Free Satan's Revenge by Celia Loren Page B

ignore him.
    “Ava told me she feels sorry for you,” he whispers under his breath. I refuse to look at him, but my hand starts twitching under the table. “I told her how you work at a gas station. She laughed.” He leans forward. “That’s a job for fucking immigrants. It’s you and the guy straight off the boat from fucking India.”
    “Alright everybody, gather around for this part,” Mr. Laurits calls out.
    Stools scrape the floor as we all stand up and form a semicircle around Mr. Laurits at the front of the classroom. I get a spot near the back, where I always stand because of my height, and out of the corner of my eye I see Derek position himself just behind me and to my left. I can feel his breath on my back.
    “I think I’ll get my dad to buy that gas station,” he whispers. “It’ll be fun for me to come back home from college and see you still behind that counter. Oh man, I bet you have to clean up the bathrooms there, too. How’s it feel to know that’s all you’ll ever do with your life? Just clean up shit. That why your parents gave you up?”
    I feel anger light me up like I’ve been set on fire. I spin around to face him and I’m just in time to see his fist meet my cheek. My head snaps back, but to my surprise, I don’t fall. And to Derek’s surprise, too, judging by the look on his face. He doesn’t know I’ve been hit before, by former foster dads, and they were way bigger than he is.
    I’m vaguely aware of the guys around us stepping back. Before I can think, I cock my fist and slam it across Derek’s face, a solid jab to his nose. There’s a crack, and blood starts pouring down his chin. My left arm is up now and following up with a cross to his right eye. He falls backward and I jump on top of him, grabbing the front of his shirt. I raise my right arm again and bring it down on his right cheek two more times.
    Around me, I hear yelling, and as I raise my fist to hit him again, I feel myself being yanked up and back. I struggle against whomever’s holding me, wanting to cause Derek some more pain.
    “Enough, enough,” I hear yelled into my ear, and I jerk my head back angrily to see Mr. Laurits looking down at me intently.
    “Scott, that’s enough,” he repeats, and this time I believe him. I nod, and he lets me go.
    I look down at the floor to see Derek still lying there, holding a hand up to his bloody face. He looks up at me, fear in his eyes.
    The anger drains out of me as one thought crystallizes in my head: I’m in trouble.
    A couple of hours later I sit with a bag of ice on my swollen right hand. My face hurts a little from where Derek hit me, but my hand is much worse. It’s after school, and Mr. Laurits told me to wait here in the shop while he and the principal meet to discuss my fate.
    I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I’m glad I hit him back, but it was the feeling I had when I was doing it that surprised me. Like I had no control over myself. Plus, I didn’t know I was that, well, good , at hitting someone. All my weightlifting hasn’t shown itself in much increased body mass, but I guess I am a lot stronger than I used to be.
    If the principal and Mr. Laurits tell my case worker about what happened today, I could be pulled from the Ralstons house and put into a group home. Hell, that’s actually a good scenario. The real danger is going to juvie. They’d classify me as violent and I’d have to spend the next couple years escaping beatings or worse.
    Fuck. I can’t believe I lost it. But that crack about my parents…
    “What happened to you?” a gravelly voice asks from the door. I glance up to see Flint standing in the doorway. He looks…a little amused, actually. “Though maybe I should be asking, what happened to the other guy?”
    “The other guy got punched in the face a few times,” I admit with a shrug.
    “He deserve it?” Flint asks.
    “Hell, yes,” I reply with conviction.
    “I’m probably not supposed to be saying this