Do you think you can play games with me? Brad growled, clenching his fists until his knuckles cracked. You think your quiet act will work here at Lincoln High? Emily slowly raised her head, and something in her eyes made the crowd hold its breath. A cold gleam, nothing like fear.
I’m not playing, Brad. Her voice was astonishingly calm. I was just hoping you wouldn’t force me to show who I really am. And who are you, exactly? he drooled, mocking her, oblivious to the fact that in five minutes he’d be lying on the ground and the whole school would be buzzing about what had happened. Stay tuned for the most interesting part. Don’t miss out.
It all began on Monday morning at Lincoln High in the small town of Maplewood, Ohio. The mist still clung to the ground when 16-year-old Emily Harris stepped across the threshold of her new school.
Her family had just moved from Detroit after her mother took a job at the local hospital, and for Emily this was the fourth move in the last three years. Outwardly, there was nothing remarkable about her. Average height, slender, with chestnut hair pulled into a simple ponytail, dressed in plain jeans and a dull sweatshirt.
She tried to blend in, not to stand out, to speak softly when teachers addressed her. But what no one knew could have shocked every person in that school. Emily was the reigning junior state champion of Michigan in mixed martial arts.
Four years of intense training in one of Detroit’s best gyms had made her a dangerous opponent, even for grown fighters. Her signature left hook could crack a rib, and her ground grappling technique had amazed her coaches. But at her mother’s insistence, they’d agreed to keep it all a secret in this new town.
Let’s start fresh, sweetheart, her mother had pleaded. You know how people react when they find out about your skills. Let’s just be a normal family.
Emily agreed, though deep inside something rebelled. In Detroit, people respected her precisely because she never let anyone push her around. But here in Maplewood, she was just the new girl.
The trouble started on her first day. During lunch, Emily was sitting alone at a corner table in the cafeteria when a tall, broad-shouldered boy approached her. He had a close-cropped haircut and a cocky gaze.
Two friends followed close behind. One was short and wiry, always squinting, the other taller, with a sly grin and a smug smile. Hey, new girl, the leader barked as he dropped into the seat opposite her.
I’m Brad Thompson. This is my school, my rules. He gestured to his buddies, Kyle and Jake.
Emily looked up from her sandwich. Nice to meet you. I’m Emily.
Emily, Brad repeated, tasting the name. Where are you from? Detroit. Detroit? Kyle laughed.
So you think you’re better than us just because you’re from the big city? I don’t think that, Emily said softly, continuing to eat. But I think you do. Brad leaned in closer.
See, sweetheart, we’ve got a simple system here. Newcomers need to show respect, especially those from big cities who think they’re too cool for us. Emily felt something tighten in her chest.
That tone, that arrogance, it was all painfully familiar. But she had promised her mother. I don’t want any trouble, she said, pushing her chair back to stand.
Where do you think you’re going? Jake planted his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. We’re not done talking yet. What exactly do you want? Her voice carried a steely note, but the boys didn’t notice.