Book of Dark #1: Always Stand Up

  Chapter 11

  Always Stand Up

  Even before the bell could finish ringing, Zara stormed out of the chemistry lab, her books held tightly against her chest. She had rushed off without even bothering to properly pack her bag which, given her previous obsessive compulsive display, seemed odd. It led Keane to believe that her haste stemmed from not wanting to spend an extra second around him.

  He jogged out after her with an arm in the air, as if that would somehow slow her down.

  “Zara? Er, so when can we catch up on the assignment?”

  But Zara was already half way down the corridor on her way to the exit.

  “Later? Yeah, I think later,” Keane confirmed with no one in particular.

  For a moment, he just stood there, a tiny spec against the mighty swarm of students now moving past. Not only was he sleep-deprived and agitated, but his self-respect was at an all-time low as well.

  He was baffled by how quickly things had unraveled with Zara. Once Randy and his bunch had retreated, Keane had launched into a relentless tide of attempted apologies and conversations starters, every single one of which Zara had blanked. She had then made it crystal clear that chemistry was to be the only topic of conversation.

  So Keane had told his favorite chemistry joke, which had made her immediately change her mind and insist that they not talk at all.

  Keane wondered if it could be the joke. Did you hear oxygen went on a date with potassium? It went OK.

  That joke had absolutely killed when he’d told it to Brok. Though, to be fair, that had been back in the fourth grade, a time when a sponge wearing pants full of ninety degree angles had seemed funny.

  Keane was just deciding what percentage of the blame to assign to the poor joke when he spotted Brok sauntering over.

  “Smooth. Real smooth,” said Brok, and Keane could do little but sigh submissively in agreement.

  “Also, call me psychic,” continued Brok, “but I foresee an ill fate about to befall your girl.”

  “Huh?” Keane just looked at him, confused. He was so tired that words were turning into little more than irritating noises.

  “As in, death is coming?” Brok pointed down the hallway at Randy and his gang. The four boys were stood leaning against the wall near the exit, no doubt waiting patiently for the new girl to walk by so that they could finally sort out the little troublemaker…

  And Zara was headed straight for them!

  Keane watched the gap close with crossed fingers and bulging eyes, his sleep deprivation all but forgotten. He hoped and wished and prayed that the Bullies had decided that she was just a silly little girl not worth the aggravation.

  As she walked passed them, they did nothing. Keane couldn’t believe his luck.

  “Whew!” he smiled at Brok. “Close one.”

  “Um…” said Brok, pointing at the Bullies with renewed vigor. Keane watched the four large boys quickly scan for teachers, and then follow Zara out of B block like a pack of hunting dogs sniffing out an unsuspecting fox.

  Keane’s stomach dropped. He turned to Brok, who also didn’t seem to like the new girl’s chances.

  “But, would he really pick on a girl?” said Keane, trying to sound hopeful. “That’s the question.”

  “Um, were you not in the same classroom as the rest of us?” asked Brok. “But, you know, old fellow,” he continued, raising an imaginary monocle to his eye and playing with a fictional moustache, “it is Randolph we’re talking about here, is it not? Upstanding chap, I must say. He wouldn’t dare stoop so low now, would he?” Brok guffawed snobbishly, now extracting a make-believe pipe from his mouth and tipping it at Keane, his point made.

  Keane went into a blind panic. It was all his fault! None of this would have happened if he hadn’t asked her to be his lab partner. And now Randy and his gang were hot on her trail, with a very strong possibility that they were about to break her nose too! He couldn’t let that happen.

  He dashed forth after Zara without another thought.

  “No, not you, I didn’t mean you!” yelled Brok, dropping the Sir Biggles Errington act and sprinting after his best friend. “Delusions of grandeur are not good for health, Keane… Keane!”

  But Keane was already at the end of the hallway which opened up into the courtyard at the heart of the school. He stopped, partly to take stock of the situation, but mostly to catch his breath. The most unfit person Keane knew, after Brok, was Keane.

  He was glad to see that Zara was already half way across the courtyard. But his relief faded when he spotted the Bullies now rapidly converging on her position from every direction, with Randy himself coming up right behind her.

  This wasn’t a formation Keane had seen before, but it seemed to have been designed with the specific purpose of eradicating any possibility of escape.

  Keane’s every instinct was urging him to rush to Zara and tear her away from the imminent threat, but his feet just wouldn’t budge, and not just because of how out of shape he was either; he was simply paralyzed with fear.

  Brok eventually made it to Keane’s side, panting and wheezing. “Where… is… she?” he said, breathlessly. “Is she dead yet?”

  Keane pointed to Zara. He was, in his heart of hearts, still hoping that, after another unsuccessful attempt or two at intimidating the girl, Randy would simply give up and back off. He also found Zara’s confidence reassuring, and expected that she could handle the situation if things went south. At least, that’s what he told himself.

  A familiar smell distracted Keane from the escalating courtyard situation. It was accompanied by an equally familiar crunching noise, and when he turned, sure enough, he saw Brok shoveling popcorn into his face.

