I sat at the end of the lunch table, separated from the rest of my sixth grade class. They all occupied their round, plastic stools in close proximity to each other, eating, chatting, making merriment, like we sat at a holiday banquet table. There was little I had to say and even less in common with my classmates, all of them seemingly obsessed with their handheld consoles, card games, sports, or gossip. I found it easier to engage myself in lonesome activities, like reading the book on genetics bought for me the week prior. It was an early birthday gift from my Aunt Codon that I was surprised to find enthralling. My mother had tried to interest me in medicine, but, while she did well at teaching me, the process was never autonomous.

The obnoxious buzz of the lunch room became background noise as I cracked the book to the marked pages. Passages on mRNA and haploids lead to paragraphs describing the nature of chimeras and mutations. I felt like the scholars of the old world, delving into the depths of science in a ravenous bid to light the dark spaces of my knowledge, while those around me played like ignorant animals. Lost in the rapture of this self-serving pretense, I never saw them approaching. I heard the, likely planned, misstep one of them took that sent an open carton of strawberry milk tumbling onto the table. It landed on my tray, spoiling the untouched foods with overly sweetened dairy. Of course, my book was hit with a healthy splash as well, ruining dozens of pages. A couple of my classmates further down the table giggled or muttered with anticipation.

“Geez, Break, watch yourself. Look what you did,” said a smug, confident voice that penetrated the remaining background chatter. No effort was put into making the scolding sound genuine. I turned my head to glare at the trio of bullies, hoping there would be staff nearby whose eye I could catch.

Ace Longshot, star shooting guard for Canterlot Middle School’s basketball team stood noticeably taller than the two large boys who flanked him. There was something uncanny about how we shared certain prominent features, as if we were a reflection of what the other could have become, under different circumstances. His hair was a deep, rich blue with stylish white streaks over his ears, while mine was a plain cobalt. Where my skin was a lighter shade of steel grey, his was darker, with a hint of bronzing. Our eyes were exactly the same shade of bright, greenish-blue. At some point, I came to the conclusion that these outward similarities might have been the root of his fixation on making my life miserable. I was never athletic nor charismatic nor did I seem to attract romance, while he strutted through life, showered with attention and affection for his looks and effortless glibness. Back then, I could never understand why someone like him, with everything the world could offer, felt the need to press others under his heel. Perhaps, he wanted to disassociate himself with someone who appeared meek and unimpressive. Perhaps he sensed my weak spirit and childish bitterness, wanting to prove to himself, and others, that we were nothing alike. That boys like me walk in the shadow of men like him.

Ace, Break Away, and Obelisk seemed to have known exactly when to make their move; no adults in sight. Ominously, Obelisk stood with his bulging arms behind his back.

“I came all the way over here to make a friend and you gotta go and start us off on the wrong foot.” Ace shook his head and landed a harmless swat on his croney’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Can’t take you anywhere, man. Let me get that for you.” He took the running carton of milk that had landed on the opposite side of the tray, bringing it across without tilting it up, splashing me further and ensuring some of the fluid would land on my shirt. “Oops, empty already.” Ace said, shaking the carton to the sound of a miniscule amount of liquid. He shrugged dramatically and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Mah bad, Gy’.” Break said in his thuggish slur, as wooden as an apology can get.

“Cool. Gotta go, gents—nature’s call.” I stood to leave the cafeteria, but Ace stepped to the side to block my path.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy. I said I was here to make a friend. That’s you.” He said, placing a hand on my shoulder with his thumb pressed against a well-known pressure point. His voice raised in volume for the benefit of those in the surrounding area. “See, my buddies and I, we’ve come to the realization that the way we’ve been joking with you these last couple of years has been a little...inconsiderate. And we’d like to make it up to you.” He opened his arms to the audience, like a stage magician presenting his pledge. “As a way of burying the hatchet between us,” he punched my shoulder, just hard enough for his knuckle to jolt the pressure point. I clenched my jaw to hide my reaction. “I brought you a birthday present. Show ‘im Obe.”

The oversized kid named Obelisk brought forth a meticulously wrapped box, complete with a metallic foil ribbon and fine, colorful wrapping paper.

“I really gotta pee.” I said.

“Awh, now, don’t be such a party pooper. Are you really gonna leave before we sing for your birthday?” Ace said, putting a stiff arm around my shoulders.

“No, I really don—” I tried to interrupt, but he overpowered my voice with his own as he began the verses. Break joined in to get the room’s attention and cooperation while Obelisk stood by, tight-lipped. The song has three versions, one for males, females, and a third gender-neutral set. He began with the female version, rocking us side to side with the cadence.

