The crowd surges forward, a dozen hands reaching out to help the fallen student - James, I overhear someone call out - back to his feet. Phones appear like conjured magic tricks, held aloft to capture every moment of the unfolding drama.

The guard doesn't seem to care. His focus is locked squarely on me now, that twisted sneer etched deeper than ever as he takes another deliberate step forward, one meaty hand dropping to the baton clipped at his belt.

"You just made a big mistake, little girl," he growls, the words dripping with menace.

My heart is jackhammering in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to move, to flee, to do something other than just stand here like a deer frozen in the headlights. But I can't back down, not now - not with the eyes of the entire student body watching, hanging on my every move.

So instead, I force myself to hold my ground, fixing the guard with my best approximation of a steely glare as I slide one foot back into a combat stance. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jordan making a series of minute gestures, their fingers flexing and shifting in that subtle pattern I've come to recognize.

The guard's hand tightens around his baton, muscles tensing as he rears back for a swing -

And whiffs clean over my head as the stretched-out hallway sends the baton whistling harmlessly past my face. He stumbles, off-balance, and I take advantage of the momentary opening to pull back and make a little more distance between the two of us.

Another flick of Jordan's fingers, and suddenly I'm the one stumbling, the guard's bulk twisting away from me like I'm moving through molasses. He recovers faster than I would have thought possible, sweeping the baton around in a vicious ark that catches me squarely on the outside of my bad thigh.

White-hot agony lances through me, the dull throbbing ache of my still-healing injuries flaring into molten life. I choke back a cry of pain, staggering as my knee threatens to buckle beneath me. The guard looms over me, triumph glittering in his piggish eyes as he raises the baton high for another strike -

And that's when the training kicks in.

It's like something inside me just... clicks, a switch being thrown as a full year and some change's worth of combat drills and muscle memory takes over. My body moves on pure instinct, no thought or conscious action required as I flow forward in a blur of motion, redirecting the guard's own momentum to flip him sideways and over in a textbook Aikido throw.

He hits the ground with a meaty thud and a surprised grunt of expelled breath, the baton clattering away across the tile as he lies there stunned and gasping for air. For a heartbeat, everything is perfectly still, the hallway frozen in a tableau of shocked silence.

Then the cheers erupt, a rolling wave of noise crashing over me like a tidal surge as the crowd goes wild. Fists pump in the air, bodies jumping and jostling with unbridled excitement as a ragged chant builds, fueled by a kind of primal, animalistic joy.

"Sa-am! Sa-am! Sa-am!"

It should be exhilarating - a moment of pure, shining triumph after such an intense confrontation. But instead, all I can feel is a hollowness, a vague sense of unease gnawing at the pit of my stomach like a worm burrowing through an apple. Is this how it's supposed to feel - this strange mix of hollow victory and self-doubt? I feel like I've just shot someone.

The guard is struggling to rise, his ruddy face flushed an even deeper crimson as he sucks in frantic, wheezing breaths. He manages to get one elbow under him, trembling visibly with the effort as he glares up at me with naked hatred smoldering in his eyes. He opens his mouth, maybe to curse or threaten or demand that I be expelled on the spot, I'll never know. He scrambles for his baton and clearly gets ready to swing it that much harder than before, or maybe even throw it, but he never gets the chance.

Because in that instant, a piercing shriek splits the air like a thunderclap, the harsh blare of an airhorn cutting through the din and reverberating off the tile and steel. I flinch instinctively, head ringing and hands clamped over my ears as more figures in uniform start shouldering their way through the throng, glaring out at us over the tops of the raised batons.

"Alright, alright, break it up!" a gruff voice bellows. "Show's over, let's go! All of you kids clear out, right now! Get to class!"

The chanting falters, the wave of jubilation cresting and crashing against the stern authority radiating from the new arrivals. Students start melting away, shooting furtive glances over their shoulders as they hurry off to class or make themselves scarce. Even the guard seems cowed, frozen where he lies like a turtle flipped helplessly onto its back.

One of the officers - a grizzled man with the unmistakable bearing of someone in command and skin the color of grizzly bear fur - steps forward, leveling a stern look at Jordan and me. For a long moment, his gaze bores into me, impassive and inscrutable. Then, finally, he gives the slightest of nods, almost imperceptible.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"You," he rumbles, jerking his chin in our direction. "Get to class. We'll be calling you in later. Beat it!" He pauses, then adds with just the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Unless you'd rather spend the next month in detention, that is."

I swallow hard, ducking my head in a show of respect and contrition that surprises even me with its sincerity - or maybe it's just fear. Of what, I couldn't say.

"Yes, sir."

----------------------------------------

The cafeteria is just as chaotic as ever at lunchtime, a roiling sea of bodies and noise that ebbs and flows in crashing waves around the various islands of relative calm - the lunch counters, the snack bars, little clusters of students huddled together at the tables that dot the space.

