To Hold a Gun

Chapter Three - Blood on the Pavement

As Arya and I both took our orders, Fritz, the awfully short, frail boy looks over at us with a happy, friendly smile. He waves, and both of us wave back. He was alone with a fat amount of cash in his left palm.

“Isn't he from school?”

“Yeah. I think his name's Fidel, or something like that?..”

Arya says.

“I'm not sure.”

I said, looking down at the slightly sticky wooden table.

“Eh. I heard his parents make guns, or something like that,”

Arya says, digging in her purse, pulling out a compact mirror and fixing her dull lipstick.

“Do they really?”

I ask sarcastically. No way that boy's parents made stuff like that. You'd think they'd own a bakery, right?

“I'm serious, Micheal,”

She says, closing it and putting her lipstick back to normal.

“I heard his parents work in your dad's Mafia. Is that true? Mr. And Mrs. Brendler?”

She asks. Before I could respond, I saw him walk outside, a group of much bigger boys surrounding him. They said something and punched were beginning to be thrown.

Arya raises an eyebrow and glances at me. I felt bad for Fritz. I don't know why, but I dragged Arya outside with me.

I joined in the fight, throwing myself on top, other boys punching and kicking me. I was trying to save Fritz from them, as I'd felt bad. Arya looked like she was going to kill somebody. She kicked one boy's shin, hard too.

“Don't you hurt him! Get off!”

She barked, but the boy laughed.

“What are you gonna do, short stack? Are you gonna chuck me across the motor road?”

He says through gritted teeth, attempting to mask the pain.

He says, and Arya gave him the meanest punch I've seen that girl give anyone. She'd give me light playful ones, but that one looked angry.

“You'd best shut your mouth, you good for nothing jerk.”

She says, putting her hands on her hips. A couple of the boys ran off, while one stared at her, like she was an unknown creature from outer space.

“Micheal, we're leaving.”

She says, dragging my arm. I couldn't say no to her, or I'd get myself a playful socking.

As I looked back, I watched Fritz sit up, blood dripping from his nose and onto the pavement.

(Authors note: Arya is like that. You'd think dancing didn't do that, but with her aggressive ways of doing the Charleston and the Lindy Hop, she sure can kick ass. On the other hand, Michael's sister, Frannie, who's upcoming, can't. She sucks as dancing just as much as he does, but Micheal is a better fighter in the actual series and my book. On the other hand, if you tried clocking Arya, she'd give you mean bruises and maybe an overly busted lip.)