It's Thursday, a few days have passed since I got Jack's iPhone password, but I still haven't had another opportunity to liberate his phone from his pocket. Yesterday at football practice, Jack kept his phone in the field house again, which is both sensible from a "don't want to lose my phone again" standpoint and incredibly inconvenient from a "trying to gather evidence against you" standpoint.
I sigh as I start packing up my stuff from my final class of the day. The sooner I can get this whole situation resolved, the better.
The bell rings, and I pull out my phone to shoot Luna a text. "hey, meet up at the entrance again?"
I finish packing up my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder as I check my phone.
No reply.
Huh. That's... strange. Luna's usually super quick to respond when I text her. Like, almost suspiciously quick, as if she keeps her phone in her hand at all times just waiting for notifications.
A small knot of worry starts forming in my stomach. I look up and see that Jack hasn't left the classroom yet.
He's standing near his desk, hunched over his phone with this expression on his face that I can only describe as "predatory glee." It's the look a cat gets right before it murders a mouse, except somehow more unsettling because it's on a human face.
Then he pockets his phone quickly, grabs his bag with this sudden urgency, and rushes out of the room like his ass is on fire.
I don't like that. I don't like that at all.
My body moves before my brain fully catches up, and suddenly I'm rushing after him, weaving through the hallway traffic like I'm playing some kind of real-life platforming game. Except instead of coins, I'm collecting anxiety, and instead of power-ups, I'm getting an increasingly bad feeling about this.
Jack rounds a corner ahead of me, moving fast. I follow, keeping enough distance that I won't be obvious but close enough that I won't lose him.
He stops at a classroom door, glances around quickly, and then slips inside, closing the door behind him.
I pause, my heart hammering. Every instinct is screaming that something's wrong. I creep up to the door, moving as quietly as possible, and slowly, carefully, push it open just a crack.
There's no way Luna's—
But she is.
The sight that greets me makes my blood run cold.
Jack's two disgusting friends are surrounding Luna, not allowing her to leave. One of them, the bigger of the two with a pig-like face, actually has his arm around her shoulder in a way that makes my blood pressure spike. Luna's just standing there, shivering, her violet eyes wide with fear. Her whole body language screams "terrified," and she looks so small between these two assholes who are easily twice her size.
The classroom is empty except for them. They must have forced her to come in here.
I'm about to burst through the door and... what, exactly? Get my ass kicked by three guys who each outweigh me by at least fifty pounds?
I force myself to think. Push down the white-hot anger bubbling in my chest and use my head.
One against three? I'd be useless. These guys would absolutely trounce me. My stats might be better than they used to be, but I'm not suddenly Batman. I need help.
My hands are shaking with rage as I pull out my phone and quickly type a text to Eva: "Luna in trouble. Classroom S15"
There. Done. Now I just need to buy time until she gets here.
Jack has reached Luna now, and his two friends are flanking her, all three of them looking down at her with expressions that make me want to vomit. They're staring at her body: at her chest, her curves, her everything, with these disgusting lewd expressions on their faces that make me feel physically ill.
Fuck this.
I open my phone's camera and snap a picture of the three of them surrounding her. Evidence. Then I burst into motion, running toward them as fast as I can.
A flash of cold reason cuts through the anger flooding my system. This might be an opportunity, a small voice in the back of my head notes.
I pick up speed, my sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished floor as I build momentum. My backpack bounces against my shoulders with each stride. The distance closes fast: ten feet, five feet, three feet. At the last second, I lower my center of gravity, dropping my shoulder like I've seen in football games.
The impact is explosive.
My shoulder connects with Jack's side just below his ribs, and the collision sends a shockwave of pain radiating through my entire shoulder joint and down my arm. It's like running full-speed into a brick wall. The force of the hit reverberates through my bones, and for a fraction of a second, I think I might have dislocated something.
But Jack's not expecting it. Not even a little bit. His body is twisted slightly toward Luna, weight distributed wrong, completely vulnerable. The laws of physics, momentum, and surprise all align in my favor, and despite the massive weight difference, we both go down.
Jack makes this surprised grunt, "Oof!", as the air is forced from his lungs. His arms windmill for balance that he's not going to find. I can feel the exact moment his body commits to the fall, his center of gravity tipping past the point of no return.
We crash to the floor in a chaos of tangled limbs and confused shouting. The impact is hard, rattling my teeth. Jack lands on his back with me on top of him, my weight, limited as it is, driving down on his chest. He lets out another wheeze as his back hits the ground hard enough that I can feel it through his body.
And in that moment of chaos, while his brain is still catching up to what the hell just happened, while his hands are instinctively trying to break his fall, while everything is confusion and motion and impact, my hand darts into his left jacket pocket with the kind of precision that would make a professional pickpocket proud.
My fingers close around the familiar shape of his iPhone. Got it. In one smooth motion, born more from desperation than skill, I pull it free and immediately shove it deep into my jean pocket, using the tangle of our bodies as cover for the movement.
Success.
Jack's eyes are wide with shock, his face starting to turn red, whether from impact, lack of air, or rage, I can't tell. Probably all three.
"The fuck!" Jack roars, his voice more shocked than angry at first, though I can hear the rage building underneath like a tsunami gathering strength. "Get this fat piece of shit off me!"
