The Vigilante's Handbook (Misfits #1)

Seven (Part 2): The Awful Outcome

Alek swirled his hand around the bowl and pulled out one of the last three slips of paper. A sympathetic look my way. "Last in the ring is Anna Green going up against..."

Another flourish as he grasped for another name. I prayed it was Miguel.

I can think of only a few other situations during which you would hope for the opportunity to fight one of your best friends. Maybe if you wanted to exploit their weaknesses. Probably if you're in an inflatable sumo wrestler suit. Definitely if the only other option is your sworn enemy bent on killing you.

Okay, that may be an exaggeration of mine and Lucia's relationship, but only slightly. We had been at Paramount lake for almost the same amount of time. It didn't take long for her to start hating me.

Once she threw my pail out of the sandbox, and it sailed the length of a football field before touching down. We had been seven, maybe eight. She made me and my childishly stubby legs go and get the pail. And all because I had accidentally knocked over one of her sandcastle towers. It was lopsided anyway. I did her a favor by making her redo it.

Our relationship from then on had been rocky. She was one of the most powerful Gifteds to walk the halls of Paramount Lake, while I was one of the weakest. Once I had accidentally frozen the water from her shower and left her with icicle hair for an hour. She was quick to put blame on me when Eleanor left. I had the audacity to befriend her cousin and pretend like we could have conversations.

And after Friday night, when she had quite literally saved my life, I owed her one.

So, of course, when Alek found one of the last two names in the bowl, it was hers and not Miguel's.

"Last in the ring: Anna Green and Lucia Silva-Dias."

The crowd looked ready for blood. I knew they didn't like me, but I expected some sympathy before Lucia killed me. Julien at least gave me a thumbs up, like he actually believed I stood a chance against such a powerhouse. Mona, on the other hand, perfectly played the role of my best friend and drew her thumb across her throat, crossed her eyes, and let her tongue loll out of the corner of her mouth. Message received.

Lucia met me in the center of our makeshift ring. She even shook my hand, which I took as a good sign initially. Until I saw her wince of pain when our hands met. The skin over her knuckles was shiny and pink. It trailed across her palms and nearly up to her elbows. Your fault. Even though the first thing Mr. Forrest taught us about hand to hand combat was to never take your eyes off the opponent, I looked over at Diego, who I assumed had caught me when Lucia threw me in the air on Friday. Unless someone else could grow nasty, fleshy wings on demand.

He too had burns, further up his arms. I wondered if my heat had scorched across his chest and wings when he caught me.

She hit me in the ribs. A solid punch across my unprotected left. I had fallen for her distraction. I zeroed in on her. Arms up defensively. A smirk and a lifted chin.

I would not let her get in a second blow. My knees were bent a little, forearms blocking my organs, focus on the enemy. Mr. Forrest would be proud after he docked me points for being a preoccupied idiot. Her knee drove for my gut, but I swayed away. It would have sent me doubling over but only glanced against my hip. Still enough to leave a bruise in the morning. Mona would give it a look for me.

Before she could recover, I aimed a kick to her side. She stumbled. There was a murmur from the crowd. Little Anna Green (not that little) had made Lucia "The Tank" Silva-Dias stumble. It was nothing short of a miracle. My miracle didn't last long. She regained her footing with impossible speed. I half expected the electrode on the back of her hand to light up. It would have been an automatic win for me. No such luck. She wasn't that sloppy.