Shall we celebrate this lady,

As woman, gal, and baby,

Whose presence here,

For every year,

Is worthy of a cheer?

Oh she is the birthday girl, hooray!

So beautiful day after day,

No other, no other,

Could live a life like hers!

Oh she is the birthday girl, hooray!

It’d please us if you’d like to stay,

We’d love to see you living here,

Another graceful year.

By the time the song was finished, the vast majority of students in the cafeteria had joined in, many not knowing to whom they sang. I had been seated in a far corner, partially blocked from view by my classmates who had all stood to sing. Several kids looked over and I saw dawning recognition in their eyes as the anonymity I had strived to maintain all year was shattered in a few moments. The seconds proceeding the song were filled with applause, cheers of the ignorant, and derisive laughter from those with context. Those out of the loop were being visibly informed of the joke regarding a certain elementary school play. Ace let go of me and took the gift box from Obelisk’s meaty hands.

“Come on, Gy! Smile, it’s your birthday! We’re just messin’ with you, dude.” Ace turned to the students beginning to form a loose gaggle around us and opened his arms again. “Right?” A chorus of sincere and insincere agreement greeted his question. Not a single voice of descension rose to challenge him. “Time to open your present now, bud. Go on.” Ace said, offering the box. I moved it directly from his hands to the table and sat back down.

“Thanks, I’ll open it later. My dad says it’s rude to open a present in front of the giver, anyway.” My comment was met with a few boos that started a wave of similar sentiments across the audience.

“Awh, don’t worry about it, man, just open it up. I’ve been so excited to see what you think.” Ace didn’t have to engage in further theatrics to raise a reaction. Cheers rose at his words and someone started a chant of O-pen it, o-pen it.

I had two choices. The first was to reject his gift and throw it in the garbage bucket less than five feet away, an opportunity he would take to brand me as a spoiled, ungrateful princess for the rest of my adolescent life. The second option was to play directly into Ace’s hands, showing off whatever sadistic prank lurked inside the walls of that box. As much as I would have loved to walk away, I knew neither he nor his goons would let me. There were still no teachers or staff in sight. All I could think to do was to try garnering as much sympathy from the audience as I could, by throwing myself into the role of the hapless victim.

“You really mean it,” I said “about wanting to be friends…?”

Through the knot in my guts, I ground out as much pitiable innocence as I could muster in my tone, without overdoing it.

“Of course, Gy’. I heard you haven’t been having fun with our little jokes between each other and I felt so bad.” He said, placing a hand over his heart and the other back on my shoulder. He didn’t squeeze the pressure point, this time. This earned him some coos from the audience, mainly from the feminine demographic. This was either a genuine bid for sympathy from the crowd or a way to set up his joke for an even bigger punchline. I could play that game too. With every bit of willpower at my disposal, I used the thought of my father, rotting on what would soon become his deathbed, to summon a moderate swelling of tears and a weak smile. I looked at the crowd for a moment, presenting my own pledge, this time earning myself a few audible gasps and coos. A pretty girl in the front of the crowd, still holding a freshly loaded tray and looking like she had gotten trapped by the clustering bodies, had dropped the anxious, terrified expression she held before and exchanged it with a thin, shy smile, half-hidden by her lengthy, pink locks. Before he could stop me, I leaped from my seat and threw my arms around his torso in a tight embrace. I could feel my face burning as I hugged the object of my hatred in front of a sizeable portion of my peers. Ace clearly had not expected this, as he seemed paralyzed in my arms. After several seconds, I felt a stiff hand pat my back and Ace’s dramatically tightened voice utter a nervous laugh.

“O-Okay, Big Cat. Alright.” He then muttered through the clenched teeth of what must have been a forced smile, “You have...ten seconds to get off me.”

Somewhat confused at the generosity of his time limit, I stepped back and forced a sniffle.

“So...this is really for me, then?” I asked, amusing myself with the sight of Ace’s crimson cheeks and taking mental snapshots of the confounded looks exchanged between his goons.

“Yeah. Open it.” Ace said, all pretense of friendliness vaporized.

Maintaining the act, I took up the box and pulled the loose end of what felt like a genuine silk ribbon. It came apart so smooth and neat I found myself appreciating the craftsmanship and quality of the bow itself. The wrapping paper had been held in place by the ribbon, eschewing the need for tape, so I only needed to unfold the paper from the top to expose the loose lid. With an exasperated sigh I hoped I managed to disguise as a breath of anticipation, I lifted the lid to reveal a bundle of thin packing paper. Hoping to thwart Ace’s plan one last time, I began tearing away at it while keeping the contents firmly within the walls of the box and out of sight of the enthralled audience.

