The blood rushes through my head like an out of control freight train. My breathing is loud and labored; my palms sweaty, my legs light. I look down to see tiny splotches of blood all over my favorite white shirt. This alone is cause for freaking out, but for some reason I'm not.

An odd sensation overcomes me—an electricity, if words must describe it. The crowd is mostly silent. They stare with expressions that are hard to place. Can't say I blame them.

I'm straddled above a black teen named Byron, my fists lowered only after realizing that he's too weakened to fight back. Byron picked a fight with me. He has lost, but he didn't go down easily.

I'm partly in disbelief that I've won a serious fight, but my thoughts are quickly broken by the sound of shouting voices. The teachers have finally arrived, and they're all pretty pissed off. It suddenly occurs to me that I've committed a very serious offense, one punishable by suspension or even expulsion. The panic I left behind is suddenly back again. Instinctively, I get to my feet and bolt.

I zip across the lot in record time and make it off school grounds. Some of the teachers make a half-assed attempt to follow me, stopping early when they realize my running skill is far greater than their own. That, and the injured teenager lying on the concrete is a more immediate cause for concern.

I jog casually to the adjacent sidewalk when I'm certain of no longer being followed. I don't know why I ran. A moment of blind stupidity, I guess. They'll probably phone home, which is the last thing I'd want them to do.

Returning home tonight isn't an option. I hate my parents and they hate me, so they'd be more than happy to murder me once they get word of what I've done. I continue to walk thoughtfully down the street for several minutes until I act on a decision I'd contemplated since I fled. I take out my cell phone, and dial the number of a friend of mine, Conner Ross. He picks up after 5 beeps.

“Shit Erik, is that really you?” a rough voice questions on the other end. “You're in deep shit, you know that?”

“I realize I'm in trouble, there's no need to rub it in,” I respond quickly. “You saw the whole thing, right?”

“Yeah, you handled him really well. Pretty damn impressive, if this was your first fight.”

It was, but I'm not concerned about praise right now. “What's happening over there?”

“Pure chaos, last I checked. They had to call an ambulance to treat Byron. Lifted him onto a stretcher and everything. The cops came soon after, which is why I had to back off. They're questioning everyone who saw the fight.”

“Crap. Listen, this is pretty sudden, but I need to crash at your place for the night. You know how it is with my folks. I don't need to face another night of lecturing.”

Connor pauses, but I know beforehand that he won't refuse. “Alright, but you know you can't run from them.”

“Yeah. I just need a night to cool off. I'm thinking of turning myself in tomorrow.”

“That's probably the best idea. I'll see you at my place. We can talk more then.”

“Later.”

I hang up, and my head suddenly feels light. How could things have come to this? Yesterday, I was a normal high school junior with a knack for staying within the box and avoiding trouble. Now I'm a step away from expulsion, and tomorrow I must explain myself.

The walk to Connor's house seems to take an eternity.