Jordan, Alex, and I, along with the usual gaggle of anime fans I have never introduced myself to nor learned the names of, have staked out one of the more isolated tables near the back corner, partially shielded from the chaos by a pair of vending machines and a bank of lockers. It's not exactly the most private or secure location, but it'll do in a pinch - and hey, at least it means we don't have to spend the entire period dodging half-masticated chunks of mystery meat.

Still, the events of this morning seem to be lingering over us like a bad fart, the usual whirlwind of jokes and casual banter between the three of us conspicuously absent. Even Jordan is uncharacteristically subdued, staring down at the tabletop with a brooding frown etched into their delicate features.

So it's with a sense of almost palpable relief that I look up at the sound of approaching footsteps, meeting the wide, earnest gaze of the student from earlier - James, I remind myself - as he hovers uncertainly at the periphery of our little island of calm.

"Hey," he says after clearing his throat, giving an awkward little wave. "Uh... Sam, right?"

I blink, a little taken aback by his directness - not to mention the fact that a total stranger somehow knows my name. But I quickly recover, nodding as I gesture for him to feel free to join us.

"That's me," I confirm, trying my best to keep my tone light and conversational despite the disquieting strangeness of the situation. "And you're... James, I overheard?"

He flashes me a broad grin, white teeth standing out in stark contrast to his warm, deep-brown complexion.

"Yeah, that's me," he confirms, sinking down onto the bench across from me before adding in a more subdued tone, "I, uh... I just wanted to say thank you. For earlier, I mean. It was really cool how you stood up to that asshole like that."

I feel my cheeks flush slightly at the unexpected praise, suddenly finding myself unable to meet his slightly awe-struck gaze. Off to my left, Jordan snorts quietly into their chocolate milk, but thankfully remains silent for once.

"It was nothing, really," I demur with an embarrassed little half-shrug. "Dude was being a total dick for no reason. I just... did what anyone would've done in that situation, I guess?"

The way James's eyebrows shoot up makes me think that no, very few people would have stepped up like that - or at least, very few within his own circle. A pang of sympathy lances through me as I take in his slight frame, the defiant set to his jaw so clearly at odds with the tension thrumming through his tightly-coiled form.

He's just a kid, I realize with a start. Just a scrawny teenage boy thrust into a world of metal detectors and paramilitary security forces, left to fend for himself against the harsh realities of the modern world. It's jarring, almost, to see that contrast laid out so starkly in front of me. He was in middle school four months ago. Before the world exploded.

"For real though," he presses on, that look of awestruck admiration not dimming in the slightest. "The way you just, like... moved, you know? All smooth and flowing like water, like it was nothing? That was some straight-up ninja shit, girl. You been taking self-defense classes or something?"

I force out a casual little chuckle, silently thanking my lucky stars for the fact that he seems to have bought my little display of Totally Normal High School Badassery.

"Oh, you know," I deflect with a casual wave of my hand. "Just some basic Aikido and stuff, nothing too crazy. My mom insisted that I know how to defend myself against creeps like that guy."

He nods eagerly, practically vibrating with pent-up energy and intensity. For a heartbeat, I can see it in his eyes - the desire to press me further, to dive down into the rabbit hole of Exactly How Bambi McSkinnyGirl learned to move like a ninja warrior. But to his credit, he swallows it down, bobbing his head in agreement as he lets the matter drop. "They drill it into you. I wasn't really thinking about it at all," I add.

"Totally, yeah," he says instead, leaning back and studying me appraisingly. "Well, still... that was some crazy shit you pulled. I don't think I've ever seen anyone straight-up toss a security guard before. You're like, lowkey a total badass, ya know?"

I can feel the blush returning in full force, the tips of my ears practically burning as I duck my head to hide the fierce grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. From the other side of the table, Jordan makes a noise halfway between a cough and a snort of derision - clearly not caring for James's blatant attempt at flirting, as clumsy as it might be.

"Thanks, I guess?" I finally manage, rubbing at the back of my neck in a show of exaggerated awkwardness. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time y'know... ninjas and stuff."

James opens his mouth to respond, probably to either double down on his flirtations or continue heaping embarrassingly effusive praise upon me. But before he can get a single syllable out, the harsh crackle of the PA system fills the air, loud enough to cut through even the dull roar of adolescent chaos.

"Samantha Small, please report to the principal's office immediately. Samantha Small to the principal."

I sigh, shooting Jordan and Connor a weary look as I start to rise from my seat. Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped, as it were. At least now I can finally get this whole unpleasant little episode behind me.

"Duty calls, I guess," I quip, offering James a casual little salute and a parting grin. "Thanks for the kind words, dude. And hey - just between you and me, just let me know in advance next time you want to wear a hat. My leg's still a little sore."

He blinks, clearly taken aback by my nonchalant banter. But before he can formulate a response, I'm already striding away, mind already churning as I brace myself for whatever fresh nonsense awaits me in the principal's domain.

After all - how much worse could it really get at this point?