Viper

Ch. 8

Band class, as expected, was a train wreck. After the introductions and the band director's senseless chatter, he asked me what instument I played, to which i had to reply in the obvious way. Believe it or not, that wasn't the worst part of the class. The worst part was when the band director, Mr. de Luca, handed me a metal triangle and told me to tap it with the rod whenever Owen, who I was sitting next to, gave me a signal.

Needless to say, I didn't exactly enjoy the class. To add to my dislike for the day, Grace was in every class. Every. Single. Class. For some unknown reason, we had grown a mutual (mild) hate for one another. Every period, it seemed like we were more and more hostile towards each other. Ostentatious couldn't get me to focus on my work when she looked at me. I never understood what irrational anger was until that day.

  Thankfully, the day was over- mostly. Actually, no, it wasn’t. If you've ever missed the bus and lived far from your home, you know what I felt like- because that's what happened. We missed the bus and had to walk home.

  Ostentatious and I left MSA at 3:00. If I'm being honest, I kind of enjoyed the prospect of walking home. For once, I was grateful for the parents I had: the parents who wouldn't care if I arrived at home a couple hours late.

  Ostentatious tried to piece together what happened today; still not having a clue as to how Grace and I went from being awkward around each other to not being able to stand each other’s presence. I would have loved to hear an answer.

  "I get that you don't want to tell me, Silent, but if something happened today, you know you can always come to me to talk."

  "I'm fine, Oliver."

  "Oliver? What was that for; we're not at school anymore."

  I shrugged. "It fits. It's shorter."

  Ostentatious shook his head, pausing the conversation to look through the windows of a bookstore, nestled in between a coffee shop and a store for stringed instruments.

  "Stop," I said. "You have enough."

  "Pssh. I don't know what you're talking about. I can always use more."

  It was my turn to shake my head. I stood next to Ostentatious, not even bothering to try to get him to continue walking. I had to squint to see past the reflective glass window and read the titles of the many novels on display. My vision unfocused from the books to the reflection. Two men were walking toward them from the other side of the street. Two men who wore black suits and sunglasses.

  I thought this kind of stuff only happened in books and movies. Guess not.

  We turned around to face the businessmen, if that's what they were. I could feel Ostentatious tensing beside me. As they came closer, I saw how big their arms were.

  Thugs. They were thugs. Great.

  It became more and more apparent as they got closer that they weren’t here for a pleasant conversation.

  When they reached the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road, Ostentatious braced himself, so I followed his lead. If we had to fight, we wouldn't go down without a- well, you know what I mean.

The thugs were stopped by a sudden influx of traffic; they couldn't cross the street for the moment.

  "How are we getting out this?" I mumbled to Ostentatious.

  "Whether crushed or sheltered by the Maker's hand, 'tis beneath is we go, from breath to death."

  "Don't get literary on me now, Oliver."

  "Sorry. Just fight. We'll be fine. If worse comes to worse, you can just do your snake thing and we'll make a break for it."

  "Silas, shut it."

  "Will do." By the time they finished talking, the thugs had nearly crossed the street. "Can we help you?" Ostentatious asked.

  The men didn't answer- or stop. Nor did their fists. The moment they were in reach, they swung. Ostentatious and I sprang into action, dodging the first blows and pivoting to gain some momentum for our own attacks.

  We each, by unspoken agreement, took one thug to deal with. It feels cliché to say this, but time seemed to slow down as my hand flew past the thug's moving head. He spun, bending his body and lifting his leg, trying to kick me in the back. I jumped backward and flipped over the swinging leg, narrowly evading it. After the flip, I dropped low and swung my own leg to knock his out from under him, but jumped and spun sideways to avoid it.

  We stopped fighting for a moment- the sounds of Ostentatious' struggle pounding in my sensitive hearing- and stared at each other, planning what our next moves would be. He lunged at me, forcing me backward toward a streetlamp. My right forearm smashed into the metal pole as I swung it back; the heat of pain flowered across the back of my arm.

  Apparently, a natural survival (fighting) instinct, compliment of metacryptal heritage, didn't come with invincibility. Good to know.

  A smirk crossed the thug's otherwise emotionless face, but I didn’t have time to notice it because he ran at me again, hoping to crush more than just my arm against the pole. This time, however, I was ready for him and grabbed his shoulder, sliding to the side a little, and plowed his head into the streetlamp. A sickening crack sliced through the relative "innocence" of the fight. Did I crack his skull? Murder hadn't been on my itinerary for the day.

  The thug uprighted himself, exposing a jagged crack running from the top to the bottom of the lamppost. Don't ask how the metal cracked- I have no clue, but I had to overcome my relief that the man survived quickly and take back the element of surprise.

  Without another thought,  I launched myself at the lamppost, grabbing it firmly and swinging my weight around it. The thug gave way to my kick and flew back into the street. Unfortunately, there weren't any more cars on the road.

  I looked over to Ostentatious, the usual fighting ruckus having died down. On the sidewalk scrambled his thug, nearly as incapacitated as mine was. Was.

  My thug appeared behind me, out of nowhere, forcing me to shift. Shift is the name of one of my abilities. All metacryptals can move faster than any human alive if they choose to, but I can move faster than the eye can follow. Similar to a snake striking it's victim. You get the idea.

  My clenched fist met his shoulder blade as he tripped forward, shattering it and eliciting an agonized shriek.

  "Silent, we need to run. Now."

  I nodded, agreeing silently before we fled the block; the two thugs groaned in agony.