers. Nothing happened.
Rich knew he had no choice. It would only be moments before Spike was up again with murder in his eyes. They needed help.
Chapter 11: Dealing with Fire
When the gym teacher arrived with several other teachers in tow, they found only Axel, breathing shallowly. The ambulance arrived and whisked Axel away. Rich gave his statement to the police and returned to class just in time to catch a few minutes of the last hour of the day.
He sat in a daze, wishing Aaron were there. He wondered how things might have turned out differently—probably for the better. He shook his head and laid it on the desk. How could he have been so stupid? He was fighting for his life, and he was worried about looking bad in history class?
Rich kept his head down until the end of class, and the teacher did nothing to stop him. The bell rang, but Rich didn’t move.
Ms. Kingman, his teacher, walked over and stooped down next to him. “School’s over, Rich. You can go home now.”
Rich shook his head without lifting it, “No, it’s not. I’ve still got detention.”
“Detention? You? They should give you a medal after what happened today.”
Rich sighed and raised his head slightly. “Mr. Bickmann’s got it out for me. There’s no other explanation.”
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