“Go ahead, pull it out!” Ace said, back to his crowd-pleasing tone, though I could hear an edge of venom in it.

If by ‘it’ you mean your throat—sure, I thought, fighting to keep the vitriolic thoughts from spilling into my act.

I lifted the soft bundle from the box with feigned zeal. It was slightly larger than a fresh ream of printer paper, but much lighter. There was a wide piece of tape holding it all together. I shot Ace a look he seemed to find amusing as I pulled the tape away. Everything unfurled before I could react to stop it.

I was left holding up a familiar article of clothing for all to see. It was a faithful replication of the costume I wore during the Van Helsing play. Only, this copy was redecorated and refined to the point that it could sell in a boutique without irony. The black cloth of the dress presented a smooth sheen and elaborate lace patterns along its hems and sleeves with tasteful royal blue trim. A waist-length black leather bodice wrapped around the shoulders and connected at the neck with a collar. For a moment, I was dumb enough to believe the whole thing might actually backfire on Ace. The dress was genuinely beautiful, lascivious even, and clearly overboard for a prank, something I suspected an athlete and his macho yes-men wouldn’t realize. That was a short-lived hope.

“There you go, Gy’. I remembered how much you like to dress up in public. Now you can let your freak flag fly in style, my man!” he said, swinging his arm in a wide circle above his head, as if waving just such an ensign. In the uproarious laughter that followed his taunt, everyone, including myself, was too distracted to see the five foot, two inch tall cannonball of fury making his way toward Ace. Fortunately for him, there must have been enough milk in the discarded carton to leak out into a puddle. Just before Rock barreled into Ace at top speed, his foot landed squarely in the liquid and his tackle became a grasping lunge. His arms flailed around Ace’s face, slapping and tearing at the collar of his shirt. Just before they tumbled apart, Rock’s head made contact with Ace’s middle, knocking the wind out of him. They bounced off the table and Ace fell in between the seats, his long, lean limbs quickly getting tangled in the metal beams that connected the fold-in stools to the tabletop. Rock’s head connected with the circular edge of a seat, dazing him as he fell in a sprawl at Ace’s feet. “What the—” Ace grunted as he began to realize what happened.

I snapped out of a shocked stupor and moved to help my friend up, first pulling him safely away from Ace’s free foot. The skin had split on his forehead and a shocking amount of blood oozed over Rock’s face. Before I could pull him to his feet, I was shoved backward, hard enough to roll once, head over heels. As I found my footing again, I saw that Obelisk stood between me and Break Away, who was lifting Rock’s struggling body from the floor in a restraining hold. Ace was glaring at him as he climbed to his feet, as if Rock had murdered a family member. By now, the formerly distant audience had begun to crowd around us in a tight semi-circle that was beginning to feel more like an arena.

“What is wrong with you!” Rock shouted as he fought against Break’s iron grip. “He’s never done anything to you, why do you have to be such a fucking asshole to Gyre, you meathead piece o’ shit!”

There was a chorus of awed, amused, and incredulous sounds from the audience at Rock’s harsh language. Though most of my peers at that age had begun using profanity in private and between friends, very few were so brash. Rock’s words weren’t particularly clever, but their precedence endowed the insults with a certain impact that stirred the crowd into a modest frenzy.

“Hold him, Break.” Ace growled, advancing on my friend. Break adjusted his hold on Rock, exposing his torso and head. Rock kicked and flailed to no avail as his would-be assailant came nearer. I had been trying to get around Obelisk’s wide frame as it became clear what the other two bullies intended to do, but he was too large and fast, halting my approach without any apparent effort.

If I couldn’t get around Obelisk, I’d have to go through him. Various forms of sucker punches and dirty tactics raced through my head, but nothing seemed good enough or feasible, given the lack of resources at hand. My wits were all I had, so I executed the first cheap trick that came to mind as Ace drew back his fist. I charged toward Obelisk’s right, putting Ace directly behind him as he moved to block my path. I skidded to a stop just out of reach, put on the most horrified expression I could imagine, and feigned a flinch, as if some deadly threat had appeared just behind the large student and was bearing down on us both. He fell for the ruse, turning on the spot with his arms held before him, defensively. I heard the first of Ace’s punches land in Rock’s gut and used the explosion of pitch black rage that flooded me to coil the muscles of my leg for a kick aimed at the back of Obelisk’s knee.

