by Jenna Moreci
obstaclesinthisclass.Today,yourobstacleisoneanother,andifsomeoneis
betterthanyou,you’llhavetotrythatmuchhardertobeat’em.”
“But—”
“Butnothing!Goddamnbunchofwhineyscrotes.”Ramseyquicklylooked
overatthefinalremainingfighters.“Youtwo—finalshowdown.”
Eveglancedatheropponent—thelastmanstanding—andimmediately
grimaced.ItwasChinDimple,ofcourse:theobnoxious,nameless,perfectly
coiffedfootballer.
“TheBettyandtheballplayer,”Kellermumbledfromthebench.“Who
would’vethought they’dbethefinaltwo?”
“Ithoughthedidn’thaveanyfightingexperience?”anotherclassmateadded.
“Man,screwthatguy.Hemaynotfightforreal,butthathammerfights
dirty.”
Evewasn’tamusedbytheirconversation,norwassheentertainedbythe
stupidgringracingChinDimple’sface.
“Hey,Sweetie.”Heblewherakiss.“It’stimeforDaddyto spankyou.”
Beforeshecouldevenshudderwithrevulsion,herattentionwasdivertedto
arustlingatthegym’sentrance.Thedoorsopened,andArmaanscurried
inside.
Ramseysighed.“Lookslikedutycalls.Kingston,timeforyoutohitthe
road.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Chin Dimple smirked. “I’d hate to ruin that prettylittleface.”
Eve’spatiencewaswearingthin,andtheburnofresentmentpumpedthrough
herveins.ShetookonelookatArmaan—hiseyeswerewideandanxiousashe
glancedbackandforthatthebodiestoweringoverhim—andthenshestaredat
heropponent,hissmiledrippingwitharrogance.
“No.I’llstay.”
“Kid,youdon’tgettocalltheshotshere,”Ramseycountered.“Yoursession
inthewardstarts now.”
“ThenI’llbelate.”
“It’sokay,Captain,”ChinDimplewinked.“Thiswon’ttakelonganyway.”
RamseylookedatthetwofightersandthendownattheverytimidArmaan.
“Icanwait…”hecroaked,sheepishly.
AglimmerofexcitementsparkledinRamsey’seyes.“Wellthen,inthatcase,
takeyourpositions.”
Evewaitedonhersideofthemat,herbodytenseandeagertobeengaged.
As he meandered to his starting point, the ball player stopped behind her, leaninghisjawcloseenoughtoherearthatshecouldfeelhishotbreathtickle
herneck.
“Listen,”hewhispered,“justaquickwordofadvice:whenIgetyoudown
on the ground and I’m lying on top of you, pinning you to the floor,” he grinnedandlickedhislips,“trynottoenjoyittoomuch.”
Heslidhisfingersdownherarmandshequicklypulledawayfromhim.
“Pig,”shemuttered,disgustedly.
Atthesoundofthewhistle,Eveimmediatelybegancirclingtheouteredge
ofthemat,studyingheropponentclosely.Hesmiledather—itwassickening,
thesheenofhisperfectlystraightteethandthepatronizinglookinhiseyes—
but she stifled her animosity and concentrated on the task at hand. Fighting camenaturallytoher.Hergeneswereprogrammedforit,andwithimmense
powercoupledwithyearsofexperience,shecouldalmostpredicther
contender’snextmove.Shecouldseeitinhisstance,hisbodylanguage,his
technique—and instantly counter whatever he had in store for her. This fight wouldbenoexception.
Withincomparableconfidenceandlittlegrace,thefootballerviciously
sprang toward her. How typical, Eve thought to herself. She bobbed and weaved,preparingtododgehisuninterestinghooks,butattheverylastsecond
theboyalteredhisattack,hisdiversionsoquickthatithardlyregisteredwith
her. Before she knew it, it was too late: a harsh, burning pain pulsed through hercheek.Shestaggeredbackwardandshookherheadindisbelief.
Heslappedme?
He hadslappedher.Hard.
Whatisitwithpeopleslappingmelately?
Beforeshecouldreact,anothersharpstingburstthroughhercheek,thisone
soseverethatherneckspuntothesideandherhairswungacrossherface.
HeslappedmeAGAIN?
