"And in this corner, the demon of Rutger Academy, the ball crusher, the one and only -"

The announcer shouts from his improvised stage made out of a discarded crate. I showboat for the scanty crowd of fellow students gathered around the impromptu fighting ring, throwing a few punches into the air. 

"Give it up for Robert the punisher!" the announcer finishes my introduction. No music or fireworks accompany my entry into the ring, but that's what you get when the "ring" is a back alley in town and the crowd is a bunch of fellow delinquents. From the other side of the alley, I can see my opponent pushing his way through the crowd, miming slitting someone's throat at me with a cocky look on his face. 

Who the hell's that guy? Eh, doesn't matter. New meat enters the ring regularly. The only thing that counts is his blazer, which marks him as coming from a different school than the one I go to. Its bad business to beat up your fellow students, no matter what anyone says. Shitting where you eat is totally not cool. 

"And in the other corner, a newcomer to the ring -" the announcer, a student one year below me rumbles with a faux baritone voice, not really managing it to be honest. 

"Hey, are we fighting or what?" I yell at the top of my voice to begin working the crowd. My opponent's face flushes at the implied disrespect and he rushes me without bothering to wait for the match to formally begin. 

Which is exactly what I want. 

My arm lashes out in a savage haymaker that sends my opponent reeling. As my knuckles make contact with his face, I realize my opponent's too slow, too sloppy. Where is the fight club getting these clowns anyway? He can take a hit though, that punch should have floored a guy of his size. But that's really just delaying the inevitable, especially when your brain's short circuited from the very first blow in the match. 

My opponent staggers like a drunkard, his eyes completely vacant. I deliver a kick straight to his unprotected torso, sending the punch drunk student sailing straight into a nearby dumpster. There's a heavy metal clang as my opponent crashes against the unyielding metal and the announcer has the good grace to call the fight right there. 

"The winner!" 

I nod in satisfaction as another delinquent hands me a roll of bills. The winner's purse for this fight. I click my tongue in annoyance while counting the faded and crumpled notes in my hand. That's the problem with fighting newbies, nobody wants to bet real money on the bout. Its an easy but lean payday. 

"Great fight, Robbie." a husky voice congratulates me.

I quickly stuff the winnings into my jeans and look up. A large, broad youth stands before me, grinning in genuine happiness at my victory. Despite the ruggedness of the youth's body, his face is surprisingly gentle, the look in his eyes calm and placid. 

"Thanks, boss." I nod in acknowledgement. I might be the punisher of Rutger Academy, but this guy was the absolute king. 

"Don't call me that." Paul grunts looking somewhat embarrassed, "I already told everyone that you guys can use my name."

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"Boss is boss," I smirk back at Paul, "You're better off just accepting it."

"Ah, this is annoying." Paul scratches the back of his head, his feathered dyed orange hair ruffling in the wind, "When we began hanging out with each other, I never expected to be creating a gang."

"We never expected you to join the fight against the Blue Shirt Bitches either." I shrug, "But you did and the rest is history."

"I thought they were the Blue Shirt Butchers?" Paul grunts as he tries to remember the name of the rival delinquent group that tried to muscle in on our turf. 

"They were bitches after the beating we gave them." I clench my fist with relish, remembering the day we sent those losers packing. 

"I was just passing by that day." Paul rubs his chin, "Don't have any interest in that park you guys were fighting over, but I had to help out fellow schoolmates."

"Don't diss our turf." I scowl, "I won't accept that, even from the boss."

"It's a nice park?" Paul raises both hands placatingly, "And I like hanging out with you guys. So it all works out."

"Damn straight - OW!" one of my ears is abruptly twisted hard, causing my head to yank to the side. 

"Is Robbie thinking of cutting class again?" a feminine voice breathes into my ear. 

"OW! OW! OW!" I cry, trying to extricate myself from my tormentor's hands. 

"Oh, hey Sara." Paul meekly waves at the torturer having her way with me. 

"Don't just stand there, boss." I hiss urgently, "Help me!"

"No way. Sara scares me." Paul resolutely shakes his head with solemn finality. 

"Jeez, be serious you two." the feminine voice sighs as the iron grip over my ear is blessedly released. 

Tenderly nursing my mauled ear lobe, I turn to face the short young lady standing next to me. Sara puffs her cheeks out in annoyance while playing with the long braid that goes nearly to her waist. 

"Are Robbie and Paul ready to go to school now?" Sara confronts both of us with an even stare. Sara's pretty hot, but when she's like this, I got to agree with Paul. Lady's scary. 

"How'd you know we were even here?" I grumble while brushing off some of the snow that had settled on my shoulder. 

"We live in the same building, Robert." Sara quirks her mouth at my question, "When I heard you leaving your apartment so early in the morning, there's only one place you would be."

"I left early because I wanted to get to school in time!" my voice rises in protest, "It's not my fault the snow held the fights up."

"Robbie's opponent arrived late." Paul backs me up, "My own fight hasn't been called yet."

"So can we go to school now?" Sara sighs, "I don't want to make excuses to the teacher about why Robbie is late again. And I would rather not see you get into trouble either, Paul."

"Sounds like its tough being in the same class with Robbie." Paul grins with his trademark rumble. 

"What can I say?" Sara throws her hands up in the air in mock defeat, "I'm cursed with bad taste in friends."

As Paul chuckles at Sara's jab, I shoot him the evil eye. 

"She's talking about you as well, boss." 

"You guys go on without me." Paul finally manages to collect himself, "I don't want to waste my trip here without participating in at least one fight."

"Is fighting so important to boys?" Sara frowns, "I don't get it. Whatever, let's get going Robbie."

And with that, Sara turns around and starts walking at a brisk pace, eager to leave behind the confines of the back alley. I shake my head, torn between following my friend and staying behind to try earning a bit more spending money. 

"Sara's a good girl. Why does she like hanging out with us?" Paul muses wistfully. 

"No idea." I shrug, "We're neighbors in the same apartment building. That's about it."

"I mean, if you don't want to tell me your relationship with her -" Paul rumbles reassuringly. 

"We're neighbors and friends." I shrug, "That's it."

"I see." Paul ruminates as his gentle gaze settles on Sara's retreating figure. Sara waves impatiently at me, urging me to follow her. 

"I better get going." I grunt at Paul, "See you later at school, yeah?"

"Mm." the boss mumbles distantly, his eyes never leaving Sara. 

And with that, my feet hit a brisk jog, running against the crisp winter wind.