  Keane stared in disbelief. How could Brok eat at a time like this? Had the boy not consumed a lifetime’s worth of popcorn already? And where had he even got that little cardboard box from? Or, for that matter, the actual popcorn itself?

  Brok spotted Keane looking. He looked down at his salty snack, then turned back to Keane and, drawing entirely the wrong conclusion, shoved the box toward him. “Popcorn?”

  Keane had half a mind to give him what for, but he knew full well that none of his interjections would make any difference.

  So, instead, he grabbed a handful himself and, despite his surprise at finding the kernels still warm, started popping them into his mouth in a rapid, machinegun-like fashion.

  “He won’t hit her,” Keane mumbled through his full mouth, only half believing his own words. “He-he won’t hit her…”

  Randy was now within earshot of Zara. “Oye, Nerdess!” he bellowed. His troops closed in too.

  Zara turned and finally saw them. She sagged, not out of defeat, Keane knew, but out of annoyance at having to deal with Randy yet again.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  “Do you know why I won’t be looking up your insults?”

  “Let me guess. Computers confuse you? That Internet thing so dang baffling? Or is it your phone? Just too complicated for ya?” she said. “Can’t work them new device-thingummy-jigs?”

  She held an invisible phone up to Randy’s face, crossed her eyes, stuck her tongue out and off to one side, and mimed ineptly prodding at the make-believe screen. This angered Randy. Then, she started making ‘duh-duh’ sounds while scratching her head. This angered Randy even more.

  Keane suppressed a smile. Despite the huge mistake that Zara seemed intent on making, ribbing the bully like this, he couldn’t help but find her incredibly adorable.

  “It’s because I already know, you idiot girl,” said Randy, batting down Zara’s hands which were still keeping the mime going. “I have one of the highest IQs in the country.”

  “Oh, wow.” Zara rolled her eyes.

  “It’s certainly heaps more than your new boyfriend.”

  “‘Heaps’, huh? Learned that word all by yourself, didja? Well, good for you!” She patted his head and ignored his deepening scowl. “Here’s a gold star.” She pretend
ed to pull out a sheet of stickers, locate and extract the gold star, and slap it repeatedly onto Randy’s lapel. “Just. For. You.”

  While Keane cringed every time Zara made contact with Randy, he almost fainted when she pinched his cheeks and started to pull them left and right, rocking his head along.

  “Such a good little ignoramus,” she said in a baby voice. Then, she dropped the act and looked Randy straight in the eye, serious as a heart attack. “Now, leave me alone.”

  She moved off without waiting for a reply.

  Keane exhaled with relief. Walking away from bullies was a good idea. His own preference was running away, of course. Followed by a bout of hiding. But Zara didn’t seem like the run-and-hide type. Still, at least she was finally putting some distance between herself and the Bullies.

  Unfortunately, she’d also just spent the last few minutes provoking the notorious leader, who now jumped in front of her, blocking her path, and gnashed his teeth at her.

  “Look,” said Zara, “we both know you’re all bark and no bite, alright? So why don’t you just—”

  “Oh, we both know that, do we?” said Randy, getting up close. Real close.

  His face was a hair’s width from hers as he somehow managed to scowl and smile at the same time. His grin dripped demonically with his saliva and, for the first time all day, Zara looked afraid.

  Keane didn’t know if it was the deathly look in Randy’s eyes or the unprecedented proximity that had scared Zara. All he knew was that, if Randy made a move, so would he. And so, without any idea what that move would be exactly, he shoved the last of the popcorn into his mouth and braced in preparation.

  As the Bullies closed in. Their collective bulk dwarfed Zara’s petite frame. The frightened girl looked straight up at Johnny, the tallest of them, and flinched at the menacing grin he was casting. She adjusted her glasses nervously as the space around her continued to shrink away.

  And then it happened.

  Randy barbarically grabbed Zara by the shoulders and hurled her away. She went flying sideways and hit the ground with a brutal thump. Her glasses flew off her nose. She covered her shocked face as she began to cry.

  “That… That creep!” screamed Keane, his legs already in motion, whisking him toward Zara.

  “Keane, no! Stop!” Brok yelled after him, yet again too slow to stop him. “You’ll be killed. As in, to death, Keane! To death! You’re not stopping are you? Awesome.” He threw his hands in the air. “Just awesome.”

  Keane knew that this was insanity, but there was no way he could stop. Not now. Not when Zara had been physically attacked right in front of his eyes. He felt like a total and complete moron for having waited on the side-lines for so long, and for having expected any better from Randy.

  But as his Rational Brain finally engaged, only to find its owner rapidly gaining on the Bullies, it began to wonder how good an idea it really was to be running head first toward what was sure to be, at the least, a good beating, if not the scene of a multiple homicide.

  For goodness sake, his Rational Brain implored, wasn’t it just a few days back you’d been in the exact same situation and Randy had beaten your nose bloody?