Eveswiftlyduckedherhead,dodginghisnextattempt.Withherfistsballed
tightlyandherfacebrightred,sheshothimascathingglareandcontinuedto
sidestep across the mat. Ramsey was shouting “Bad form” in the background, but all she could hear was the loud pumping of blood in her ears. It was deplorable: she had allowed him to strike her. Hell, she had allowed him to strikeher twice.Hewasn’tfightingasshehadimagined—no,hewastaunting her,pickingandproddingatherwithhisspasmodicbehavior.Hecouldsense
hercontempt—sheknewit,andthehardershetriedtoconcealit,thebiggerhis
smilegrew.
Hewinked.“Yougotalil’somethin’righthere,”hesneered,andflickedthe
tipofhernose.
Eve’smouthdroppedopen.“Didyoujust flickme?“
Beforethewordsfullyescapedherlips,ChinDimplepoundedhersquarein
theeye,theforceofhisblowknockinghertoherknees.Herclassmates
gasped. She tried to open her eyes, but all she could see were flashing lights and several spinning football players standing before her with foolish smiles paintedacrosstheirfaces.Shewatchedastheybroughttheirelbowsback,
slowlyandinunison,andthenpunchedheragaininthesameeye,sendingher neckjerkingtotheside.Bright,shiningstarsconsumedhervision;sheblinked
once and winced as an intolerable surge of pain shot through her skull. Her opponentlaughed.
“Pathetic.”
Shehatedhim—shecouldfeelitinherbones.Itwaswhathewanted,afterall:
forhertodespisehim,toloathehimsomuchthateverysubtleirritanthe
threwherwaywouldknockheroffbalance.
Nomore,shethoughttoherself.
Evegottoherfeetandstruggledtoopenhereyes.Hervisionwasstillhazy,
butshecouldmakeoutthelineofstudentssittingonthelosers’bench,thetiny Armaan nestled in the middle, their faces all wearing the same expression of shock.Witharesoundingsenseofconviction,sheraisedherfistsandregained
herfightingstance.
ChinDimpledoveforward,hisgrinstillcockyasever,butEvequickly
dartedfromhispathandpunchedhiminthejaw,finallymakingcontactwith
his revolting cleft chin. He stumbled backward, and for a moment, Eve took pride in beating the smile right off of his face, but she immediately regained herfocus.Heglaredather,tiltedhisheadoverthemat,andspatbloodontothe gymnasiumfloor.
“Bitch.”
Sheleapttowardhim,poundinghimacrossthechinoncemore,againand
againasifthedimpleitselfwasatargetforherfists.Heswungwildlyather,
hiscoordinationfaultyandclearlycompromised,butsheeasilyeludedhisjabs andkickedhimstraightinthegutwithsuchpowerthatshecouldhearhisribs
crackbeneathherboot.Sheswungathisface,thistimeaimingforhismouth,
sendingbloodshootingfromhislipsandthrowinghisexquisitelystyledhair
outofplace.Againshekickedhiminthestomach,thenpunchedhimacrossthe
face,herknucklesnumbfromtheimpactandtheadrenaline.Shewantedto
bethecauseofit.Withonelastsurgeofhatred,shejumpedintotheairandhit himacrossthenosewithasweepingroundhousekick,sendinghimtumbling
ontothematinaninstant.
ChinDimplelaystill,hisarmsandlegssprawledacrossthematinanerratic
fashion.Evecrepttowardhissideandstoodoverhisdefeatedbody. One, she thoughttoherself. Two.Three…
ChinDimple’seyessnappedopenlikeacorpsesuddenlybroughtbackto
life.HegrabbedatEve’sankleandyankeditforward,pullingherfromherfeet
andsendinghertopplingtotheground.Heflippedherontoherbackand
pushed her body into the mat, crushing her with his weight as he stretched acrossher.Shewrithedbeneathhim,buthepinnedherdown,digginghisknees
intohersandforcingherarmstohersides.Withalaugh,heloweredhisred,
bleedingfaceinchesfromhersandsmirked.
“Doesitfeelgood?”Hedughispelvisintoherhips.“Iknewyou’dlikeit.”
