He stepped closer.
Benji determinedly didn’t flinch. He lifted his chin. “So what? You’re here to warn me off again?”
Michael shook his head so slowly the hairs on Benji’s neck stood up.
“No,” he said. “You’re a simple guy, Benjamin. Right? Let’s handle this the simple way.”
Then he slammed a fist into Benji’s cheek.
Benji staggered. Pain exploded through his skull. He hadn’t been punched in the face inyears. He’d forgotten how quickly it disoriented him, how his eyes filled instantly, and how the next few seconds were chewed up by trying to focus on anything that wasn’t the shock.
He held up his hands, still reeling.
“Wait,” he managed.
But Michael’s fist came down again. Benji twisted so it hit his ear, the force of it making him stumble sideways.
He caught himself against the wall. His head throbbed. His ear ached. His hands trembled. He was trying to be better, to besofter. For Max, for Noah. But he wasn’t taking this shit lying down.
Michael’s fist came up again.
A dozen fights ran through Benji’s head: his dad teaching him how to punch, some kid charging him outside the school gates. Another kid dragging him into the dirt, rubbing it into his face. Benji teachingMaxhow to punch, sure to show him not to keep his thumb tucked in his hand—something their dad forgot to mention, leading to Benji breaking a bone in his hand in second grade.
Defending Daphne outside a club and getting slapped for it. Falling into a fight at a house party, entirely by accident.Throwing himself onto a fellow senior in the cafeteria the week after Aunt Nat died, the guy’s jeering smile dropping as Benji lunged at him.
Whatever it takes to survive, his dad always told him.Don’t get fancy with it. Take them down as fast as you can and then get the fuck out.
Michael surged at him.
Benji headbutted him in the stomach.
Michael bent over, his breath whooshing out of him. He clutched his stomach and tried to straighten up.
Benji slammed a knee into his balls.
Michael let out a horrible cry and crumpled to his knees. He stared up at Benji with wet, accusatory eyes, a vein popping in his forehead.
“Fucking… cheat,” he choked.
Benji thought very hard about spitting on him. About kicking him in the jaw. About finding Max and running for the hills. Aunt Nat liked to say he had two modes: bite or avoid.
He backed away, arms aloft. Trying to feel as triumphant as he was trying to look.
“You think I fight fair?” he panted. “Stay thefuckaway from us, man.”
Michael tried to stagger up. He fell to his knees, his face bright red.
A faint voice echoed down the hall. “Benji?”
Benji’s heart plummeted. He spun to see Max standing at the end of the hall, his arms piled high with the weird, fancy vending machine food.
“What’s happening?” Max asked.
Michael groaned, trying to push himself up.
“Nothing,” Benji said. “Come on.”
He headed toward him. But the hallway was tilting, all those black and white squares bleeding into each other.