  Keane had to concede that point. What’s more, he had to admit that he had no plan at all whatsoever, not even an inkling of what he would do once he got there. To top it all off, it had now been long enough since the bell had rung that any faculty members who could have helped would be inside classrooms, busy with lessons.

  Despite all of this, Keane’s feet kept moving forward. It was rage that was driving him. The rage that had sparked up when he saw Zara assaulted at the hands of that beast.

  And now, given the situation he was running head first into, there was a possibility that Randy could actually kill him. If he did, Keane wondered where the Bullies would stash his body, in how many pieces, and how long it would be before the authorities finally found all of his parts.

  But even these thoughts, of death and murder and severed body parts, failed to make his legs falter in the slightest. In any case, it was too late to reconsider now—they’d spotted him.

  Pete was first to notice the ball of fury scrambling across the courtyard.

  “Look!” he chuckled. “It’s Freak Show to the rescue!”

  “Oh, good!” said Randy, punching his palm in gleeful anticipation. “Looks like he enjoyed getting his nose broken as much as I enjoyed breaking it.”

  Pete and Don forced themselves to smirk at Randy’s asinine comment. That Johnny didn’t get it was obvious, but he joined in anyway, for the same reason he always did—so he didn’t feel left out.

  Keane skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees on the patch of grass in which he had spotted Zara’s glasses. He picked them up and brushed them off as best as he could before handing them back to her.

  Zara was shaking as she took them. She managed half a nod, but didn’t look up.

  Keane figured that she was embarrassed by how crassly she’d behaved with him earlier, especially since he was the only one who had stepped up to help her. From the corner of his eye, he could see the few students that had remained after the bell now making away as quickly as they could, wanting nothing to do with the courtyard situation.

  Especially skittish, Keane noted, were the ones who had actually witnessed the assault. They were hurrying on by very rapidly indeed. Keane wondered if they’d be as nervous if the new kid had been a little orphan from St. Martins.

  Then he spotted Selfie Girl tucking her phone deep into her bag, and guessed that she’d just finished deleting any photos or videos she’d mistakenly taken of the incident. This was confirmed by the fact that, when she saw him looking, she promptly averted her gaze, and didn’t look back once as she made a beeline for the library at the far end of campus.

  Keane shook his head and turned back to Zara.

  Despite how she’d treated him, seeing her lying in the dirt like this—her bent glasses resting askew on her nose—made his heart ache to the point that he felt sick.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, as he gently took her by the arm and helped her up. She nodded, but Keane could see through the false bravado; she was severely rattled. He could feel her arm trembling, and suspected that she’d never been in a fight that she couldn’t simply talk her way out of before.

  He pushed a stray coffee-colored fringe off her face and put a hand on her cheek. Still avoiding his gaze, she closed her eyes and leaned into his palm. This simple gesture silently conveyed just how much she appreciated his help.

  Then, she finally looked up at him.

  And when their eyes met, and Keane spotted the single teardrop trickling down Zara’s cheek, his heart stopped.

  Just like that, all the questions plaguing him—like whether to run and hide or to stand his ground, like whether a below average boy like him could actually dare to take on the likes of Randy—became moot, for in that instant, he decided that he would do anything in his power to protect Zara, anything to keep her safe.

  “Get him, Keane!” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  Keane studied her burning golden eyes with curiosity. They exhibited a confidence in him that no one—not even Greenster—had ever shown before.

  In fact, no one had ever seen him as more than a weak, helpless orphan. Even Keane himself had no delusions about who’d win in a fight between him and anybody else—basically, just about anybody else.

  Zara was, he knew, well aware of the outcome of his last face-off with Randy. Not only had she seen his bleeding nose, but he was also sure that she knew of this thing called the Internet, on which his failings were very publicly available to view, twenty-four hours a day, every single day of forever. This made it all the more astonishing how straightfaced she was as she stood before him, telling him to get Randy.

  “You gonna fight like a man this time, Freak Show?” asked Don.

  “Or run like a coward again?” interjected Pete.

  “Or,” Randy chimed in, “how about s
ecret option number three, where both you and your four-eyed girlfriend here just roll over and play dead? Save us the hassle of actually having to thrash you?”

  Keane gritted his teeth and balled his hands up into fists as he swiveled to face Randy.

  “Ooooh, look! It’s Angry Freak Show,” said Randy, faking a shiver. “Please, oh, please don’t hurt me!”

  Pete and Don laughed again, and, once again, Johnny joined in a few seconds later.

  Keane raised his fists, knowing full well that a fight was now inevitable.

  He knew that the years of power that Randy and his comrades had enjoyed from espousing their ‘might-is-right’ thinking meant that there was no way they could possibly back down now. Not when the ‘lowest rung’ had challenged them by coming to the rescue of their newest victim.

  And there was no way they could afford to lose either, because if word got out that Freak Show and Nerdess defied and then defeated the Bullies, tomorrow the whole school might refuse to pay protection money or obey other direct orders.

