English sounds little more than gibberish. Although it's one of my favorite subjects, I can't keep my mind focused on class. My mind is stuck in the past. I can still sense the adrenaline of the fight. The life threatening blows. The thrill of the experience. It's as if some part of me is craving that violence once again, and I can only wonder if this is abnormal, or just a symptom of male testosterone.

Before I know it, I'm stepping out of the class room. I start for the stairs when a hand grabs my shoulder roughly. Having become paranoid, I shiver. When I sense that nobody's about to punch me, I turn around. I come face to face with Connor's 'all business' look. It's a good acquaintance of mine.

“Going to meet him?” Connor asks.

“Yeah. Is something wrong?”

“Don't you think you're being too trustful of them?”

“Hey, I'm only trying to relax. Just because Byron came after me, doesn't mean that these guys will want to.”

“They have no reason to be friendly with you.”

Typical Connor. Out of all the friends in my 'inner circle,' he's probably the most levelheaded one. This characteristic also makes him the easiest guy to talk to; more so by the fact that our history extends way back to middle school. “Are you saying they're planning to jump me?”

“It's possible. You never know.”

I roll my eyes. “Come on. Why would they go through the trouble of casual talk, if they wanted to brutally attack me?”

The stern look never leaves his face. “You're not giving them enough credit. They could be luring you.”

“Could be. But what am I supposed to do?”

“That's where I come in.”

“What?”

“They never said that you couldn't bring a friend. Any reason why I shouldn't tag along?”

“But--” I cut myself short, realizing it's pointless to argue. When Connor has his mind set on something, he can be surprisingly persistent. Out of all the times I've debated with him, and that's a fair number, I've never once won. Not because I couldn't, but because he was so stubborn that I'd have no other choice than to give up.

Besides, if anyone should accompany me, it's him. He's the most physically built of the bunch. Of course, if he's right, and they have ten guys lined up waiting to beat us up, then we're screwed. But I doubt this.

“What are you guys talking about?” a new voice questions.

I whip around. It's Sharon, who must have followed me out from English class. My two friends share in common a tendency to dog me. Sometimes it's a blessing because they keep me in line; other times it's a curse. Now is likely one of those times it's a curse.

“Oh, hey,” I greet her awkwardly. “We were just on our way out to meet some guys.”

“...Oh...”

I manage to pick up on the obvious tone change. “Something wrong?”

“Well, you never did tell me what's going on with you these days,” she begins. “I thought we could talk for a while.”

“Ah. Sorry, but can we do that another time?” I ask. “There's something Connor and I have to do that won't wait.” In truth, I don't want to drag out the conversation much longer. I know I'll start to feel guilty if we continue-- it's been over two weeks since I last spoke to her, after all.

“Sure, I guess...” she says with a hint of disappointment. “But you'd better keep to that promise.”

“Of course,” I say, already forcing Connor away. “Thanks, Sharon.”

We sprint down the stairs without another word. I glance over my shoulder for a brief second, half expecting her to be in the same position. To my surprise, she's already left.

As we walk towards the main hall, Connor playfully punches me. I rub my shoulder as the pain starts to crawl over my arm. He's quite ignorant of his own power.

“You disappoint me,” he says.

“What? What did I ever do wrong?”

“Are you really that clueless?” He stares at me as if I've gone mad. “You're really more of a bonehead than I thought.”

“Would help if you explained.”

“Sharon. She obviously likes you.”

I feel my face burn red. “We're friends. Nothing more.”

“That's what they all say.”

“I mean it.” I push him lightly, trying to keep my voice from rising.

“Friends for so long?”

“Why not?”

He has a half grin on his face. “You're not fooling anybody. There's obviously something else going on between you two.”

“Bastard.” I utter jokingly. Connor's intuition is as sharp as ever. He's rarely wrong when he makes a big judgment, to the point where it almost seems like he can read my mind.

Then again, I suppose my thoughts are outwardly obvious; seeing as I'm counting the floor tiles and all. Over the years, I've developed a sort of soft spot for Sharon. Never did label it as serious love, though. After all, I'm the anti-ladies' man, so I could never be in a real relationship.

Truth be told, Sharon's one of the two people who I can really be open with. The other person is my older sister. It's ironic in a sense, that of all the ways I repulse woman, two of them are quite close to me. They're different from the guys because there's no need to put on a tough guy front-- I've found that I can be more of myself when I'm around them. Sadly, this is a rarity in my world.

“You should go for it, man.” Conner interrupts my thoughts.

I raise my head in annoyance. “Go for what?”

“Asking her out. You do like her back, don't you?”

“Drop it,” I say, dodging the question. “Besides, I'm not a relationship person. Not like you.” I mentioned that Connor's very persistent. This goes double with his love life, I think. He's been going out with the same girlfriend since grade 9. Her name's Heather Snow. It's like the two of them want to be married or something. They've showed no signs of their relationship slowing down, that's for sure.

Heather's pleasant enough in personality, but unfortunately, my woman's curse extends to her too. Our personalities don't mesh well together. I don't see how this works, being the 'good bud' of Connor that I am.

“Only because you keep thinking you aren't,” Connor says.

“And it's true. So let's drop the subject, alright?”

He doesn't respond; only taps my arm lightly. I look down, and see his arm pointing slightly ahead. I adjust my vision to where he's pointing. It's Gordon and Nathan, both leaned against the wall to our right. They appear deeply immersed in some conversation as we approach them.

“Erik, you've decided to come after all,” Gordon says casually when he notices us. “And right on time.” He glances at Connor. “Bringing a friend with you?”

“This is Connor,” I state. “Hope you don't mind if he tags along.”

“Nope. Let's get going.” He jumps to his feet. “Car's right up at the front.”

I freeze. “Wait, we can't talk here?”