Timemovedslowly.Onesecondpassed.Twoseconds.Hewasgoingtobeat
her.Howpitiful—tolosetoanobnoxiousfootballer,acowardlymeatheadwith nofightingexperience,aboywho flickedherjusttogethisjabsin.Shecould havediedinthatmoment;itwashisblatantunpredictabilitythathadsmothered
her.Hissporadicmovementsandhisnonsensicalmethodshadgottenthebest
ofher.
And that’s when it hit her. Unpredictability. It was his only asset. If he was goingtobeunpredictable,shewouldhavetobethesame.
Fiveseconds.Sixseconds.
Evegaspedforonelastshallowbreathandclenchedherjaw.Ithadcometo
this.
Sevenseconds.Eightseconds.Nineseconds.
Eveflinchedasthefootballer’sgraspwastornfromherbody.Heflewinto
the air, his arms and legs flailing, until at last he stopped, hovering ten feet fromtheground.Eve’sclassmatesgaspedinshock,butshewasunaffected;she
hopped up from her spot on the mat and wiped the dust from her clothing, takingthetimetocrackherbackandstretchherlegs.
Shestaredupattheboy—hewaspointedface-firstattheground,hiseyeswide
withfear.Therewasnopointingloatingortormentinghimanyfurther.
Shespentthelastfewsecondsofhermeltgracefullyloweringhimtothemat,
settinghisbootsdownjustafewstepsinfrontofher.
Heforcedafeeblegrin,shakinghishairintoplace.“Thatallyougot?”He
fakedalaugh.“DidyouputmedownsoIcouldcontinuedominatingyourfine
ass?”
ItwasEve’sturntosmile,thoughherswasgenuine.
“No,”sheanswered.“IputyoudownsoIcoulddothis.”
With all the brutal, untamed strength she could rally, she snapped her leg forward and pounded her boot straight into his groin. He gasped aloud and droppedtothefloorwithathud,cuppinghiscrotchasherolledfromhisback
tohisside.Therewasnoneedtocountdown—hewasgoingtobetherefora
while.Evehadwonthematch,andshehadherunpredictabilitytothankforit.
Withthestrideofawinner,Evemadeherwaytothefootballplayer’sside
andcroucheddownbesidehim,loweringherchintohisear.
“Doesitfeel good?”shehissedwithpleasure.“Iknewyou’dlikeit.”
Thesatisfactioncameandwent.Evestoodupandheadedstraightforthe
gymnasiumdoors.Shedidn’tlookback—notatArmaan,whowasmostlikely
trailing behind her, nor at her classmates, for she could already predict the dumb,stunnedexpressionsontheirfaces.Inthatmoment,allshecouldseewas
the exit: her escape. Her heart thumped within her chest, and she hurried her stride,wantingnothingmorethantobealone.
Shedartedintothelockerroomandfranticallyfiddledwithher
combination,herfingersstillshakingwithadrenalineandanger.
Deepbreath.
Withthegradualsimmeringofhernervescamethepain;shehadforgotten
aboutit,butthereitwas,suddenlymagnifiedandpulsatingbehindhereye.She
triedtoignoreitasshecontinuedgettingdressed,pullingherhooded
sweatshirt over her head and wincing as the cotton rubbed against her tender
cheek.Theachewasspreadingandintensifying,somuchsothatshecould practicallyfeelitsurgingthroughherskullandintoherbrain.Todisregardit
seemedimpossible,andsowithgreatapprehension,sheslidherpalm-sized
mirror from her pocket and took a look at her beaten reflection. The bruise wasalreadyforming,thankstoherimmunesystembeingsoquicktorespond,
andsheknewthatwithinminutesherentireeyewouldbeblackandblue.
Evesighed.Itwastheperfectaccessorytowearonsuchaterribleday.
Armaanwaswaitingforherinthehallway.Theywalkedtogetherinsilence,
Eveblanklystaringattheemptinessinfrontofher,whileArmaanwatchedin
aweatthemorphingcolorsofherrapidlybruisingface.
“Youokay?”heasked.
“I’mfine.”
“Areyousure—”
“I’m fine.”
Againtheywerequiet,ArmaannotknowingwhattosayandEvenotwanting
to say anything at all. Instead, she listened to the sound of the soft autumn breeze that stung the raw skin around her eye. She thought of San Francisco; back home, the weather was hot, and the sun shined brightly late into the evening.Backhome,itwasIndiansummer.