  But Keane figured that if he could hurt them just enough to ensure that they never troubled Zara again, it would suffice, and if that entailed taking a beating himself, then so be it. He was just grateful that there were no students left in the courtyard to spectate this time.

  The Bullies snorted and cackled as they started to encircle him. Intimidating kids far smaller and weaker than them is what they lived for. Keane began to shiver, and they relished every moment of it.

  With his knees knocking and his hands shaking from fright, Keane had to concede that, despite the barred teeth and the balled up hands, he was well out of his depth. Sure, he’d been caught up in a few skirmishes in the past, but only unintentionally. Otherwise, he and Brok were usually the first to flee a scene at the slightest hint of trouble.

  This really was the first time he would voluntarily be standing up to his tormentors.

  But the fear was soul-crushingly debilitating.

  How was he to find the courage?

  Swiftly and silently, the words from the dream formed in his mind and, before he could catch himself, escaped his lips.

  “Kenid akhnayram.”

  Randy, Pete and Don stopped to exchange baffled looks.

  Johnny started laughing, but stopped when he saw that the others weren’t. He scratched his head, confused.

  “What did he say?” Pete growled to Randy.

  “Yeah, Freak Show,” Randy barked crossly at Keane, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Keane furrowed his brow and snarled, baring his teeth. The gang closed in, their heads tilted, their curiosity piqued.

  Then Keane shrugged. His frown dissolved.

  “I dunno.”

  He might not have known what the words meant, but for some reason saying ‘kenid akhnayram’ filled him with confidence. It filled him with courage. Like a secret elixir of bravery, it gave him the nerve to stand face to face with his tormentors, to meet them head on regardless of what fate they may inflict on him, to show them that it was not okay to pick on him, or on anyone weaker or less able than them, or, for that matter, on anyone at all.

  As the confounded Bullies looked at each other, Keane had half a mind to scream out to Zara to run away while the oafs were distracted. But he knew that he had to keep their attention off her.

  Besides, he knew her well enough by now to know that, no matter what happened, she wouldn’t run.

  The moment of confusion passed quickly and, before Keane knew it, Randy was signaling his troops to advance.

  It was Don and Johnny who first came at him. Keane went to dodge them, but Don’s abnormally long reach and Johnny’s renowned athleticism left little chance of evasion. They grabbed Keane and locked his arms and shoulders up in a way that completely immobilized him.

  Then, with a malevolent chuckle, Randy stepped forward and socked him in the stomach. Keane’s whole body was instantly paralyzed with the pain radiating from his belly. He felt like he was going to lose his lunch; he could actually taste the stale bread and moldy cheese as they attempted to resurface.

  Pete had a go next and, while his knuckles didn’t bury as deeply as Randy’s, they went in far enough to make Keane wish that he was dead so that he wouldn’t have to feel this pain anymore.

  Then, with a thuggish shove, Randy sent Keane tumbling, and once the lanky boy was sprawled across the ground, all four Bullies started to kick him. Johnny took particular delight in repeatedly landing his boot between Keane’s legs.

  Keane tried to coil himself into a ball, using his arms and legs to shield himself, but the sizeable shoes of the bigger boys still found his ribs and back. That’s when he knew that it wasn’t going to stop at bruises this time, that he’d likely have broken bones too.

  Through the mist of blood and mud, and between the shoes swinging for his face, Keane spotted Brok. The boy was watching the scuffle unfold from behind one of the pillars and seemed to be shaking in his shoes with fright.

  And Keane knew why too. In the case that he passed out too soon and proved not to be adequate game, it would be Brok whom the Bullies would be turning to next.

  Or Zara, Keane realized with a fresh bout of trepidation. He really wished that Brok would run back to the safety of the Wall Gap and take the new girl with him. From the brief glimpses of Zara that he managed to catch through the Bullies’ flurry of kicks, he could see that she was frozen stiff with terror, aghast at having actually encouraged him to fight without fully understanding the repercussions.

  Keane had barely even noticed the tears now streaming from his own eyes, down his cheeks, and mixing with the blood which seemed to be coming from everywhere. His sight went hazy. His entire body felt swollen and throbbed in agony. His hands were shaking harder than ever.

  And in the unfamiliar blur that the world had become, Keane spotted a familiar glow.

  The green tinge was so dim that only he could see it at first. It began in his fingers and spread to his palms before starting up the veins of his wrists. With every kick he took, it gained strength, throbbing more and more intensely until eventually it shot out in every direction, blinding not only the Bullies but Brok and Zara as well.

  Through the neon blaze, Keane could just about see Brok in the distance, vigorously shaking his head between stress-filled handfuls of popcorn, mouthing something along the lines of: “Don’t do it, Keane! Don’t do it!”

  Distracted by Brok, Keane hadn’t even noticed that the blows from the Bullies’ boots had stopped. He didn’t know if the emerald emissions he had just spewed had anything to do with it. All he knew was that it was quiet now. And, finally, there was peace. The puffy, bruised cheeks were pushing his eyes shut. The beating, coupled with his lack of sleep, was enticing him to slumber. For a moment, he was tempted to just give in, to simply drift off without a care in the world…

  His droopy eyes snapped open.

