by Tina Chan
Someone’s following me. Troop knew it without a doubt. He just didn’t know who. Or what. What if it’s my father tailing me? Nah, that’s not possible. There’s no way he could’ve survived a sixty-story fall out the window.
Students set free from school packed the streets. Troop had a private lesson with Vikens this afternoon. If he didn’t lose his stalker soon, he would be late for it, which was not good. A perfect Perfect was never late for anything.
The bakery awaited Troop three blocks away. Perhaps I’m just being paranoid. Maybe I’m imagining that someone’s following me. However, Troop couldn’t convince himself otherwise.
A piece of red fabric flashed by from across the street. Troop blinked. The person in the red shirt was gone—however, Troop was positive red-shirt-person was the person tracking him. Troop racked his brain, trying to think of a brilliant scheme to lose the guy.
He scuffled down the sidewalk, keeping an eye out for anyone wearing red. Although a few pedestrians had on red clothing, none were his suspected stalker.
Troop pushed open the door to the bakery and caught another glimpse of red. He shot back outside. Too slow. Red-shirt-person had disappeared once more.
Layla looked up from the fudge pops she was decorating and said, “What would you like?”
“Strawberry muffins.” He remembered the password this time.
“Vikens is already waiting for you.”
He thanked Layla and went downstairs. Something red danced at the edge of his vision right before Troop started downstairs. He spun around, almost losing his balance at the brink of the cellar stairs.
No one. That’s it. I’m hallucinating. Troop drifted downstairs and entered the study room.
A look of displeasure creased over Mr. Vikens face; he tapped his smart-watch. Troop swallowed hard.
“You’re two minutes late, Troop.”
“Sorry, sir. I met some unforeseen troubles on the way here.”
“You should’ve given yourself extra time to come here. Better early than late.”
And better late than never, thought Troop.
As if reading Troop’s thoughts, Mr. Vikens said, “And it’s better to be on time than early or late.” Vikens walked over to a bookshelf and pulled out a hardcover book with the tips of his fingers. “We’ll be reading then analyzing a few stories from Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”
The man peeled open the tome, flipping through the pages until he reached the page with the words “Little Red-Cap” on it. Then he flattened the book against the smart-desk and slid it over to Troop.
“Let me know when you’re done reading this story. Be sure to note figurative language, themes and the author’s message to readers.”
“Alright.”
Troop turned the book around so that the words weren’t upside down. Vikens buried his nose in Hamlet, leaving Troop to start his assignment.
Two hours later, Troop replaced Grimm’s Fairy Tales back on the shelf and left the bakery.
A hand slammed into his windpipe, shoving Troop against a wall. Troop kicked his attacker in the gut and slithered out from the chokehold.
Red-shirt-person had trapped Troop alone and unaware while walking home. The attacker swung a punch at Troop, forcing him to skitter backwards.
There was a hood drawn over the face of the stalker, but the way the person moved about reminded Troop of someone from school. Bruno, he thought.
Person-that-might-be-Bruno aimed another punch at Troop’s jaw, but Troop ducked beneath the meaty fist and stepped close enough to whip back the red hoodie. The figure turned and landed a kick to his shins, distracting Troop for a moment. Person-that-might-be-Bruno jammed his hoodie back on.
“What’s wrong with you?” Troop demanded.
His attacker didn’t reply. Instead, he aimed another punch at Troop’s face. Troop sidestepped the brunt of the punch; the knuckles of person-that-might-be-Bruno grazed his ears. Troop returned the punch with a low kick beneath the knees. Cheap move—but it worked.
The attacker let out a groan and collapsed onto his knees. Troop took this chance to yank back the hood once more, this time revealing a recognizable face. It was Mason.
“What the hell?” Troop exclaimed.
He sidestepped a poor attempt made by Mason to grab him. Mason growled.
“Why do you always mess everything up?” Mason, having recovered from Troop’s kick, sprung onto his feet. “Don’t answer that. That was a rhetorical question.”
“Did Bruno send you to follow me?”
“No.” Mason wrinkled his nose in disgust, as if the idea of doing Bruno’s bidding offended him.
Troop couldn’t think of any other reason why Mason would try to corner him if Bruno hadn’t ordered him to do so. Mason never caused any trouble in his gang, so why would he start now?
They circled each other, neither willing to retaliate.
“You looking for trouble or what?” demanded Troop.
“No. I’m trying to stop trouble from happening.”
Mason faked a blow to Troop’s face and swept his leg out, hitting Troop behind the knees. Troop lurched forwards, the backs of his legs throbbing. There’s no way I can outfight Mason—he outweighs me by at least fifty pounds.
Troop ignored his pains and pushed himself up. He spun around and backhanded Mason hard enough to send him backwards a few feet. However, he barely had the time to blink before Mason knocked him onto his back. Troop rolled over, popped up and then landed a square punch into Mason’s gut. Mason elbowed Troop hard and the two of them landed on the ground with enough force to knock over a solar-car.
Clump. Clump. Clump.
They hastily detangled themselves when a patrol of three law enforcers peered into the alley. Mason pierced Troop with a look that could have skewered steel. Nevertheless, he remained at a distance away from Troop.
“Fighting is a public crime,” said a uniformed officer.
“Any idiot knows that,” Mason muttered.
The officer shot Mason a dark look. “I am issuing both of you a warning and a fifty point fine. Names?”
When neither Troop nor Mason offered their names, the officer rumbled impatiently then said, “I will increase your fine to a hundred points each if you don’t hurry up and tell me your names. I have better things to do than waste my time on this.”
“Troop Mendax.”
An officer typed something into his electro-slate and said, “ID.”
Troop passed his ID card to the closest officer. The officer entered more information into his electro-slate, and then returned the card back to Troop.
“Fifty points has been deducted from your account. A warning has been added to your records as well. If you are caught fighting again, there will be harsher consequences than a fine and warning. Am I clear?”
Troop nodded.
The officer turned to Mason expectantly.
“Mason Fusran.” He passed his ID card to the officer.
The officer entered Mason’s information to his slate. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He pulled another law enforcer to his side and pointed to something on the electro-slate.
Troop craved to know what was so interesting about Mason’s ID.
The officer holding the electro-slate stammered, “Ah, Mason, we’re terribly sorry about this misunderstanding. We didn’t know—”
Mason seized the man by the throat and hissed, “Are you stupid? Don’t. Say. Anything.”
Then he released his grip. The officer slumped down, rubbing his throat. Mason stalked out of the alley.
An officer motioned for Troop to get out of there. So he did.
chapter twenty-one
[ Kristi ]
