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He was working on what must have been a personal project, as there weren’t any assignments left for him. But every so often while he was typing, Mike Wen or one of his two gym-rat flunkies would reach over his shoulder and press a random bunch of keys on the keyboard.
“Boop,” Mike said as a series of complex statements turned to gibberish.
It was perhaps the nerdiest form of harassment ever invented, but still. Rutsuo kept plugging away without telling them to stop, fixing his code over and over. I could tell he was bothered, but he wouldn’t say anything. And the teacher on duty was in the bathroom.
“Anyway, it’s because we’re celebrating my cousin’s MCAT results,” Yunie explained. “Apparently she did well enough that my aunt needs to force the entire bloodline to stop and congratulate her.”
“Boop,” said one of the other guys around Rutsuo.
“I think the only reason my parents are going is so they can pull the same move if I win my concours,” Yunie went on. “It’s like, gee, thanks for the additional pressure.”
“Boop.”
I wasn’t listening. I slammed my palms down hard on the table as I stood up to put an end to this.
But someone else beat me to it.
“This game looks like fun,” Quentin said, his fingers tight around Mike’s wrist. “How do I play?”
Mike tried to yank his hand away, but he was caught fast in Quentin’s grip. There was an audible balloon-rubbing sound that promised the mother of all friction burns on Mike’s forearm when this was over.
“Back off, shrimp,” he said, his face turning red. But even with both arms he couldn’t get Quentin to let go.
“Am I winning yet?” Quentin wondered.
One of Mike’s friends, John or something, threw a sucker punch at Quentin’s head. I saw it coming but couldn’t say anything fast enough.
Quentin turned his head just enough to let the punch slide by and clasped John’s fist under his chin. I didn’t see how it was possible, but he had the other boy held just as tight as Mike, using only his neck.
The third one whose name I couldn’t remember also tried to hit him, but Quentin swung his leg up like a contortionist and clamped the guy’s fingers in the crook of his knee, squeezing hard enough to make him howl in pain. All four of them were wrapped up together like a human octopus. The way he was stretched out it should have been Quentin screaming, but he just laughed at the writhing, shrieking goons he’d trapped.
“Boop,” he said, pressing Mike’s nose hard with the heel of his free hand.
“The hell is going on here?” Androu bellowed as he stormed into the room.
It wasn’t a teacher intervening. But it was the next best thing. The whole school, even the punks like Mike and his crew, respected Androu Glaros.
Androu was a senior, but it wasn’t like he was the student council president or the captain of anything. He just had a natural charisma that made people listen to him. Admire him. Nurse a secret crush on him ever since he gave me the new student’s tour on my first day of school.
Hey, it’s not my fault. He’s one of the few guys around who’s actually taller than me.
Androu was naturally an imposing presence, his impeccable posture and steely eyes giving him the air of a poorly-disguised reporter who was always ducking in and out of phone booths when disaster struck. But Quentin looked up at him, nonchalant as can be.
“We are having the fun times together,” said Quentin, regressing his English in a manner I now knew was more intentional than not. “Would you like to also?”
“Oh, drop the newcomer act, Quentin,” Androu snapped. “This isn’t acceptable anywhere.”
Quentin’s grin held but became a little more rigid. He unwound his limbs from his victims, who ran off while spewing a bunch of curses. No one paid them any mind. They didn’t even qualify as a sideshow to the epic staredown going on.
“You are late to the scene,” said Quentin. “But somehow still early to judgment.”
“I know what I saw,” said Androu. “And I heard what you did to Genie.”
I nearly jumped at my name. While the whole school knew about Quentin’s first day, and had spent a good week pointing fingers at me and laughing, I didn’t think Androu cared enough to get upset about it.
“It doesn’t matter whether you’re ‘adjusting,’ ” he said. “Pull this crap again, and we’re gonna have a talk with the faculty.”
With the last word firmly in hand, he exited stage left, continuing his journey onward to wherever it is heroic hot guys go during Sixth Period.