  He shook himself awake. He couldn’t pass out. Not now! He had to protect Brok and Zara. Besides, it wasn’t like the Bullies to stop mid-attack. Something far more sinister was coming.

  Mustering all his courage, he dared to look up and saw the four boys murmuring portentously among themselves.

  It soon became clear why.

  Johnny started to measure a run-up so devastatingly long, Keane knew that by the time those boots got to his face, the impact would be hard enough to knock his teeth out and render him unconscious.

  He tried to get up quickly so that he could get out of the way, but his cracked ribs rebelled with a burst of excruciating pain. He grabbed his sides and collapsed back on the ground.

  Broken again, he thought as he lay there in agony.

  But their care would have to wait because Johnny had started to lumber across the courtyard toward him and was gathering momentum with every thundering step.

  Keane staggered to his knees, bearing the pain as best as he could, and began to look around helplessly for—what?—he didn’t know.

  The tingling
sensation hit a sudden crescendo in his hands, like the prickly itch of a thousand thorns, surged up to his neck, and ferociously swung his head around.

  Disoriented and confused by the suddenness of the turn, Keane blinked hard, struggling to find his bearings. But once his vision settled, he spotted what he was meant to see…

  Mrs. Fischer’s petunias.

  A flowerpot full of them to be precise. Mrs. Fischer usually left her prized violet beauties on the sill just outside her classroom window where they could get the sunlight they needed.

  Keane could feel his hands throbbing. And he could feel a strange comprehension dawning, as if someone were telling him exactly what to do. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Grateful that there were no students around and that Zara was too far away to see what was about to happen next, he said a silent apology to the English Lit teacher, and to her petunias too, as he raised his emissive hands toward the flowerpot.

  A surge ran up his legs, originating somewhere deep within the earth beneath him. His chest sucked in the energy and shot it down his arms. The electric sensation then expulsed out through his hands in a violent surge of blinding green.

  Keane’s reach extended past his fingers—way past. It was like he could actually feel the ceramic container in his hands.

  And the flowerpot moved.

  Just an inch, but move it did.

  Hearing the rapidly approaching drumbeat of Johnny’s footsteps, Keane redoubled his focus on the flowerpot. He gave it every single ounce of concentration he could muster, willing it, nay begging it to come to him.

  In the blink of an eye, Johnny was but a few feet away, and Keane was about to end up a footnote in history: Here Lies Keane Davies. Unloved Orphan. Utter Freak Show. Flat as a Pancake.

  The terracotta container rattled. It shook. And then it flew off the ledge at a frightening pace.

  Keane only realized that it was zipping directly toward his head when it was but inches away. He panicked and ducked, and managed to barely miss it. But as he wiped his brow with relief, he noticed that the pot had started to lose momentum and was about to smash into the ground.

  He shuffled to steady his feet and, with a lofty swoop of his arms, redirected the pot, as well as the poor, unsus­pecting flora within it, toward Johnny.

  The ceramic shattered on Johnny’s forehead, scattering the large boy with soil and petunias. But the stoic oaf was somehow still charging forth!

  And then he wasn’t. His unconscious heft came skidding to a halt at Keane’s feet.

  Keane looked from the fallen bully to his glowing hands, as much in awe as anyone. It wasn’t the first time this internal, unspeaking voice—this innate instinct—had told him exactly what to do, but it was the first time he’d actually listened. And he couldn’t believe how well it had worked!

  Randy cast Pete an ominous look. Keane knew that they were wondering what was up with the powerful iridescence in his hands. They had never known this ‘fake science lab crap’ to actually work before. But as they now gaped at Johnny lying face down in the mud, very much unconscious, it became hard to deny that something was different today.

  Zara started toward Keane, relieved to see him still standing, still breathing, but he shook his head and motioned her to stay back.

  This was far from over.

  He knew that by taking down biggest and strongest of the Bullies, he had put the clique’s credibility on the line. And the leader of the pack would now be looking for payback… with interest.

  Randy leaned in and whispered something to Pete who, like the faithful hound everyone knew him to be, rushed off to do his leader’s bidding, but not before flashing Keane a maniacal grin. Keane took this as a very, very bad sign.

  But it was Don who lined up to attack next. He came at Keane like a boxer, fists raised and feet dancing. And he was quick. So quick in fact that Keane didn’t even see him throw the first two punches. He sure felt them, though. Right in his aching gut.

  As Keane limped away, reeling from the blows, he could hear Don’s laughter as the boy sauntered after him.

  With the flowerpot now a broken mess on the snaking pathway, Keane started to scan the area for something else to use as a weapon. Anything would do.

  Don executed the perfect roundhouse kick, smacking Keane right in the small of his back and sending him flying forward.

  Flat on the ground and struggling to breathe, Keane felt helpless against Don’s highly skilled attack.