We're both scrambling now. Jack's trying to shove me off, his hands pushing at my chest and shoulders with strength that reminds me exactly how outmatched I am. I'm doing my best impression of someone who's just clumsily trying to stand up after an embarrassing accident, flailing a bit, shifting my weight, using every second of confusion to make sure his phone is secure in my pocket. My hand presses down against the hard outline of it through my jeans. Secure. Thank God.
His friends are already in motion. I hear the rapid footsteps, feel the rush of air as they close in. Someone grabs the back of my hoodie with both hands and just yanks.
For a second, I'm airborne. Like, actually off the ground, suspended by nothing but my hoodie and someone's apparently superhuman strength. The fabric pulls tight against my throat, momentarily cutting off my air, and my feet leave the floor entirely. I have just enough time to think oh shit before—
WHAM.
My back slams into the wall with enough force to knock every bit of air out of my lungs. For a second, my vision goes sparkly around the edges, little white dots dancing across my field of view like someone just set off a flashbang inside my skull.
Before I can even process the pain, before I can try to catch my breath or get my bearings, I feel a forearm press hard against my throat. Pig face is right in front of me now, using his weight to pin me firmly against the wall. The pressure on my windpipe is immediate and uncomfortable, not quite choking me but making it very clear that he could if he wanted to.
I can see Luna in my peripheral vision, frozen in shock. Her hands are up near her mouth, her eyes wide and terrified, and she looks like she wants to move, to do something, but can't make her body cooperate. Tears are already forming in her eyes.
"Yo, Adam, the fuck you doing, man?" Pig face asks, his breath hot and gross on my face. He doesn't sound angry, exactly. More bewildered, like he genuinely can't process why I'm here or what just happened.
My ears are ringing slightly from hitting my head, and I'm trying to pull in air around the pressure on my throat. I force the anger out of my tone, trying to sound as chipper and harmless as possible despite the fact that I'm seeing stars and my entire back feels like one giant bruise. This is possibly the most important acting performance of my life, and I'm going for "confused idiot".
"Oh! Hey guys!" I manage to say, trying to sound breathless and embarrassed, which isn't hard because I am literally breathless. "Sorry, I was just—I saw you and I was running over to say hi, but I tripped over my own feet and—"
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Jack's voice cuts through my rambling like a knife. He's gotten to his feet now, brushing himself off with sharp, angry movements. His face is transitioning from confused to genuinely pissed, red creeping up his neck. "You tripped? Into me?"
"Yeah, I know, I'm such a klutz, right? I really need to watch where I'm—"
"You think I'm stupid?" Jack stalks closer, each step deliberate and threatening. "You just happened to trip into this random empty classroom where we are? That's your story?"
"I mean, I saw you guys come in here, and I thought—"
"You thought what?" He's right up in my face now. His eyes are narrowed, studying me like he's trying to figure out what game I'm playing. "That we're friends? That you could join our conversation?" His voice drops lower, more menacing. "Or did you think you could play hero for your little girlfriend?"
Oh boy. Here it comes.
"Man, you've been getting real brave lately, haven't you?" Jack continues, his voice taking on this conversational tone that's somehow more threatening than if he was just yelling. "We stop messing with you for a few weeks and suddenly you think you're tough?"
He steps back slightly, and I watch his right arm move. His shoulder rolls back, his torso rotates, his weight shifts to his back foot. His entire body coils like a spring, muscles tensing in sequence from his legs up through his core and into his shoulder. His back grows taut, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight as he loads up power into the punch. I can see it coming, can track the motion, but pinned against the wall as I am, there's absolutely nothing I can do to avoid it.
"Let me remind you where you stand."
His fist drives forward like a piston, all that coiled power releasing in an instant. I barely have time to tense my abdominal muscles, sucking in a breath and tightening everything as hard as I can—
The impact is catastrophic.
His knuckles drive deep into my stomach, just below my ribcage, and despite my preparation, despite tensing as hard as I could, the force of it is overwhelming. It's not just pain, it's like every nerve in my abdomen simultaneously screams in protest. The air explodes out of my lungs in a violent, involuntary exhale that comes out as more of a strangled wheeze than anything resembling a breath.
The pain radiates outward in waves from the point of impact, spreading through my torso like someone just detonated a small explosive inside my stomach. My diaphragm spasms, refusing to work, and for a terrifying second I literally cannot breathe. Can't inhale, can't even try to inhale. My body has forgotten how to perform that basic function, too busy processing the fact that it just got punched by someone who weighs almost twice as much as me.
My legs want to give out, want to fold completely, but pig face's forearm is still pressed against my throat, holding me up against the wall. So instead I just sag against it, my weight held up by his arm and the wall behind me, while my body tries to remember how to do basic things like "breathing" and "not passing out."
I can feel my pulse hammering in my ears, can feel the cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. My vision tunnels slightly, everything except Jack's face going a bit dark around the edges. There's a high-pitched ringing sound that I slowly realize is coming from inside my own head.
"Pathetic," Jack mutters, and even through the pain and the struggle to breathe, I can hear the disgust in his voice. He turns away from me like I'm already forgotten, like I'm not even worth his attention anymore. He walks back toward Luna with casual confidence, slipping an arm around her shoulders possessively.