Hot Shot

One

"Fucking hero." he growled angrily as he delivered another blow to my stomach. Two of his goons held my arms as the ring leader, Warren, slugged me again in the stomach. I feel the pain rip through me sharply, then feel the soreness start to settle. My mouth is filled with blood from my bleeding lip and my stomach (or what's left of it) starts to churn from the feel of the hot liquid.

Warren looks pretty proud of himself. He looks up at me with a satisfied smile looking like a 5 year old in Disney Land. Nothing beats the Monday Madness like a quick beat down in the Gerald Hoffman High locker room.

"Had enough, Beasly?" he gibes.

His smile is more disgusting than the blood it spit out on his shoes. I lick my lips, wincing once my tongue grazes the cut. "Three against one? You must be proud of yourself." I smirk, even though I'm adding to my own demise.

Warren registers the words through his thick and mostly likely empty skull. His blue and yellow varsity jacket is disheveled along with his greasy and slick black hair. He looks untouched except for a small bruise forming underneath his eye. Warren looks at his now spit strung shoes then back up at me, flashing his engraved eyes.

Shit.

Warren pulls back his arm and before I can protest, he sends his fist flying right to the center of my nose.

And just like that, I black out like a little bitch.

***
I sit on a wooden bench in the empty school hallway outside Principal Haverty's office holding a bag of ice on my bloody and most likely bruised nose. I've sat outside for the past twenty minutes listening to Haverty grill the three "at-risk delinquents" as he puts it. And here I am counting the square white tiles that line the floor of hallway, bored out of my mind.

I always get myself in these situations. Trying the reason with idiots then end up bloody an battered like I just got a beating from a meat grinder. But, hey, it's not my fault they're dumb little fucks.

Now these guys wouldn't bother me if I were their equal. Meaning of I were sporting a varsity jacket and a blonde cheerleader on my arm, they wouldn't touch me.

But I don't have either of those. I am the science nerd. The kid who only talks when he has a question or wants to argue with a an idiotic shithead like Warren. So what? I'm not rich and I don't own a car. I wear glasses and flannels and Converse instead of Gerald Hoffman High colors and the newest "J's." But there's a part of me that not even my closet friends know.

If I could get blazing my drunk and party crazily for an entire night I sure as hell would. But I care too much about reputation.

My reputation of the smart and quick tempered nerd.

Speaking of reputation, down the hallway came the one person who didn't give two shits about hers.

Danielle Desman came sauntering down the hall. She was the definition of a badass. Her black heeled boots clicked against the tiled floor. Her long legs were cladded in black ripped skinny jeans and she wore a loose white tank top with a green camping jacket over it. Her ears were laced with three or four gold earrings and her nails painted black. The one thing about Danielle Desman is that her face didn't match every other aspect of her. She had angelic features and had every little makeup compared to the raccoon look alikes running around the school. She had wavy dirty blonde hair that was almost brown.

She was beautiful.

And notoriously reckless.

She was focused on rummaging through her brown leather messenger bag. I subconsciously watched her walk down the hallway. She looks up from her bag to look where she's walking then notices me and locks eyes. A wave of amusement passes through her brown eyes. A small smirk humors her lips. "Well, you look like you've been through hell." she laughs sighing, her hands still going through her bag.

I frown, still holding the bag of ice to my battered nose. "How encouraging." I retort sarcastically and immediately bite my tongue. Shit, Ian.

Instead of getting upset, she shrugs and pulls out from her bag what she was looking for: a carton of cigarettes. She pulls one from the package and place it between her teeth. She holds the carton out to me. "Want?" she asks not moving the cigarette from her teeth. I shake my head and she stuffs the carton back into her bag. "What are you even doing here?" she asks her voice muffled.

I watch her pulls a lighter from her back pocket as I answer. "I could as you the same." I say, knowing that classes are still going on.

She smirks "Touché." Danielle says lighting her cigarette, right in the middle of the school. She takes a drag and blows out a puff of smoke surrounding her head. I roll my eyes.

"You gonna answer?" I press, wanting to keep the conversation alive.

She shrugs. "Playing hooky. There's not much to tell. But 'shhhh.' Don't tell." she winks. My stomach knots.

I give a short laugh,pressing the ice back to my nose. "I won't."

She takes another drag, then exhales. The smoke traveling to me. "You're different from the other. . . nerds, you know." she says, folding her arms.

"Really, I hadn't noticed by the fact that my face is about to fall off" I snorted a little too harshly. I let my eyes fall to my hands.

A small smile falters her lips. "I meant because you're not afraid of the asshats that terrorize everyone else."

I look up at her. Her smile widens, shaking her head. "But," she says sternly yet having a speck of humor, jabbing the cigarette in my direction, "don't let honesty and fortitude be mixed up with stupidity at your own expense." she says.

I frown at what she said. It sounded somewhat . . . intelligent. I kind of just stared up at her dumbfounded. She inhaled and exhaled some smoke again. "Well," she said walking over to the water fountain next to the bench I was sitting on and stubbing the cigarette. I caught a whiff of her scent: cigarettes obviously but also vanilla and lemons. "I'd love to stay and chat with you, but to play hooky I'm pretty sure you'd have to be off the premises of a school." she said.

"Yeah, sure." was all I said.

She threw me a smile. "It was nice talking to you Ian." she said then walked down the hallway, towards the exit.

"You too." I whispered to her back as she walked down the hall and straight out the building.

That was bizarre.

Wait, shit. She knew my name.

I leaned my head against the wall behind me, closing my eyes. Some time passed as I sat there with ice pack against my nose.

Then I heard the clack of heels.

Danielle?

I opened my eyes to find Gracie, my 23 year old sister, walking furiously towards me. Being my legal guardian she was my emergency contact therefor having to constantly come to the school and sweet talk her way to get me out of detention. She was still wearing her work clothes: a black blazer, pencil skirt and blue blouse. Her mouth was set in a firm line as she neared me.

I opened my mouth to awkwardly break the tension "Hey Grac-"

"Shut up." she snapped.

Okey dokey then.

She didn't stop to talk to me, just went straight to the office door with bright eyes and a plastic smile on her face. She pulled open the door and walked in without another word. Through the wall I heard her cheery and ever so honey coated words. "Principal Haverty! How nice it is to see you again!" she gushed.

And she said being an actress wasn't her calling.