“What is going on here?”

A powerful, male voice cut through the chatter of enthralled students. Vice Principal Blueblood stood at the rear of the gathering, a head taller then even some of the vertically gifted middle school students. His powder white face leered over the crowd at the five of us in the center. I heard Rock’s knees strike the floor as Break dropped him. Without being asked, students parted before Blueblood as he began to move. His imposing frame and manly features lent him an almost heroic appearance among the smaller bodies and his form-flattering snow white suit contributed to an air of obscene divinity. The Vice Principal stopped just inside the circle that closed behind him and performed a signature set of gestures, straightening his immaculate silver-grey tie and brushing back an imaginary strand of golden blonde hair into his cartoonishly luxurious mane.

“Well? Is anyone going to speak up?” Blueblood barked. My voice was matched by Ace’s as we both sprung to action, stepping forward to speak. In seconds, we were shouting to be heard over the other. Blueblood seemed to balk, as if we were dirty peasants advancing on a wealthy baron. He raised his hand to silence us and shouted, “Enough!” Pushing past, he approached Break and Rock. “You two, why does it look like there was fighting? And who was using that foul language?” Rock lay on the ground clutching his stomach and looking like he was about to lose the lunch he hadn’t eaten.

“It was this kid, sir.” Break answered with haste, “He started it with Ace. Ah was jus’ holdin’ ‘im back.” The bastard may be a dunce, but he was cunning; his statement wasn’t strictly false so no one would speak up to dispute it, not with the threat of being targeted next and especially not with Blueblood involved. Our Vice Principal had a knack for misinterpreting information in favor of students from wealthy or influential families and drawing others into the conflict or punishments, whether they were active participants or not. Break was certainly from a wealthy family and the only reason he didn’t attend Crystal Prep Academy was because not even his parents could bribe his grades past the board of educators over there. These two alone were responsible for dozens of undeserved detention sentences and Break’s final warning seemed to have as many incarnations as the letters it took to spell out every lecture he ever received.

“What do you have to say about this, young man?” Blueblood said, crossing his arms as he stood over the cringing, moaning form of Rock.

“Sir, please, let me explain what—” I said, stepping around to Blueblood’s front, but I was cut off again by the sound of Rock’s visceral heave as he poured a small load of bile onto the lunch room tiles. Dozens of young voices rose in cries of disgust and alarm. The ring of students dilated as many tried to get away from the scene before they were affected by the sight. It was too late for someone only a few feet away from me. I heard the burble of their stomach beginning to invert itself and I turned to see the poor, anxious-looking beauty from before dropping her tray of untouched, vegan spaghetti as her hands shot to her mouth. She spun, hair flying in a pink whirlwind as she made her furious way to the nearest trash bin, nearly knocking over another student. This one had not yet been lined with a bag, so the sound of her vomit splashing into the bottom of the large, plastic drum was somewhat amplified, setting off even more cries of disgust. The smell seemed to hit everyone nearest the incidents at once and several more students were already looking ill. A couple students ran to their own bins, breathing heavily and gagging. When the first of the dry-heavers finally let loose their undigested meals, it set off a chain reaction that saw the cafeteria’s population either dashing for the doors or looking for unoccupied bins to put to gruesome use.

I simply stood, watching the room empty before us, amazed at how the situation had devolved into a mess so alien to the original conflict. Vice Principal Blueblood had been among the first to leave, shouting something about getting a janitor or nurse in a high-pitched feminine cry that betrayed the fragility of his manly, dignified front. Without meaning to, I caught Ace’s eye and, without a word, we exchanged stunned looks. He mumbled something to his two thugs and they began to walk to a set of doors.

Before them, exited the pink-haired girl and another female student with overdone violet hair and a cotton-pale face marred with yet more overdone makeup. The weeping former was supported by the latter as they shambled from the room. Though Rock knelt on the floor beside his vomit, still clutching his stomach, something strange and unwelcome came over me and I began to laugh. It started as a halting, hearty chuckle that wouldn’t stop. When Ace turned back to me from the doors, I was surprised to see a shaky grin on his own face. Soon, he joined me and we both stood, laughing from our gut for no discernible reason. He left, still laughing loud enough to be heard over the general chatter and panicked discussion in the halls. I don’t know why I took the dress, stuffing it back in the box and carrying it with me as I went to help my friend up. Relief washed over me as Rock began to chuckle as well, between coughs. I don’t know if he was amused that I took the dress or if I had become a vector for a strange, contagious hysteria.

