The harsh cry of the bell rang out into the crisp morning air.

Three.

The double doors slammed open with a bang. Kids flooded out. Laughter pealed through the air. There was a dull brown of chatter that clung to the wave.

“Targets locked. The Unholy Trinity is within range.”

Francis Flats shoved his way through the stream of kids, his pimpled face a head higher than the rest. In tow was Archie Mueller, and hooked upon his arm was Catherine Beatriz, whose ginger hair was pulled into a tight knot at the top of her head.

Two.

The Unholy Trinity made a beeline for the cafeteria, cutting a path through the crowd, other students giving them a wide berth as they went along.

“We gotta clear sh-shot.”

One.

“Fire!”

Kip’s voice was a holler above the rest, a cry of war. He lobbed a gooey, sauce covered meatball straight for Francis. The meatball burst into chunky pieces upon impact with his face.

A shrill shriek left Catherine’s lips when another exploded on her chest, the bright brick red sauce splattering across the highlighter pink fabric of her shirt. She stood there, heavily glossed lips agape.

“Food fight!”

Someone chucked an apple across the courtyard, another hurled a smushed sandwich. A chocolate milk cartoon struck Francis in the back of the head and spilled over the nape of his neck. Kids scrambled away from the open space, ducking under tables or behind trees as food continued to fly through the air.

Freddy sniggered. He leaned over, closer to Kip, and high-fived him. “Nailed it!”

“G-G-Guys,” Tommy sputtered, nearly falling backwards off his perch. He frantically pointed down at Archie, as he grabbed Francis’s arm and pointed up to the tree.

“You’re dead, Spazz!” Francis roared as he pushed a kid in his warpath aside, blocky face twisted into a scowl.

“Fucking shit,” Kip swore.

He scrambled out of the tree, Freddy following suit, landing on his feet next to Kip. Tommy landed on the ground last with shaky legs that buckled underneath him.

“Flats is gonna fight Mouth!”

Kip hauled Tommy up, hand clutched tightly onto the skinny boy's arm, just before Francis shoved him backwards into the trunk of the tree.

“You think you’re funny? You and your faggot friends?”

A small laugh left Kip’s lips, his eyes rapidly scanning the courtyard. A wall of kids formed arounded them, silent, save for the one boy who was screaming for them to fight.

"Well, you see," He began, straightening upright, an eyebrow quirking upwards slightly, "I was just trying to add a little aesthetic touch to your appearance." His lips curled upwards smugly and he shrugged. "Can't help it too much though, you're still pretty grody."

"Looks like you make a shit artist. Maybe if you were better you can fix your face."

"Maybe if you shut your trap for a moment then you can actually think of a good comeback." 

"You're still gonna get the shit kicked out of you even if you keep stalling," Francis smirked. 

"Nail him already!" A voice cried out from the crowd.

"Bet they would like to 'nail' you, Francis," Archie sneered.

Tommy glanced over to Freddy, who's lip quivered, and eyes glistened, watery and ready to overflow. He could feel a drop inside his stomach, a rollercoaster speeding downhill on the track, hurtling forward.

"Shut the hell up!"

His hands curled into fists and he swung at Francis, face twisting into a scowl, and sucker punched him in the jaw. Francis stumbled back, eyes wide as dinner plates momentarily before he came forward with a bitter laugh, and decked him square in the face.

There was a crunch, and Tommy's cried out at the sharp, initial stinging pain and everything went black.