Blending In Was Never Easy For Anyone (Young Clintasha Short Story)

CHAPTER 6: Catch Me If You Can

"Why do you look so happy?" I asked Clint.

"What? I can't look happy?" Clint asked. He looked like he had just taken a shower. School had just been let out and we had met right outside the front doors.

"Okay, fine. Why do you look more happy than usual?" I asked instead.

He laughed. "I just won a race and now I don't have to take P.E. next year." He turned towards me and held his hand up.

I gave him a high five. "That's awesome... I guess." I laughed.

"Hey! Barton!" A guy's voice said from behind. We stopped and turned to look at the kid. He was tall and dark skinned, probably Asian, with black hair and a pair of matching eyes.

Clint tensed beside me. "What, Micah?"

"What the heck was that?" He, Micah asked when he got close to us. His hair was wet.

"What?" Clint asked, scratching his forehead.

"How are you so good at all that? The climbing and the shooting?" Micah shook his head. "It's like you're an undercover agent or some crap. No one can shoot a gun half a well as you did. And that archery? You're freaking Robin Hood. It's not normal." Micah said. He seemed genuinely angry. And untrustworthy.

"Yea. So? So, I'm good at archery. I've had practice. Big deal." Clint said. He seemed nervous.

What was he hiding?

"Right." Micah said, crossing his arms, still unbelieving.

"What do you want him to tell you?" I asked, suddenly.

Micah shot me a look, looking me up and down quickly. "It's none of your business." He spat.

I rushed at him, slamming his back against the nearest light pole. He yelled out in surprise and people started to gather around, curious. A girl was beating up a boy. That was the show to watch. "It is my business. Because you're a prick, and a sore loser." I had my arm against his chest and my knee in between his legs. He was pinned.

People were gathered all around now.

"Nat!" Clint said, touching my shoulder. "Nat, come on. It's not worth it."

I shook him off. "So answer my question, Micah." I spat. "What do you expect him to tell you?"

Micah glared daggers at me. "He's been a freak ever since kindergarten. He's always been able to do things no one else could do. And when we were younger, he'd miss days of school at a time, said he was on a trip with his dad." He turned his attention behind me, to Clint. "What kind of dirty business did your pops get ya into, huh buddy?"

And then Clint punched Micah in the face.

The crowd went crazy.

"Keep my dad out of it." Clint spat. Micah's nose was bleeding and he was about to cry. I let him go, and he fell to the ground, holding his face.

"Come on." I took Clint by the arm and drug him away.

"Was he in the mob, Clint? Was he some sort of spy, working against the States? Did he pass it on to you? Are you a traitor?!" Micah yelled.

Clint was shaking.

"Wait here." I said quietly, squeezing Clint's hand. I turned and stormed back towards Micah. The crowd squirmed.

Micah scooted back on his butt, obviously scared of me and what I would do to him. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small device. It was round like a button, and fit in my palm. It was a miniature version of a taser. It wasn't as powerful, but it still hurt like hell.