The cafeteria staff who stood in the entryway to the kitchens watched us leave in silence, apparently too confused by what had just happened. I couldn’t really blame them, most were elderly and probably hadn’t seen live brawling in person for ages, much less anything like the series of unfortunate events that followed. I slung Rock’s arm around my shoulder as we made our way to the doors. I could see several students through the square windows talking to much taller figures. One looked our way and pointed, causing one of the adults to turn and shoulder the door open for us.

“Oh! My goodness, is he alright?” The woman asked. I recognized her from one of my classes; an apprentice teacher who sat in twice a week. A kind-hearted college graduate, the sight of whose rosy hair and cerise skin usually came with a vague, floral scent. Even through the persistent stench of stomach acid and food-slurry, I caught a refreshing whiff of her perfume.

“I’m a tough guy, Ms. Cheerilee.” Rock croaked.

“I’ll just take him to the nurse, I’m sure he’ll be alright. Just a little nauseous and dizzy from whatever happened in there.” I said. Ms. Cheerilee gave us a concerned look but said no more as I resumed walking Rock to the nurse. It seemed like the notoriety of Ace’s prank had fallen to the wayside, as the topic of conversation in the hallways invariably concerned the incident that occurred afterward.

By the time we arrived at the nurse’s office, it looked like the medical bay of a combat zone, minus the blood and severed limbs. Several kids were laid over a few collapsible cots and multiple sets of chairs. Many were groaning, some simply held buckets to their faces, occasionally spitting into them or dry heaving. There were far more students here than even a rough estimate of the ill that had left the cafeteria; I recognized two of them as peers whose lunch period came before mine. It dawned on me that I should be grateful for the timing of the milk carton that had made my lunch unpalatable. The lone nurse on duty was rushing about, checking the eyes and mouths of sick students, reading thermometers and looking thoroughly frustrated by everything. Behind us, the traffic consisted mostly of hurried adults, some guiding single-file lines of students away from the cafeteria. A slew of teachers, engaged in rapid conversation, power-walked down the hallway, headed by a sweating Blueblood that looked to have lost his poise altogether.

The middle-aged nurse took notice of me and Rock with a double-take when she noticed the blood still running down Rock’s face. She ran a hand through her frazzled, lemon-lime hair, took a breath, and sighed with tired diligence. She looked about and waved us over with a gloved, peach-colored hand. Rock began a ragged coughing fit as she guided us to a lobby waiting chair and eased him onto it.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything else for you to lie down on, at the moment. Can you sit up? Are you nauseous?” She said, handing Rock a few paper towels to cough into and wetting another set with alcohol. She waited for him to still himself and began wiping the blood away from his cut.

“Yes, muh-ma’am a little. But I can sit up. It’s not ge...getting worse.” Rock said, staving off the next coughing fit, just long enough to answer. He brought the paper towels to his face and unleashed a set of wet, wheezing barks into them. When he pulled them away, there was red amongst the yellow and green. Rock didn’t seem to notice, having tilted his head back to rest against the wall

“Uh, Miss?” I said to the nurse who had turned away and was switching out her gloves for a fresh pair. The nurse saw what I was pointing to and gasped.

“Okay, wow, uhm...give me a second. Emergency Services has already been called, but I’ll reach out again. Shame this all had to happen during rush hour traffic.” She said, bustling over to a phone. As she was turned away, dialing, I handed Rock a fresh pair of paper towels. Pinching the others by a corner as I tossed them into a metal, office garbage bin.

“What…?” Rock asked, in a shallow murmur.

“Your cut is just kinda deep, you’ll need stitches, but you should actually lie down.” Rock nodded and leaned forward. I helped him to the floor beside the wall after checking to make sure it didn’t look like it had been vomited on recently. A nearby box that had formerly been full of supplies lay open, bubble wrap hanging over its side. I pulled the packing material out and bunched it under his head. Rock lay back on it as I removed my jacket and placed it under his legs. By this time, the nurse was finishing up her hushed conversation over the phone. She hung up and turned to us with a look of pleasant surprise.

“How did you know…?” She began.

“My mom’s a doctor. A really good one.” I said, unable to hide a proud grin. “Actually, if you need to look after him, I can help some of the other kids.” I offered. The nurse looked dubious for a moment, but after looking back to Rock for a moment, her expression turned grim.

