The Dark Ice Chronicles - The Magi

Chapter 1 - Somebody's Gonna Hurt Someone

Who am I?

My name is Jason Cross.

And right now, I’m getting my ass handed to me on a silver platter.

I guess I had it coming, though. Nolan Solari really doesn’t like it when I mess with the lights.

But for whatever reason, I can’t resist picking a fight with that dickhead. It’s like, okay, this time I think I can actually beat him, not the other way around. Never mind the fact that I have no real experience there - I’m not a trained athlete, like Nolan. I’m not a black-belt martial artist, either. Or Chuck Norris.

I can hold Nolan off for a while by using my night vision to dodge him as best I can, but when his flying fists finally connect with my face, the Dark shield I’ve placed over the fluorescent lights starts to break down. Then he can see me. Then he knows where to aim.

He deliberately punches me right in the face, leaving me crouching on the floor, trying in vain to avoid him. It’s not long before I get the usual follow-up - new white Nikes in the sides.

There’s a bit of a metallic taste in my mouth - am I bleeding? Probably not. There’s no wet spots on my face or in my mouth, and all my teeth are intact - for now, anyway.

I roll over a bit so I can look Nolan in the eye as I say, “I’m totally going out on a limb here, but I’m guessin’ since you’re such a Neanderthal, they figured they’d save money and not bother teachin’ you to use your words.”

The six-three jock, true to form, responds by manhandling me to my feet and pinning me to the row of chipped, dented blue lockers behind me. Really? I think. Can’t they ever come up with something a bit more creative?

“You want me to use my words, punk?” Nolan hisses in my face. I try my best not to cringe at the smell of turkey and Gatorade - orange, I think. “Here’s some for ya. You Darks are all the same. Think you’re such hot shit. You all need to learn the same lesson. Half the world hates your guts.” He pushes my shoulder roughly against the locker. “And you...you’re not only a Dark punk, you’re a dumbass Dark punk who won’t stop makin’ trouble. I swear, the next time you try that shit on me, you’re gonna be beggin’ me to stop. Got it memorized?”

I look him in the eye again and say “Oh, yes, sir!” in my most over-the-top kiss-ass voice.

Nolan rolls his eyes, then pulls back his fist again. I brace for a punch that never comes. Instead, he stops just short of clocking me in the jaw and flashes a pulse of brilliant white Light at me. It’s nothing really harmful, no worse than a camera flash, but it still leaves me pretty dazed and disoriented after he finally lets go of me and storms off.

After taking a moment to clear my head, I sit on the floor in front of the locker - it’s mine, after all - and open my backpack. Even though Nolan hasn’t taken anything from me - it’s not really his style - I still want to make sure all my stuff is where it’s supposed to be. Since I’ve been finding myself at odds with Nolan (among others) so often lately, I’ve taken to hiding my phone, wallet, and iPod, among other small pocketable valuables, in my backpack, where they’ll be better protected.

I first grab my iPod so I can check my reflection in the scratched mirror-finished back surface. I’ve got a nasty bruise on one cheek - Mom and Dad, no doubt, will have a few choice words to say about that. In all my months of getting into random small fights, I’ve managed to keep it secret, mostly because before, all my wounds were in places the ‘rents wouldn’t think to look. I’ll just have to come up with a good lie when I get home.

Okay. Valuables, check. Books, check. Calculator, check. Pencil case, check.

Photo of Evan Michaelsen?