  As the Bully approached once again, still laughing, Keane desperately scraped forward on his belly. The two rust-colored blurs he saw confused him, but once he rubbed his eyes, the images cleared up and merged into one of an old rake. It seemed to have been abandoned against one of the courtyard’s knee-high walls due to its condition. Its wooden handle was snapped half way up, and the metal had corroded through almost completely.

  But it would suffice.

  Keane staggered to his feet and limped toward it, positioning himself between Don and the rake so that the taller boy, now hot in pursuit, couldn’t see it. He had to clench his fists a number of times before he could feel his grip settle on it. The green glow developing around the garden tool confirmed that he had it.

  When Don lunged with another upper cut, Keane slid out of his way and swung his arms to direct the rake, much like a golf club. It lurched up in obedient synchronicity with a distinct surge in its glow. Its handle caught Don on the chin and knocked the boy backside-first into the mud.

  The rake fell with an echoing clang as the neon around it dissolved. Expelling so sharp a burst of energy had drained Keane.

  Expecting that Don would be up in an instant, Keane balled up his fists and prepared for the ensuing fist fight.

  But it never came. The bigger boy was out cold.

  Keane waited another moment just to be sure. But Don remained very much passed out, just like Johnny. Keane breathed a sigh of relief and doubled over, panting and sweating.

  This whole wielding-of-powers business was far more physically demanding than he’d imagined. And elusive too. For instance, he had no idea how he had made the flowerpot fly or the rake swing. All he knew was that he’d directed the objects and they had duly obeyed. He also had no idea if the over-the-top motions he had, for some reason, adopted were entirely necessary, though they did certainly seem to help.

  Having caught his breath, Keane sought out his friends to check if they were okay.

  He was glad to find Brok still hidden safely behind the pillars of B block and to see Zara relieved and smiling. But he could only return half a smile because, from the corner of his eye, he’d also just spotted Randy.

  The pack leader had been awfully quiet this entire time, electing to study Keane from a distance, undoubtedly trying to figure out how Freak Show was doing what he was doing.

  What had caught Keane’s attention was the menacing grin that was spreading Randy’s mouth as Pete re-joined his side.

  Keane inhaled sharply when he saw what had caused the smile.

  Pete drew a mean looking baseball bat from behind his back and started to bounce it against his palm.

  So, that’s what he’d gone off to get, thought Keane. Pete’s violent-sarcastic-emo personality was scary at the best of times. And now that he had a bat in his hands, it was simply terrifying.

  But Pete’s grin faded when he saw that Don, too, was lying passed out on the ground and that Keane’s hands were glowing brighter than ever before. Loathing began to permeate his dark, eyeliner-clad eyes.

  “This is still that fake science-lab crap, right?” he asked Randy.

  “If it is, it’s getting better,” said Randy, turning to Pete. “And we can’t have that, now, can we?”

  The smile that pulled the corners of Pete’s mouth sent trembles down Keane’s spine. With his eyes boring holes into Keane, the faithful hound tossed the bat to his leader.

  Randy came swinging with a primal, fury-laden grunt. Acting fast, Keane clenched his irradiating fis
ts in the air and renewed his phantom grip on the busted rake. He turned full circle, like a shotput thrower, and released when he reached the peak of his arc. It was probably the first time in his life he’d found a use for anything he’d learned in gym class. The rake rose up from the ground, like a garden accessory of the living dead, and sped toward Randy.

  And, without hesitation, Randy smashed it to splinters with a single swing of his deadly bat.

  Keane gulped, wondering what insanely strong tree that bat had been forged from. He desperately looked around for another weapon, but, other than the benches, which he very much doubted he could lift since they were nailed down at each corner, he had run out of options.

  He needed to think. He could figure something out if he just had some time to think. He sprinted toward F block because, being directly opposite B block, it would lead the Bullies away from Zara.

  But Randy’s tremendous track-honed strides carried him to within striking distance of Keane in record time.

  He aimed and swung. The bat connected with Keane’s already broken ribs and sent the wiry boy sliding across the ground like a hockey puck on ice.

  Keane’s progress was only halted when he smacked into one of the knee-high redbrick barriers with a sickening thud.

  Still reeling from the pain of impact, Keane spotted Randy come at him yet again. He attempted to assert his grip on the bat in the Bully’s hand just as he had the rake. But the bat was far heavier than he’d expected, and Randy far stronger. The bigger boy savagely wrestled the bat free from Keane’s invisible grasp and sneered at him.

  If only Brok had let me practice, thought Keane, I might have been better at this by now. Good even!

  “What’s wrong?” said Randy. “Already out of tricks?”

  He swung his bat so quickly that Keane only spotted the polished wood glinting in the sun when it was on its way back down toward him.

  Keane flung himself backward and Randy’s blow missed. But only just. The worst part was that Keane had ended up with his back flush against the redbrick wall. He was trapped.

  As a result, Randy’s next swing smacked him right across the jaw.