“Legally, I can’t ask you to do that. But…”

“If I took it upon myself to bring them cold water, ice packs, and baking soda while you weren’t looking…”

“Those are perfectly appropriate ideas, but I absolutely forbid it. I’m the healthcare professional and you should return to class.” The nurse said, turning away and making herself extraordinarily busy with Rock. Still grinning, I set the gift box on the desk and stepped away toward a supply closet. While I was gathering supplies, several more students had shown up, all looking freshly ill and reeking of vomit. I directed them to the stack of buckets the nurse had the foresight to put beside the door and set to work on the rest of my ailing peers.

I knelt beside a sweating kid that looked to be two grades above me. He lay on his back with an arm thrown over his eyes. His lips were already beginning to crack from the acid and spittle froth had crusted in the corners of his mouth. When I tapped his shoulder, holding out a cup of water, he tried sitting up and promptly collapsed with a wavering groan. He looked like he might be sick again so I passed him the bucket he had already put to use.

“Hey, just relax, man.” I said, “When you feel steady enough, just take real tiny sips from the cup. The cold water should help with the nausea. I’ll bring an ice pack as soon as I can; that’ll help, too.”

He nodded and rolled to his side in a jerky motion, gagging. Nothing but air came up and he relaxed, still holding the bucket.

“Hold that thing steady for a sec.” I asked. He complied and I tossed in a few pinches of the white powder from the jar. It frothed and bubbled as the base reacted with stomach acids. “Thanks.” I said, and tasted a bit of the powder, to be sure. Definitely baking soda. With that, I left my first patient a swisher cup full of the acid-neutralizing solution and instructions to wash his mouth out with it as soon as he felt like he could stomach the briny taste, unless he wanted his teeth to get a jump start on losing their enamel.

As I was gathering the bottles and cups, a feminine voice called out behind me, speaking in a subtle, posh accent that sounded somewhat forced.

“Excuse me! Oh, excuse me! You, with the water!” I turned to see the girl with the overdone hair and makeup, waving to me from the other side of the room. She knelt beside her pretty, pink-haired friend looking panic-stricken with black streaks of mascara under her watery eyes. The other girl lay across a set of cushioned chairs, not moving. I snatched up the rest of my supplies and jogged over.

“What happened? She doesn’t look conscious.” I said.

“I don’t know!” The girl whined, “I was trying to help her relax but she kept saying she felt sick and I didn’t know what else to do, the nurse already gave her some water and checked her temperature but she kept getting worse and worse and started breathing really quickly and...oh, you’ll help her, won’t you?”

It took a moment to process everything she said.

“Sounds like an anxiety attack. I don’t think she ate anything from the cafeteria today, which is probably why everyone else is sick. Does she have any phobias or...uhm...prominent fears?” I said. The girl looked thoughtful for a moment before answering with a sheepish half-smile.

“Well, sort of...everything? Fluttershy gets nervous easily, at any rate.”

“Hoo, boy…” I sighed. “She probably just hyperventilated, then.” I set my supplies down and hesitantly opened one of her eyelids. Though her expression was one of discomfort, even in her unconscious state, she still looked doll-like and her skin was so soft, I had a sudden vision of her collapsing into shreds of delicate paper-mache at my touch. Her pupils weren’t dilated. “I don’t think she’s in shock. We just need to get her somewhere quiet so she can calm down when she wakes up. Is she really that excitable?”

“You don’t know the half of it…” The posh girl said, staring at her friend with eyes that were beginning to grow watery again.

“Well, if you wanna take her legs, I’ll take the other side and we can get her out of here.” Before the girl could answer, someone spoke up next to us in a hoarse voice.

“Here, I’ll switch with her and you guys can take her on this cot.” The speaker was a boy from my home room class with severely mussed sapphire blue hair and parchment-yellow skin. He wore a newly stained shirt that bore an image of a blue shield, overlayed by a golden lightning bolt. At the time, it was strange to see him without his hair neatly combed and matted, though he wore the look well, even in his sickly state. “I’m feeling much better now, anyway. Mind if I get some of that baking soda, though? Gotta protect these pearly whites.” He said with a cough and a thin smile.

“Yeah, no problem.” I chuckled as I prepared the cup. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and rose on shaky knees. The girl beside me leaped to her feet to steady him, wrapping her arms around one of his in a cozy grip.

“Oh, darling, do be careful.” The girl said, beaming up at him. “And thank you, ever so much.”

“Happy to help.” He replied with a slight blush. I resisted rolling my eyes.

“Your name is Flash, right?” I asked. “Sorry, I know we’re in the same home room, but I’m bad at names.”

