In the heart of a dense forest, moonlight cut sideways through the trees as a band of warriors faced down the orc horde. The Elf had eyes like eralds and hair that fell down his back in a long dark river, and he notched an arrow to his bow with the easy motion of soone who had done it a thousand tis. Beside him stood a Human, his sword catching what little light ca through the canopy. A Lizardman whose scales glistened with sweat. A Dwarf, beard bristling, ax already in his hand. A Goblin baring his teeth in a vicious grin. And a rather attractive Catgirl, who spun her daggers between her fingers like a card sharp shuffling a deck.
"Ready yourselves, friends," the Elf said. His voice was steady despite the danger.
"I should have drunk more ad last night," the Dwarf said. His voice was slightly slurred but his hands were steady.
No one laughed.
The tension in the air was a living thing. Each warrior breathed it in, made it part of themselves. As the orcs drew closer their guttural grunts filled the night, and the heroes answered with a war cry of their own.
The Elf released his arrow, sending it flying straight and true into the throat of the largest beast. The battle had begun.
"Watch your flank, Goblin!" the Human shouted, parrying a blow from an orc's crude weapon. The Lizardman's tongue flicked out, tasting the battle lust that hung over them all. He lashed his spiked tail and impaled two orcs in a single stroke, sending them reeling. The Dwarf swung his mighty hamr and crushed another beneath its weight.
"Look out!" cried the Goblin, leaping to intercept an orc that had slipped past the others and was about to bury its weapon in the Catgirl's back. The creature snarled and lunged, but the Goblin's agility saved her, and he struck the orc down with a swift slash of his knife.
The Catgirl blew him a kiss and stabbed two more orcs.
Just as the tide seed to be turning, a deafening roar echoed through the forest, silencing the chaos of the battle. From the shadows a monstrous figure erged. The Orc Chieftain, towering over the rest. The warriors exchanged grim glances. They knew this would be their greatest test yet.
"Hey, Wes! Earth to Wes!"
I blinked.
The bus rumbled beneath , transporting back to reality and away from the battle I'd been buried in. Blue eyes, blonde hair, upturned nose, rosy cheeks. Emma. My childhood friend and neighbor, who I hadn't seen in months and who was looking at right now with the particular brand of concern she reserved for monts when she suspected I'd lost the plot of being a person.
"Sorry," I mumbled. Caught daydreaming. Again. "Got pulled in."
"Of course you did, Wes." She slid into the seat next to . "What are you reading?"
I shrugged. "Typical. High fantasy. Interesting one, where they don't really na the characters by their actual nas. They just call them by their race. Like it's a title or sothing. Human. Elf. Dwarf. Beautiful Catgirl. The whole crew."
Emma smiled. "Sounds confusing. And racist."
"Racist against who, exactly?"
"People are not their race, Wesley. Even fantasy ones. And why is the description of the catgirl beautiful? Like it's a predetermined thing?"
"Because it is a predetermined thing. Who wants to write about an ugly catgirl? Obviously." I closed the book on my finger. "On a totally unrelated topic, when did you get back?"
Emma sighed. "Mom and I got back last night. It would've been earlier, but Mom and Dad got into it again. It was at a bowling alley this ti, with my cousins around. Not fun. I bowled my high score, though."
"Twenty-three?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Twenty-seven. And shut up."
I chuckled. "What were they fighting about that kept you from coming ho until right before school?"
She shrugged. "I lose track. It wasn't a total bust though. Look what Mom got as an apology."
She pulled out a brand new smartphone. A fancy one too.
I put up my hands in mock fear. "Keep that thing away from . I don't want to catch consurism from you."
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"Okay, Marxist. Relax. You're not going to catch the TikTok bug."
"I think you an Maoist. And that's incredibly rude to say."
Emma turned to look at . "Why is that exactly?"
I laughed. "Honestly, I'm not sure. You'd have to ask my dad."
"I don't think I have ti for another lecture on capitalism."
"Then take my word for it."
"Never."
Her eyes locked on mine and we both smiled. Emma had killer eyes and a great smile, and there was a reason she got her way with schoolmates and teachers alike. The eye contact went on a beat too long. Color started to creep up her neck, and I looked at the seatback in front of us until it stopped.
"I walked to the treehouse last night," she said. "You weren't there. Give up on living in it?"
I gave her a withering eye-full. "Of course not. There was no way my dad was going to let sleep in the treehouse the night before the first day of school."
"Sure, sure." She turned to face forward. "So what did you do all sumr? Besides read."
I gave her a pointed look and snorted.
She turned back. "You didn't?"
"I didn't what."
"You didn't spend the entire sumr sitting in your treehouse reading and picking your nose."
"How dare you. You know I have kung fu twice a week."
