by K. A. Excell
An image of Zachary flashed through my head, and I forced my breathing even again. Did I really want to see Houston fight when he reminded me of the worst year of my life? Would I be able to sleep when it was done? Would the memories trap me again? If they did, people could get hurt—or I would when they defended themselves.
I clenched my jaw and shut the dormitory door firmly behind me. Hunt said this school was about teaching control. Was there a better way to test my control than to watch a controlled match between Smith and Houston?
Despite that justification, I could feel my blood pressure rising as I found a seat around the arena, way in the back. The gong rang, and students flooded in.
“Hey Farina!”
I turned to see Briggs sitting next to me.
“I thought you would be in the dorms. West didn’t make you sit and watch class, did he? You know Tournament is only mandatory three of the four days, right?” Despite his cheerful words, I could see real concern in his eyes—although I couldn’t tell if it was for me, or Smith, who was about to get into the ring.
I shook my head. No one had told me that Tournament wasn’t mandatory, but that wasn’t why I was here.
Briggs looked back at the ring. “It’s going to be a good match. I can’t wait to see Tabitha crush Houston. She may not look it, but she’s probably one of the best first year fighters Martial Academy has. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but apparently she had a few years of training before she came here.” Briggs’ smile faded just a bit as Houston stepped into the ring. “Houston might be a monster, but Smith’s got her own bag of tricks. It’s going to take a bulldozer to keep her down.”
I shuddered. “I just hope it doesn’t drag on.”
“Seriously!” Briggs leaped to his feet as Smith ducked into the ring. “Take him down quick, Smith. We’re counting on you!”
She raised a hand to acknowledge him, although she didn’t look our way. When I focused on her face, I could see that her eyes were closed.
“I’d be down there myself, if I could be,” Briggs said. “I registered for this slot, but Tabitha got it first. Houston took my brother down hard last year. He deserves a good beating.”
The buzz of conversation died down as Mr. West joined Smith and Houston. He spread his arms. “I want a good, clean fight. You hear me?” He met Houston’s eyes with a frown that someone without my eyes wouldn’t have seen. Houston gave him the barest hint of a nod.
“Begin!”
Smith darted in fast, but Houston saw it coming and stepped out of the way. Three lightning speed strikes later, Houston was still untouched. The blue lines on my vision surfaced to analyze their average speeds. I frowned as the data came back. Smith was one-point-two-seven miles per hour faster than Houston. By all of my calculations, Houston should not be able to intercept everything she did—and yet not a single one of Smith’s strikes had landed.
There was a thin sheen of sweat over Smith’s face and arms, and yet Houston wasn’t even breathing hard. It was like he could anticipate when and where Smith would strike!
Houston grinned as Smith’s pattern altered. She tried to separate, but Houston grabbed the front of her shirt. I winced as I saw the projected force reading on Houston’s strike. Smith’s average speed had fallen, and she didn’t have the same sheer stamina he did.
Somehow, Smith intercepted the strike, stepped out, and delivered an uppercut to Houston’s jaw. Houston stumbled back, then checked his jaw. If not for the mouthguard, I was sure he would have spit in derision—and yet Smith’s strike hadn’t been a love tap. Gloves or not, that had to have hurt.
They clashed again, with less energy. The fight had only been going for forty seconds.
The blue lines on my vision blinked, and I opened the analysis with a frown. Smith didn’t have a chance. I closed my eyes to fight down the bile in the back of my throat.
What had I expected? Men like Zachary and Houston spent their life learning how to hurt others. They enjoyed it, and that gave them an advantage.
My eyes snapped open just in time to see Smith fly across the ring. West stepped between them with hands spread wide. When Houston stepped back, the teacher helped Smith up. I focused on their lips.
“You okay?” West asked.
Smith looked at Houston, then back to West. “It just surprised me, is all. Trying to block that one was dumb.”
“Just be careful. He’s a Prefect, you know. He’s been at this for a long time.”
West stepped back. “Round one goes to Houston.”
Smith stepped back in, and I could see her determination. She thought she had something figured out. They closed again, and Smith got a few blows in but they barely phased Houston. A moment later, she was down on the ground. I saw the opening for Houston to wrap his legs around her head and end the round, but Houston only delivered a fist to her side. West winced as Smith climbed back to her feet.
Briggs leapt up. “Come on, Smith! You can do it!”
Houston bared his teeth as they clashed again. Suddenly, Houston’s average speed dropped by a quarter—like he was tiring out or, maybe, like he was moving through water. His face curled into a snarl, and something in the air flashed. Smith stumbled back to try and catch her breath, but Houston didn’t give her the opportunity to recover. He drove his elbow into her gut, and she groaned.
Houston bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes alight with anticipation. “Are you done already?”
“I’m not losing to you.”
Smith staggered upright again, only to end up with her face pinned under Houston’s knee. She freed herself before time ran out, but the blue lines in my vision told the other half of the story. Houston had let her up, just like he had ignored the opening earlier. He enjoyed toying with his prey here in the ring where everyone could see just how thoroughly he could destroy her. He enjoyed watching Smith force herself back to her feet even when every muscle must be screaming at her to rest.