“Yeah, that’s right. And you’re Gyre?” I nodded. “Nice to finally talk to you, man. You’re a good guy.”

“Thanks…yeah...” I said, suddenly conscious of the distance I’d put between myself and those around me. “Anyway, can you help me with your friend now, miss?” The girl seemed to snap out of something as she watched us.

“Rarity.” She said. I hesitated, not understanding. “Miss Rarity.” She clarified.

“Oh! Oh. See? Really bad at names,” I said. The others shared a laugh before Rarity let go of Flash’s arm and moved to help me with Fluttershy. I handed the cup of solution to Flash and gingerly lifted Fluttershy’s head until I could slip a hand under her back. This was the most I had ever touched a female, besides my mother, and my face grew hot as the new sensation registered as pleasant in unfamiliar ways. I nodded to Rarity as she placed her arms underneath her friend’s legs and we lifted together. Fluttershy was so easy to move, we set her down seconds later with only the barest sense of fatigue. Meanwhile, Flash had turned pale and grabbed a bucket, laying down on his side, propped up on one elbow. “Hold tight.” I said, rushing back to the office. I took several frozen ice packs from a full-sized refrigerator in the rear of the bay, more water bottles, then hurried back, putting on the same show as before.

When I returned to the front, I came face-to-face with the hulking form of Obelisk. He stared at me with one slate grey eye, the other swollen shut and already beginning to discolor. His greyish violet skin shone with perspiration under the fluorescent lights. He already seemed to be quivering in rage. Rarity stood behind him, looking between us with nervous anticipation, her hands placed delicately over her mouth. Even Flash had taken notice, looking on in alarmed interest. I couldn’t move. I thought Obelisk would lunge for me any second, as if I was somehow responsible for whatever had happened to him since the cafeteria. But he didn’t. After what felt like several minutes, the cold of the ice packs had become unbearably painful. I took one of the culprits in my free hand and offered it to Obelisk without thinking. He remained stoically silent, but didn’t take it right away. Eventually, he reached out and took the pack from my hand with unexpected civility. A thought occurred to me and I reached back over the desk, retrieved the bottle of painkillers, and offered it to him. He took it and a bottle of water from my leaden arms.

“There...there’s a chart on the wall over there.” I pointed to a poster with my chin, printed with text and several detailed images, “Eye injuries are statistically high in schools so it tells you what to look for in case you might have a broken eye socket or a mashed eye or something.” I’d memorized the chart, courtesy of a certain goon-flanked psychopath. “If none of that applies, just take the pills and keep the ice pack on it and you’ll be alright.”

Obelisk said nothing as he turned away and moved to stand in front of the chart, leaning close to read the small print with one eye.

Rarity visibly relaxed and strode over to me.

“That was very...mature of you.” She said in a hushed, reverent tone.

“I guess.” I said, still dazed, myself. I drifted over to Flash and placed an ice pack by his waist. “Put this on your head for about twenty seconds at a time, it should help with the nausea.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, if you feel up to it in a minute, could you hand these things out?”

“Yeah, I should b—” Flash’s sentence was abruptly cut off by a guttural gurgling as his stomach suddenly decided an inversion was long overdue. Rarity and I turned away in disgust as a fresh volley of chunks spilled out into Flash’s bucket.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll just hurry back.” I said, placing everything under the seat that held Flash’s feet. I nodded to Rarity and we positioned ourselves on either end of Fluttershy’s cot. Using the same timing signal as before, we tenderly lifted her from the floor and began to shuffle to the closed door at a smooth pace. We stopped beside a familiar face that jogged a memory. “Be right back.” I said, setting down my end of the cot first. I skipped around the crowded floor to the pile of ice packs, took one, and danced back, placing the pack by the sick student’s waist and giving him the same instructions I gave Flash. I opened the office door, engaged the kickstand and resumed my position at the cot. Rarity and I traveled a short distance down the hall before coming across an empty science classroom. After setting her friend down and closing the door, we agreed it was quiet enough. Rarity took a stool from behind the teacher’s desk and settled into it beside the cot, at Fluttershy’s head.

“Thank you, Gyre.” She said, offering a warm smile. For the first time, I saw past the makeup, noticing that I was standing in a room with two gorgeous girls, not one. “You and that Flash fellow are such gentlemen. And I admire the way you handled running into that...that brute. Especially after what they did to you and your friend. And on your birthday, no less!” She paused “It is actually your birthday, isn’t it? That wasn’t just part of their prank?” I shook my head.

“No, it really is my birthday today.” I said with a shrug, then I remembered the book from my aunt and cursed under my breath.

