Smoke Fight Ride

Chapter 2

Curious, he hovers his cursor over the account revealing her name, Andrea Barclay. No profile picture.

No age.

No information to suggest the identity of the unknown user.

Following 4ry4's response —or better Andrea— he ponders over all possible social media platforms, quickly searching her name on Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, blah, blah, blah.

 A Thirty two year old woman, no. A Twelve year old athlete, hopefully not. Seventeen year old high schooler from Australia, most likely not unless they have been hacked. 

Failing all attempts to pinpoint the mystery student... if she was a student... or a woman... his detective search is cut short by the end of period bell. 

The melody is an instant pain reliever for Kit who was silently packing his school bag as Mr Druid relays the nights homework due tomorrow. Slinging the strap over shoulder, he dashes from the humidity trapping classroom and expertly weaves through clusters of student cliques towards the reserved Japanese classroom where Pop Culture Club has been held for the last two years. 

Five paces short of the door entrance he skids to a halt near missing a facial collision with an eye level hand. A folded note contained in its grip and following wrist to elbow, arm to shoulder he is met with the Asian, auburn haired, Peat Huang, captain of their championship basketball team.

"You Kurt?" He asks nudging his head, two backup cronies —both one size short of being eligible for professional sumo wrestlers— stand behind him like the corner points of a triangle, Peat being the apex. 

"Kit, actually but I doubt you care much about that." His path is blocked by the wordless thug looking assailants, their necks thicker than a tree trunk towering over him considerably. No doubt they were also on the basketball team.

Peat scoffs, jamming the message squarely into Kit's chest, who fights to keep his balance at the unexpected force. Peat purses his lips, clumps of gelled hair hanging over his taunt eyebrows as he speaks. "You see that girl over there, haircut like a k pop boy band member?" He jut out a sharp jaw, gesturing over Kit's shoulder with his chin.

Turning his attention he follows the line of sight. There is a tall skinny dude, athletically built Ghana chick, with box braids then a short stature, pixie haired individual standing so their back faces them diagonally across the hall.

"Yeah, that's her," He adds distastefully, "Mr Druid said to give her this." He shoves his chest again, Kit locks his jaw muffling winces at the unnecessary pressure, retrieving the folded paper reluctantly from his iron grip accidentally tearing a corner.

"Why can't you do it? Run out of slaves to do your dirty work?" Peat didn't appreciate this and resorts to cracking his knuckles and standing taller so his chin lined with Kit's forehead, his bodyguards mimic his actions.

"You piss off the wrong crowd Huang, and I'll make this the hardest year of your life." Peat walks past him while nudging his shoulder hard enough Kit almost looses balance but recovers quickly before his teammates imitate the motion in succession causing him to collide against other students.

Mumbling an apology he figures he might as well pass on the note if he knew what was best for him. Tempted to read the note crumpled in hand he decides against it.

Instead he trudges toward the girl past a thinning crowd, tapping her leather clad shoulder she whirls around effortlessly, toothpick in mouth and hands deep within form hugging skinny jeans, "I'm supposed to give you this for... whatever." Kit says dryly handing the paper slip to her.

 

After hearing himself aloud he wished he sounded less bored. "From who?" She asks in a husky voice deeper than he was expecting. "Mr Druid I think." He turns to leave when she unexpectedly captures a fistful of his jacket forcing his attention on her again, their faces nearly collide after the jerking movement.

She is almost five feet shorter than him but her strength was double that, probably stronger than him although he'd never admit it. Her eyes glide over the damaged paper in her spare hand, calculating its contents.

"Are you Huang?" She asks deep bluish green irises reflecting his startled face, "Yeah, why?" He answers trying to compose himself, freeing the bunched material caught in her grasp.

Their closeness gave him insight to a tribal style tattoo masked mostly by her jacket collar. She glowers quizzically, scanning him up and down. "Good." She murmurs.

However, nothing could ever prepare him for what she did next.

With the snap of her arm a closed fist breaks his nose faster than a speeding bullet.

He barely had time to register her movements before his hands fly to the bloody mess his nostrils are excreting, tears blur his vision as his fingers gingerly smooth over the obvious bump of snapped bone on his nose bridge.

He didn't care if he was grimacing like a whimp or if the guttural sounds he makes are attracting unwanted attention. Through watery sight he notices lack of remorse in her features, not the slightest hint or regret or apology in her face. 

If anything the slightest lopsided smirk curls her lips. "Oh my God, Kit are you ok?" A female student shrieks beside him. 

Kit recognises Mary Bansky's high pitch voice as she appears on scene motherly concern etched in her pale face, "Kit?... Kit Huang? As in, not Peat?" The pixie girl says adjusting her loathing demeanour to the look janitors have when examining the contents of a rotten smelling garbage bin. 

At this he glares at her furious, unsure if he had ever felt in his life such hatred for another human being as he did right now.

"Oh my God, what gives you the right to do this to people—Hey! Don't walk away from me!" Mary's protests fell on deaf ears as the mystery girl strides out of view ignoring her outcries. 

A mop of bushy black hair shifts when she returns her attention to Kit, discomfort evident in her disgusted face. If memory serves him right, he remembers an incident in which a cut during a biology class dissection made her pass out. 

He appreciated the gesture and would say so if his head didn't feel like it was on fire.