Houston grinned as Smith staggered to the floor, retching from a blow that hit too near her kidney for comfort.
“Get up!” Briggs was shouting. Smith’s arms twitched, like she was trying, but she couldn’t. “Come on, Smith.” His words were quieter this time, like he knew what was going to happen, but didn’t want to accept it.
The timer ran out, and Smith was still on the mat.
“Once again, the win goes to Houston!” West’s eyes showed his disapproval just as surely as if he’d shouted it to the crowd as he helped Tabitha Smith off the mat.
The students cheered—but it was nothing compared to the terrifying roar as the teachers had picked Liam off the arena mat to be escorted to the police. A quick glance around the room showed that few people were thrilled at Houston’s victory.
Briggs’ eyes held a storm as I looked at him. “I can’t believe it. Smith was a great match for him. She may only be a first year, but she’s fast, and her technique is fantastic! How could Houston walk over her like that?”
I frowned. Houston’s win was impossible—except he knew when and where she was going to hit before she even moved. “Some people are just good at figuring their opponents out, I guess. There are some things even Smith can’t defend against.”
“Houston’s a bully. He doesn’t figure people out, he takes them apart.” Briggs stood. “One of these days, I’m going to take him down.”
I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Houston was unbeatable, and there was nothing I could do to fix that.
Briggs looked at me. “You alright?”
I nodded. Somewhere in my mind, I knew that was a lie. The image of Houston’s face as he took Smith apart was like a ghost in my vision. He enjoyed every moment of it, just like Zachary. If Smith, who had spent years training, couldn’t take out Houston, how could I feel safe? What if Houston cornered me? I would be powerless to stop him, and he knew it.
; I resolved to bring the pieces of my plasma pulser to school the next time I got the chance. It was the only thing I could think of that could possibly stop him if he decided to come after me.
When I got back to the dormitory I sat on my bed and frowned at the Sociology book. There was nothing I felt less like doing—but there was nothing to be gained by putting it off, either. I picked it up and flipped through it, scanning all the pages and reading none of it as thoughts ran through my head.
What was I doing here? I wasn’t ever going to be good enough at martial arts to defend myself against someone like Houston. Without that certainty, how could I sleep at night? How could I make sure I could protect myself?
An image of the plasma pulser flashed through my mind, and my frown lessened. That was right. I had more than physical prowess on my side. It might take a while to engineer a device to help me with my problems, but it was possible. That was the reason I had created it in the first place, and it would continue to be my insurance.
I looked at the Sociology book again, and then laid back with a sigh. Although my headache wasn’t as bad as earlier, my blue lines were sluggish again. How much did I really want to overtax my mind?
“Hey, Farina, why so quiet?” Hunt asked. She lay on her bed looking at the ceiling. “Having trouble with Sociology?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not the problem, is it?” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed so she was facing me.
I shook my head, then wondered why I was even talking to Hunt. Sure, she cared, but my problems were mine alone. Just because she cared didn’t mean I could trust her.
“Are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess?”
I frowned down at my hands. They were soft, without the calluses everyone else had. They were just one more evidence of how weak I was. Even if I worked for years like Smith had, I wouldn’t be able to protect myself from Houston, and Houston wasn’t the only one out there who could try to hurt me. What if one of the teachers attacked me—not just for training purposes, but for real. How would I protect myself then?
“Guessing it is,” Hunt said with a shrug. “I think you watched Houston fight today and are wondering how you would fare in the ring. Smith kept getting back up, but that wasn’t enough, was it? Every time she got up, she got smashed back into the mat. If she was that outclassed, what would have happened to you? Am I close?”
Was I really that transparent?
“I could get back up. I could wear him out.” If we were in a fight with rules, in protective equipment, fighting with a referee to make sure nobody got killed.
“I believe it.” Hunt said. “And wouldn’t that just give him more satisfaction?”
I cringed away as Zach’s face leered at me. In the memory, I got back up—I fought—eight times. He punched me down, wrestled me to the ground. I twisted away. Eight times. But it was hopeless.
I could feel the ghost of my pain as I stopped getting back up. I stopped trying to fight because my blue lines told me the odds. There was a two-point-six percent chance of being able to fight him, and one-point-three percent chance of getting away. I gave up.
Vera Hunt was in front of me, crouched so that she could stare fully into my face. “Leave it in the past, Crystal. He controlled your life back then, but not any more. You’re free, and you’re strong.”
“I’m not strong enough.”
“That’s crap,” she snapped. “Castillo’s told me about your classes. You’re already one of the top students in West’s class. A little clueless perhaps, but you’re catching up. You shouldn’t be afraid of anything.”
I stared at her. Was she just that unobservant? Or just that privileged? No, I remembered the shadows in her eyes. She knew exactly how evil the world could be. So how could she ignore the fact that there were so many people around her that could take her apart with their bare hands?