“Oh, dear. Well, Happy Birthday, darling.” She said, her smile growing sad. It was clear she was fond of saying that word, ‘darling’. It did have a certain classy ring to it when spoken just right.

“Thanks, Miss Rarity.” I teased, grinning. She gave a small laugh that sounded more like a courtesy before gazing down at her friend, who stirred with a faint whimper. Once again, my face grew hot as I realized my attempt to be charming fell utterly flat. I trudged to the door. “Anyway, I should go, just don’t let her stand up too quickly when she wakes up.”

“Before you go…” I stopped and turned back, a tiny light of hope reigniting. “I have to ask,” My heart began to pound as I noticed the pretty girl’s cheeks beginning to rouge. “Why did you keep the...dress?” I died inside a little bit.

“I don’t know.” I said with a heavy sigh, before an idea blossomed in an instant. “Yoyos probably aren’t your thing, but if you saw a beautiful one, made of gold and crystal, lying in the ashes of your recently burnt-out home, would you leave it be or take it with you?”

Rarity’s expression turned thoughtful.

“Good question.” She said, looking at something in the distance. “That certainly is a beautiful dress. I’d love to know who made it. I’m a bit of an aspiring designer myself, you see.”

“Well, then it’s yours.” I said.

“What?” Rarity said, placing a dainty hand across her chest. “No, no, I couldn’t possibly…’ She stopped as she saw the incredulous look I wore. “Well, I understand if you don’t want to keep it, but perhaps you should donate it to someone who actually needs a nice dress.” I laughed out loud at this.

“It’s a costume from a terrible Nightmare Night play.” I said. “And it’s...probably tailored for a male.” Rarity tittered at this and blushed again.

“Yes, that it is, I suppose.”

“Tell you what: you do me a favor by getting it from the nurse’s office, so I don’t have to be seen carrying it around again, and you can take it home to study, then donate it for me when you’re done. If you don’t still want it, of course.” She shot me a toothy grin as I finished my proposal. “Who knows? Maybe you can tailor it to fit a more feminine profile and make a gift of it.”

“Oh, Mister Gyre you drive a hard bargain, but I do believe we have an accord!” Rarity said with mock ceremony.

“Shall we shake on it?” I extended a hand and she hopped from the stool to take it by placing her slim fingers in my palm. They felt unexpectedly tough, despite their delicate appearance. We performed a single, curt shake and she swept from the room with a giddy bounce in her step. Fluttershy didn’t stir during the whole thirty seconds Rarity was gone. When the door opened again, I saw men and women in brightly colored vests approaching from further down the hall.

“Looks like the cavalry’s arrived to relieve our militia of duty.” She said as she passed me, patting my shoulder with her free hand. “By the way, somehow those ice packs and water bottles made their way around, even though Flash and Nurse Lilygreen looked rather occupied.”

“Huh.”

The aftermath of that day was difficult to characterize. After parting from Rarity and fetching an EMT for her friend, I was found and escorted away to join the rest of my class. They had been evacuated in case the widespread sickness was due to a gas leak or chemical hazard. By the end of the year, it was determined that the incident had been caused by a shipment of infected noodles from a disreputable distributor. It was a budget-saving decision made by Vice Principal Blueblood whose personal connections with the Flim Flam Distribution Co. incited an investigation that faced too many setbacks to get anywhere. Still, Blueblood was fired, based on several other demerits. His replacement came in the form of the lovely Vice Principal Cadence, a woman as caring and lovely as she was professional. It was by her efforts alone that Rock managed evade legal troubles for his attack on Ace. She coaxed out enough testimonies from our peers to provide a solid case for Rock against Ace and his father, whose occupation as a cop was expected to spell doom for my friend. Not only did Rock sustain mild internal bleeding, but Ace was practically unbruised, casting him in an unfavorable light. Somehow, I was passed over for everything that had happened that day, other than my ‘self-indulgent attempt at heroics’ at the nurses office, for which I received a month of special detention at an alternate school. This re-established most of my anonymity by the time I returned to regular classes and the rest of the year passed in relative peace. Ace and his goons still made sure I had to keep my guard up at all times, of course.

Rock never told me what he was doing in the cafeteria that day, since it wasn’t his lunch period. He explained that he ‘just had a feeling’ and stopped there on his way back from a restroom break.

Author's Note

This chapter's song: Blood Like Lemonade - Morcheeba

The tune of the 'Birthday Song': Pretty Irish Girl
I do not own this song - (c) Disney