  An ear-piercing scream shook the air as the scraggy orphan fell over sideways and, with his face burning from the impact, Keane assumed the scream to be his own, just a natural reaction to the pain.

  But then he saw the tormented look on Zara’s face and the multitude of tears streaming down her cheeks, and he knew that she was the one who had screamed.

  It was too much to bear. His own tears he could take—heck, he barely even registered them anymore. But not Zara’s. Watching her cry hurt more than the physical pain he was in, which wasn’t exactly unsubstantial. Worse yet, he hated knowing that he was the cause of her suffering.

  “Aw, Freak Show wanna go huggie-kissie with Nerdess?” taunted Randy, bursting into laughter when he saw the way Keane was looking at the new girl.

  Keane turned to Randy. He began to stare unblinkingly at the Bully who wouldn’t stop laughing. His train of thought was, slowly but surely, gathering momentum. And then, finally, the truth dawned on him.

  Zara wasn’t suffering because of him. Not directly, anyway. The only mistake he’d made was appeasing the true culprit: Randy.

  It was Randy who’d stolen and then lost his newspaper cutting. It was Randy who’d made a habit of picking on kids smaller and weaker than him. And it was Randy who’d now gone and assaulted Zara as well.

  Keane started to seethe with a fevered rage.

  “She is not a Nerdess,” he said. “And I,” he scowled, “am not,” he fumed, “a Freak Show!”

  He thrust his right palm forward and shot another flash of blinding emerald which shattered the bat, leaving Randy covered in splinters and holding little more than a tiny stub. The rest of the bat went flying toward B block where it narrowly missed Brok’s ear.

  “Yowza!” screamed Brok, ducking for his life.

  Randy stood in stunned silence. The rage stewed within him and made his whole body shake until, unable to contain it anymore, he let out a deafening scream.

  He discarded what remained of his weapon, sending the wood rattling to the ground, and lunged for Keane. He seemed intent on finishing the fight with his bare hands.

  He grabbed Keane by the collar and dragged him toward the rear exit of the cafeteria on the east side of A block where he swung the puny kid into the wall, as if he were little more than a football. And just like a football, Keane bounced off the bricks and went crashing into the trash cans by the side of the exit.

  “Get him, Randy! Get him!” brayed Pete.

  When Keane got to his feet, he saw that Zara had her hands clasped over her mouth yet again. She was stifling screams of distress yet again. And her eyes were wide with fear. Yet again.

  He had to end this. Now.

  “Enough!” he screamed at Randy. He held up a hand and directed all of his anger and frustrations with the Bully into it. It lit up with the familiar neon glow once again. But the feeling was different. It was muddied this time. With his rage.

  Randy, having just been goaded by Pete, simply laughed and prepared to assail him again. As he drew closer, Keane closed his eyes.

  Listen up, powers. You owe me smoking cinders.

  And the powers seemed to respond in a manner that Keane would never in a million years have expected. He found himself being sucked into an endless vortex within himself, traveling down the dark hole with no end in sight. Deeper and deeper he went. And the farther down he went, the clearer the wordless voice became. It whispered to him in feelings and emotions. It asked him to move his right foot back. But how could he? He was dizzy from sinking into darkness, unable to control his movement. Slowly and very carefully, he reasserted control over his physical body and moved his right foot back.

  The motion stopped. He seemed to have reached the bottom of the pit. He seemed to be at the heart of something. At what he could only describe as the core. It was, unsur­prisingly, bright neon green, bubbling but still, liquid but also solid. Both loose and tight. Somehow above and below him and everywhere, while also being nowhere. It was before he was and after he’d been and at the same time as him.

  When the single stream shot out of it and headed back to the surface, he found himself riding it like a wave. Clinging on for dear life. All the way to the top.

  The energy surged into his body from the earth upon which he stood, entering from his feet, moving up through his legs into his torso, through his chest into his arms and then his hands, and finally, up his neck and into his head.

  His eyes snapped open.

  The voice told him to reach out and clench. He did. The sparks fizzing in his fists amplified. Every single bin around him rattled and throbbed with the power of jade. He could feel every single one of them in his mind, all eleven of them.

  Randy stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the jangling bins wide-eyed. He took a big, big step back. Even he could sense that something was different.

  Keane raised his arms.

  The garbage bins rose into the air and hung suspended above Randy’s head like deadly marionettes.

  But Randy shook off his trepidation and braved a step forward. Then another.

  “I said enough, Randy!” Keane growled, but Randy took yet another step forward and even raised his fists.

  Keane gritted his teeth. The time had come to inflict the required amount of damage to ensure that the Bullies would never bother him or his friends again.

  He jerked forward his radiating hands with all his might and sent the bins—all eleven of them—flying toward his aggressor.

  Randy’s jaw went slack as he realized, just a moment too late, that he was about to be squashed like a tiny bug. He ran, ducked, forward-rolled, and then ran some more.

  But Keane had hurled the cans at such an alarming speed that they were already upon Randy.