Armaanfinallyspoke,thoughreluctantly.“Youseemupset.Youshouldbe
happy.Youwon,afterall.”
“It’sbeenabadday.”
“Peoplestilldownonyounowthattheyknowyoursecret?”
“It’smorethanthat…”Hervoicetrailedoffashermindwandered.“It’sjust abadday.”
Whentheyarrivedatthemedicalward,Eveheadedstraightfortheisolation
wing.Sheshouldhavefeltrelief;thewinghadbecomesomewhatofa
sanctuary,theonlyplacewithnoflyers,nowhispers.Aplacewhereshecould,
atleasttosomeextent,breatheeasily.Aplacewhereshecouldmaybe,
possibly,beherself.Andyet,nomatterhowmuchshetoldherselftobehappy,
shecouldn’tdoit,notevenwhenshesawJasonwaitingforherinhisroom.
Herosefromhisdesk,eagertogreether,buthislargesmilequicklyfaded,
replacedbyalookofgraveconcern.
“Eve,whatthehell happened?”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“WhatdoyoumeanwhatamItalkingabout?Your eye!”
Evedashedtothesinkandpeeredintothemirror.Variousshadesofpurple
and yellow decorated her swollen lid—it wasn’t the worst black eye she had everworn,butitwasdefinitelygruesome.
She turned to Jason, forcing her cringe into a half-smile. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.Oneofthemanyperksofbeingachimera.”
“Didsomeone hityou?”
“Relax,ithappenedinclass—”
“Someonehityouinthemiddleof class? ”
“Jason,itwasHand-to-HandCombat.We’re supposedtohiteachother.”
Hetookastepback,hisjawclenchedandhishandsballedintofists.“Who didthistoyou?”
“ChinDimple,”shegrumbled,floppingintoherusualseat.
“Who? ”
“Idon’tknowhisname.Ijustcal
lhimChinDimplebecause—”
“Hehasachindimple?”
Shesmirked.“Iseeyouwereabletodeciphermycomplexcode.Welldone.”
“Thisisn’tfunny.”Hegrabbedafistfuloficefromtherefrigeratorand
wrapped it in a hand towel. “And why the hell are you taking Hand-to-Hand Combatanyway?”
“Ilikeagoodworkout—”
“The truth,Eve.”
Shesighed.“IwasanoutedchimerabythetimeIwaseightyearsold.People
hatedme.”Sherestedthemakeshifticepackagainsthereyeandcringedfrom thepain.“I’vebeenfightingforyearsnow.Ihadtolearntodefendmyself.”
Jason turned away from her, pressing his fists into his desk as he breathed deeplyandangrily.Hisshoulderswererigid,hisbacktaut,andshecouldseea
hintofredcreepingupthenapeofhisneck.“You’vebeenstressedlately—
preoccupied,orsomething.Thenyoucomeherewitha blackeye?
Something’snotright,Icantell.”
AlumphadsuddenlyfounditswayintoEve’sthroat.Shehadn’ttoldJason
aboutheruntimelyreveal—ofherrun-inwithMadison,Hayden,andHeather.
Andasforthe ChimeraBitchflyers?Well,hedidn’tneedtoknowaboutthat, either. After all, what good would it do? If anything, she was protecting him fromthestressofknowingwhatsortofhatredfacedsomeonelikeher.
Someonelike him.
“You’rebeingridiculous,Jason.Andtheblackeye—”
“God,Icouldkillhim.”
“Jason—”
“Theguylaidhishandsonyou,Eve.Ican’tlethimgetawaywiththat.”
Again,Evefoundherselfatalossforwords.Shewasaccustomedtoblack
eyes,tocutsandscrapesanddeepwounds,butshewasn’taccustomedto
explainingthem—norwasshefamiliarwithanyonegivingadamn,regardless.
Itwasaforeignsituationderivedfromveryun-foreigncircumstances,and
withnoideahowtoact,shedidnothingatallbutwatchJasonfuriouslypace
thefloor.
Atlasthestoppedandkneltbeforeher,peeringupintohereyes.
“CanIseeit?”heasked,hisvoicenowcalmandtender.
With a hint of reluctance, Eve lowered her icepack and revealed the grisly bruisebeneathit.Jasonlightlycaressedhercheekasheassessedtheinjury.
