"So how bad is Blake?" I ask as we head to the other part of town. Our group has grown to a dozen people, the air around us is heavy and charged. It's clear we're either looking for trouble or causing it.

"His nose is broken, so now he's even uglier," Tanner chuckles. "But he doesn't know exactly who did it. Only that those guys were hanging out on the field."

"Don't tell me he decided to deal with them himself." Blake is big, heavy, and strong, but facing a group? That's a tall order. Unless he thinks he's the Hulk, which is entirely possible. I wouldn't call Blake particularly smart.

"He says no," Tanner replies. "But I think he's just embarrassed he got his ass kicked trying to act tough. I told him to wait, but he said they'd attacked him," Tanner's tone makes it clear he doesn't believe Blake's excuses for a second. "But still, his nose is broken, so fuck it. Someone's gonna pay."

We reach the old stadium, surrounded by dilapidated stands. Tanner isn't one for subtlety, so we stride through the front gate to find a small group of guys playing football. Spotting us, they stop the game and huddle closer, apparently in an attempt to appear bigger and stronger.

Tanner sizes them up, anticipation building.

"What's up, suckers?" Tanner jeers, getting a barrage of insults in return, which he ignores. "You know why I'm here. And we're not leaving until we get our payback."

"Go fuck your mama!"

"Either you give me the guys who broke my friend's nose, or you're all gonna get fucked," Tanner retorts.

"Alright, let's do this," Tanner cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, gearing up for a fight. "You fuckers don't kno..."

Just then, a ball flies straight into Tanner's head. Their group erupts into cheers, and ours takes it as the signal to charge. Since I'm right next to Tanner, I tackle the guy closest to him, giving Tanner a chance to recover from the ball hit. I knock the guy down, but he's quick to get up and kicks me. I manage to shield myself, taking the blow to the thigh instead of the stomach where he aimed.

Tanner shakes off the hit, blood streaming from his nose. He spits, then charges at his attacker with renewed fury. I leave him to it and turn to the next guy.

In mass fights, it's easy to get lost amid the chaos of arms, legs, and endless screams and blows. It's best to focus on one target and watch for the attacks from behind. Body hits are usually easier to endure, especially if they land on the back or hips, but a blow to the head - even just one - can knock you down or even knock you out. You don't want to fall in a fight like this; you could be trampled by your own people.

Still, I feel a surge of satisfaction when my blows land true, each strike fueled by a potent mix of adrenaline and fury. Pain for pain.

I spot Tanner sitting on his opponent and pressing the ball against his bruised face. In a moment, I knock down the guy trying to throw Tanner off. We hit the ground with a thud, and a sharp pain shoots through my elbow. Fuck.

I scramble to my feet and kick the guy away from me. I need a moment to shake off the pain from my injured hand, but another hit lands on my side, forcing me to fight back.

The sudden wail of police sirens echoes through the stadium, sending a jolt of panic through the fighters. Tanner's eyes widen in alarm.

Maybe the police are headed elsewhere, but no one wants to test their luck.

"Scatter!" Tanner shouts, barely audible over the blaring sirens.

In a frenzy of adrenaline-fueled chaos, the group disperses in different directions, and the police cars stop near the main road. Naturally, I run away from them. I dart back towards the houses to get lost in a maze of streets and alleyways.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of running, I find myself alone in the darkness of a narrow passage between two shabby houses, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I huddle in the shadows.

I don't know where the others are, but I don't see or hear any signs of the police, so I stay put to catch my breath. The aftermath of the fight catches up with me: not only is my elbow still aching, but so are my shin and knee. Judging by the looks from passersby, my face is a mess too.

After some time, I see Tanner walking down the street toward me, a smile on his lips.

"You look like shit," he says as soon as he reaches me. His face is already clean.

"You're welcome," I grumble back, nursing my elbow. "Are the police gone?"

"They caught some of those assholes and chased after us for a while, but we lost them. So I think it's worth celebrating," Tanner grins. "Let's go get some booze." He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me out onto the sidewalk. We walk like this for a while, so close to each other that I can hear Tanner chuckling from time to time. He thrives on it, the sick son of a bitch.

I can't say I share his mood. I'm kind of tired. And suddenly, I think of Noah. I don't really know why, but the thought of him seems comforting for my aching limbs, even if it doesn't make sense.

So the next day, when I sit on the bus with Noah, I venture to say something I'd never have assumed, "So... about that movie thing," I pause, glancing at Noah.

"Yeah?" He turns his full attention to me, and for some reason, I'm conscious of my maybe visible bruises and scars on my chin and forehead. Maybe I should at least grow my hair a little?

"Um... what about today, after school?" I say.

"Sure!" Noah meets my offer with a smile. "Let's do it!"