“You see the powerful people in the world—people who have great martial skill—and all you see is their potential for violence. You’ve never been protected. You’ve had to fight for every breath, so you’ve tricked yourself into thinking that anyone who can hurt you will.”
I clenched my teeth. If I had adopted that attitude before Zach, he never would have been able to hurt me. Now she was saying that it was wrong? What guarantee could she give me that I was safe? None. Nobody was ever safe. Not me, not Hunt, not even West.
Hunt sighed. “Look, Crystal. Look at me.”
I made myself meet her eyes. I saw the pain overshadowed by complete sincerity.
“Do you think, in your heart, that I would ever hurt you?”
I shook my head. She had suffered too much and spent too long protecting people like me to be able to hurt anyone like that.
“Why?”
“You know what true pain feels like.”
Hunt’s eyes softened. “I’m not perfect, Crystal. Sometimes I get angry, and I hit things, but you will never see me hurting someone who isn’t trying to hurt me or someone I care about. I have respect for life. I have integrity. So do the teachers. That’s part of what we try to teach but, even though we try our best, not everyone learns those things. People like Liam fall through the cracks, and sometimes they do cruel things. That’s when common decency comes in. That girl earlier that Liam tried to hurt did a good job of protecting herself. She held him off long enough for someone else to help her. See, you can’t always handle it on your own, and you can’t spend your whole life relying on other people. At the end of the day, though, you have to ask for help. No one—not even me—can defend herself against every possible threat. You’ll wear yourself out if you try.”
Hunt’s eyes were still sincere. She believed every word.
“No one came then. How do I know people will come now?”
Hunt arched an eyebrow. “Was there really no one who asked what was going on?”
No one who survived the fear Zach beat into them. But I had been too scared to ask for help then, too. I could have gone to the Police. I could have told Mom.
“Crystal, you’re stronger now. You did your best, then, and you survived. Now it’s time to let the past stop controlling your life. Everyone has scars—that’s just part of living.” She stood. “I wish I could do it for you, but it’s your life. The one person I can’t protect you from is yourself.”
Hunt lay back down on the bed, eyes closed. She wasn’t asleep—just waiting. Giving me time.
My eyes filled with tears as I stared down at the Sociology textbook that was still in my lap. She was right. I might not have a lot of friends, but there were plenty of people who would help me. It was time to stop letting Zach destroy my life.
I could protect myself from the little stuff. I could survive stuff that wasn’t so small. I might not be able to put someone like Houston in the ground, but I didn’t need to. I just needed to be able to protect myself and learn to ask for help.
I pulled the modules I’d created to deal with Zach to the front of my mind. They drifted in space, aimless, torn apart like a broken coffee pot and used for parts. I lived in fear that they would snap together and make me hurt someone else. The reality was that they were tools, just like everything else. Living without those pieces of myself wasn’t living, it was hiding.
Deliberately, I released the locks on every single one and watched as they snapped together. A spark ran down my spine as they re-integrated. My eyes snapped open. The colors in the room were brighter. More defined. Whole.
I closed my eyes again to check the integration, but the modules were interfacing perfectly. I swallowed old fear. Hunt was right. I had given into Zach once, but that didn’t mean my life was over. It was time to stop using him as an excuse.
I opened the textbook and started to read. After a few minutes, my headache—almost forgotten—returned.
After one more look, I replaced th
e Sociology book in the bottom of the chest and laid back on my bed. As I closed my eyes, I caught flashes of textbook pages darting past my eyelids. I pulled one of them to my full vision and snapped my eyes open. It was from my Sociology textbook!
Was it possible—could that solve my reading problem? And when had I gained the ability to do that? I examined the now-integrated modules in my mind, then grinned. Did it really matter?
I pulled the first twenty pages of the textbook to my vision and scanned through them. If I wanted, I could recite them word-for-word. I grinned and pulled the psychology book from the chest and flipped through those pages too.
I had problems with reading because it took so blasted long to both read and memorize things. But if my eyes could see it, it only took a little processing time to add it to my general knowledge base.
My blue lines yawned, then sputtered, then died halfway through the psychology book, so I put it away and went to bed. In the morning, all my psychology problems would be solved.
I groaned as the gong almost vibrated me out of my bed.
“Wake up, Farina, you don’t have warm-ups, but you’re going to be hungry if you have to skip breakfast to get to Mr. West’s class this morning. You’ve got detention, remember?”
I peeled my eyes open to see Vera Hunt staring at me.
My head throbbed to the beat of my heart.
Perhaps forcing my brain to process two textbooks in a night was not such a good idea. I fixed the time I had to be at breakfast in my mind and got dressed. At breakfast, I took two acetaminophen and the throbbing died down a little. A little caffeine later, I was functional and in front of Mr. West’s door.
“Come in,” he called as I lifted my hand to knock.
I pulled the door open to find him fiddling with a silver object that bore 65% resemblance to a modern-day firearm, and 79% resemblance to the laser weapon I’d contemplated building as a child.
He looked up and met my eyes in the mirror. Then he frowned and pocketed the weapon.
“How did you sleep? Did you get caught up with psychology?”
