Not when your former Marine dad’s been teaching you how to kick ass for years. We were at ninety seconds and counting, and I was winning.Ī bet like that doesn’t go unchallenged. Irving had bet he could best me in under two minutes. Not to look good or give the other guy a chance. Dad drilled it into my head over and over again, you fight to win, to survive. Thinking there are “rules” can get you killed.
That’s what Dad would have called “dirty fightin’,” something he approved of in a girl. He used my momentum to whip me past him, but I’d expected that, hooked my other fingers, and got a handful of his face. I came up from the floor with a punch, getting my feet under me, and Irving grabbed my wrist. But when you’ve spent most of your spare time learning how to make the best of what you have against things that go bump in the night, you don’t give up easy. Here I was just as fragile as a civilian. I couldn’t heal like they could yet, because I hadn’t “bloomed.” So much for being special. Being able to heal just makes the boys more likely to hurt themselves.
Things don’t stop until someone’s bleeding. You get a mob of onlookers, all shouting, and it can turn into a melee easily enough. it’s like a fight in a regular school, only here the teachers don’t intervene, or at least, they hadn’t in any of the other four fights I’d seen since I arrived. The thing with a school full of boys being taught to kill suckers is that sparring gets to be a group event. Thank you all.Ī week later I was already in trouble. Without you, dear Reader, this book would be lost. Without Jessica, this book would not be any good.
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