"So you went to kung fu twice a week and then sat in your treehouse and read and picked your nose."
She glared. "Better?"
"Much better. Still not totally accurate."
She raised an eyebrow. "What does that an?"
"Just what I said."
Her gaze flicked to the spiral notebook sticking up out of my backpack. Spine cracked, pages dog-eared, sticky notes in three colors.
"So how does it compare to your book?"
My face went red.
She was talking about my manuscript, of course. The thing in my backpack. The thing I wrote on paper because the words flowed better that way, even though it ant the whole project was a disaster of crossed-out paragraphs, arrows pointing at sections that needed to be moved, and post-its with plot points and easter eggs stuck to pages they no longer belonged on. Less organized. Harder to track changes. But the story ca to fruition in that dium in a way that it didn't on a screen.
"What do you an how does it compare. Of course it's way better. This—" I glanced at the cover. "This gal is a published author. I'm a thirteen-year-old nobody. It's not even a contest."
Emma's expression was placid. "You know if you'd just let read it, I could give you so feedback. I'm sure it's great."
"Actually," I said, before she could really land the request. She was going to ask. I was going to say no. It would make her sad. I'd rather skip the whole thing. "I should tell you about so annoying stuff that happened a couple weeks into the break. I was in the treehouse, minding my own business, when—"
The bus ca to an abrupt stop.
A chorus of groans went up. Outside, Firelake Middle School's parking lot was the sa disaster it always was on the first day. Yelling parents. Yelling teachers. Yelling staff trying to direct the tide of incoming cars and buses through the controlled stress of opening morning. The school had been bursting at the seams two years ago. It hadn't gotten any roomier.
Emma and I stood and shuffled into the line to exit the bus. A nice older lady with dark skin and white hair ushered us forward. Older but strong. I didn't know her last na. We just called her Ms. Constance.
She gave us a warm smile as we stepped down.
"Co now, children. This way. Don't dally. Oh, Connie, blessed child, it's good to see you again. No, no, darling, we'll catch up later. Hello, Collin. I swear, boy, you are growing like a weed. You make sure you behave today and make your sweet mother proud."
She caught sight of Emma and and broke into a bigger smile. Emma slipped under her arm for a one-ard hug.
"Oh, dearest Emma. You get more beautiful every ti I see you."
Emma bead. "You hear that, Wes? More beautiful every ti. You should be taking notes."
I sighed theatrically. "Take notes on what. How to lie effectively?"
Emma and Ms. Constance both glared at , though Ms. Constance's glare lacked so of the sharper edges I knew she possessed.
She turned back to Emma. "We'll catch up later, child. You get yourself to the quad and stay out of trouble." Then she glanced at . "That goes double for you, Wesley."
I put a hand to my chest. "Trouble? Whatever do you an?"
"Get moving, boy."
We did just that.
The throng of students moved toward the playground area the elentary and middle schools shared. As is the natural inclination of twelve and thirteen-year-olds, most of the seventh and eighth graders talked, shared videos, and migrated into smaller cliques. Girls eyed boys. Boys eyed girls. There was a whole lot of tedium that ca with the reaction.
I find the whole ss completely annoying.
Emma and I walked together, looking for an unoccupied piece of grounds to congregate, for lack of a better term. There seed to be commotion everywhere, which was odd, because nothing ever happened here. We live in Washington. Not the cool part with billionaires and jets. We live near a rainforest. Yeah, you heard right. A rainforest in Washington. It's true. Look it up.
Anyway. Nothing ever happens here. So the fact that people were making a fuss at our middle school was unusual.
Granted, I think I knew what it was about.
That's when I saw Aiden, Samuel, Liam, and Beckett. Four boys. All in our class. Four... I don't want to say idiots.
But I'm going to. Four idiots.
They were crowded around Tate, doing sothing. I couldn't see exactly what.
There was a commotion. So yelling. Sothing that sounded like a smack. Emma turned, and I watched her eyes narrow. She gripped the back of the bench beside us. I followed her gaze and saw what she'd seen, the four idiots tornting Tate.
I knew Tate by na and not much more. Two seats over in fifth-grade math. Once, in fourth grade, he'd drawn a perfect map of Middle Earth on the back of a quiz. I'd never forgotten the map. He'd gotten the Misty Mountains right, which is harder than people think. I'd never told him I rembered.
He was small. Quiet. Held himself with the I-am-not-here posture, the one you used when being seen was the worst available option. I knew it because I used it too.
"Co on," Emma said. The determination was already in her eyes. She stood. "We're going to put a stop to this."
"Us?" I stuttered. The apprehension at confronting the bullies was warring with my desire to help Tate and not look like a total fool in front of my oldest friend.
"Yep, us." She pulled to my feet. "If we don't stand up to them, who will?"
I ran after Emma.
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