  They struck him, two by two, one from each side. Randy stumbled around, dizzy from the multiple trauma
to his head. Until the final sole bin knocked him head on and sent him tumbling to the ground.

  Keane’s knees went weak and he fell to the ground, drained from the exertion.

  The bins came crashing down around Randy, startling him. He slid away from them and sat up, rubbing the many lumps that had sprung up on his head. He seemed to be in more pain than he’d ever been before. Only now did he seem to realize what he’d gotten himself into. He jumped to his feet and began to run away, motioning Pete to follow.

  But Keane didn’t see this.

  He was too preoccupied by what he had just witnessed in that endless vortex. Was it an inner aspect of himself? Was it some strange secret of the universe? Or was it all merely a figment of his imagination? Had the bins even moved? Had Randy put him into a coma and he was just playing out his fantasy, blissfully oblivious of reality?

  There was one way to find out. He willed the pain in his ribs and on his face to be gone. If it were a fantasy, at least some of it would go away.

  But all of it remained, more excruciating than ever. What he’d seen was real alright. Yet another thing he had to try and figure out the meaning of.

  Keane finally looked up, only to see Randy and Pete beating a hasty retreat. He saw the telling grins they exchanged.

  And the penny dropped.

  He understood that the retreat was temporary. That they would be back. That next time they would bring reinforce­ments. That this would never end. Because they knew how to skew the system in their favor, and the faculty didn’t much care to correct this. Because using his powers so openly would not be possible every time, not without ending up in longer and longer bouts of detention, which the Bullies knew, and so the next attack would always be just around the corner. Always. He and Brok, and now even Zara, would have to live in constant fear of being jumped.

  And after all that he’d been through, that outcome just wasn’t good enough.

  Inflicting ‘enough damage’ was not going to cut it. To make the Bullies think carefully about ever picking on him or his friend again, to fully protect them, he had to hit the Bullies where it would hurt them most. He had to break their trust in the leader. He had to make the cronies doubt their leader’s ability to protect them. And he had to humiliate Randy so that his own comrades laughed at him. And not just them, but the entire school as well.

  But the glow in his hands had faded, Randy and Pete were almost back in the main school block, and the school bell was about to ring.

  Keane took a deep, deep breath. He rounded up what little energy remained within him. And then, he summoned the power of the earth into him.

  It trickled in and lit him up. It wasn’t much, just enough to let him hoist one of the bins back into the air. He aimed it at Randy. And fired.

  Randy looked back as the bin gained on him, very confused by what was happening. The bin flipped upside down, emptying its contents as it flew toward him. When it was just above Randy’s head, Keane slammed both his hands down in yet another one of those dramatic, sweeping gestures.

  It worked. The inverted bin crashed down over the head Bully, leaving only his legs protruding from the opening beneath.

  The gang leader scampered here and there, looking absolutely ridiculous as he tried to escape.

  All that was left to do was wait for the bell to ring. Once the courtyard flooded with students and teachers, the entire school would see him in this state, darting around in desperate circles, writhing within his rusty enclosure, banging and scratching the metal from the inside in his struggle to get free.

  They would also see the two passed out cronies, and they would have questions. Many questions. Such as who, and why, and how. Questions that the Bullies would have no answers to.

  And then, slowly, word would spread. People would remember. And when they did, they’d laugh. In time, no one would fear any of the Bullies ever again.

  Keane spotted Pete creeping toward Randy to help.

  “Don’t you dare,” said Keane through gritted teeth.

  But Pete just scowled at him and took another defiant step forward.

  A final fit of fury rose up in Keane. He ran at the bin and kicked it with all his might, tipping it over. Randy let out screams of agony as the can hit the floor with a hollow clunk. And even though Keane hurt his own foot in the process, he couldn’t help but smile as the garbage bin now rolled away, heading toward D block, taking an utterly helpless Randy with it.

  Then he turned to Pete with such ferocity that the Bully stumbled backwards and almost tripped over a bush.

  Pete steadied himself and looked from Keane to rolling can and back. Wisely, he decided to back off and, with a final scowl at Keane and Zara, scampered off after the bin containing his leader.

  “Ropes and pulleys,” Brok called out from behind his pillar as Pete raced past. “That’s all it was.”

  Pete shook his head at the boy, quite unconvinced by the flimsy cover story, but Brok persisted. “No, really! Just ropes and—”

  The garbage bin disappeared behind some foliage that adorned the center of the courtyard, and so did Pete as he chased after it.

  “Also pulleys,” finished Brok, for little but his own amusement.

  Keane was drained. While he had taken worse beatings, he had never expended this much physical effort before in his life. He collapsed, partly with fatigue, partly with relief that the ordeal was over.

  Only now did he dare to fully feel the pain in his ribs, his stomach, his arms, his hands, his face, his neck, his shoulders, his… well, basically, his everything; his entire body throbbed and felt swollen with fluids. He also had red and purpling marks all over.

  And boy did they hurt.