“Well, no. The thing I want to talk to you about needs to be shown. Don't worry, it's won't take very long to get there.”

They continue to walk ahead, but I hesitate. Nathan stops at the door and gives me a quick motion of the head. I figure now is not the best time to back out, so I follow them out of the school and to the car. It's a silver Corolla. I'm not exactly the biggest car fanatic, but I think it's a 90s make. The car is somewhat mature looking, so it's an interesting choice for a student.

I almost get caught up in my thoughts again, until I realize that everyone else is in the car. Gordon rolls down one of the windows. “I did say I wouldn't bite, didn't I? Get in the back seat.”

I nod, and step inside without another thought. Connor sits to my right, while Nathan sits in the passenger's seat. The car slowly makes its way out of the lot, then out to Oakley Drive.

“Yo, put on some music,” Nathan utters. Only one sentence from this guy and I don't think I'll get along with him very well.

Gordon's eyes wander briefly to the rear view mirror. “You guys like rap? Hip hop?”

“Can't stand that shit.” Connor answers before I have time to think. “No offense, but it's like jamming crap into your head when you listen to those lyrics. Rap used to okay, but now it's just terrible. There's no originality anymore.”

“Whoa, someone has strong opinions!” Gordon says. “It was Connor, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What about you, Erik? What do you think?”

“Pretty much the same idea as Connor,” I respond. “I prefer metal, actually.”

“Metal, huh? I see. I like some rock too.”

“You guys are rockers, huh?” Nathan speaks up. “Figures, you do look like them.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Connor asks.

The conversation about music keeps us occupied for the entire ride. I have my strongly opinionated friend to thank for breaking the ice rather effortlessly, and begin to realize that these guys probably mean no harm. In fact, they're not such bad guys. Trying a tad too hard to be charismatic, but not bad at all.

About fifteen minutes in, we're driving around the Birkwood subdivision—commonly recognized as one of the more urban parts of Middleton. Suddenly, I remember my purpose for going along with these guys—to find out more about why Byron attacked me. It strikes me as odd how we haven't even broached the subject.

“We're here,” Gordon announces. “My place. Nice, eh?”

I look out the window. We're pulling into the lot of a grand, modern looking duplex. It has a perfectly manicured lawn to boot. It's the type of place I'd expect from a guy like Gordon—fits the hip image to a tee.

“C'mon, let's get inside,” says Gordon. We finally remove ourselves from the cramped confines of the car. The smell of fresh air is almost intoxicating. Birkwood is not a place I have seriously explored; but then again, I'm not exactly one to travel. It's known for its many malls, shopping centers, and sports centers—though none of these are very attractive to me. Compared to my simple neighborhood of Grant Hill, the atmosphere here is noticeably different; more upscale.

I follow the guys up the front door of the house, then inside. As I'd expected, the interior is as impressive as the exterior. Just looking from the main hall, I can sense how spacious the house is. The décor itself is nothing too special; a modest amount of assets organized over plain white wallpaper. But it's almost as if there's a deliberate arrangement to all that blankness between the paintings and sculptures and furnishings—feng shui, maybe. It gives the impression of someone a cut above the rest.

We finally settle on a curved couch in what I presume to be the living room. Gordon offers us some drinks, but Connor and I decline. It's all about business for the two of us.

“Now then,” Gordon begins. “I suppose we should get down to business. About what I wanted to tell you about.”

“First, tell me about Byron. Then you can get on to whatever else you wanted to say,” I state. I'm immediately surprised at myself for giving commands to him.

“No problem. That's what I planned to do,” Gordon claims. “You see, Byron and I were acquaintances, but not good friends. I'm sure I've already told you this. I began to learn more about him through...” He pauses thoughtfully. “Common interests, let's say.”

“What kind of common interests?”

“That's where it gets complicated. The other subject I wanted to talk to you about is, coincidentally, related to what I knew about Byron. And it's not at all a happy subject.”

“I don't mind.”

He gives me a sort of odd look, then continues. “Have you ever seen a movie called Fight Club?”

I'm confused by the jarring change of subject, but I answer in spite of myself. “Yeah. It was a great movie; probably one of my favorites in fact.”

Gordon grins. “Same here. What was your favorite part about it?”

The question takes me off guard, as I hadn't actually thought it through. “Uh, the concept I guess. Just the whole idea of the fight club sounded so far-fetched, but the movie made it look believable. I mean, a bunch of guys getting together just to duke it out... that's really something.”

“Fight clubs aren't all that far-fetched. I heard that they spiked up in popularity after the movie got released. Especially among high schoolers like us.”

I freeze, starting to catch on.

“The truth may be hard to swallow, but I swear I'm not lying,” Gordon says. “I watched Byron get into fights. He was part of a fight club I organized, and we met inside this very house.”

“Shit,” Connor exclaims automatically. “A fight club? That stuff's illegal as hell, you know that?”

“So's a lot of stuff. But that doesn't stop teens like us from doing it,” Nathan says matter-of-factly. “It's practically written in our nature to seek risks.”

My heart misses a beat from that sentence alone. I begin to form a good idea of why these guys brought me here. A fight club. In the most likely case, they want to invite me.

I'd been craving the violence of a fight ever since the past week or so. But I thought something was wrong with me. I mean, I've heard of fight clubs before, but I never thought they actually existed--much less that I'd actually find one.

Connor is right, though. I'm not sure whether to jump at the news or be disgusted by it, so I merely say, “Keep going.”

“With the fight club, we knew it was illegal, but we had certain rules,” Gordon continues. “To make sure no one got serious injuries or anything. As you might have guessed, we never had any problems with the rules until Byron joined. At a certain point, we decided that he'd taken things too far.”

“Byron was a tad too violent for the club, as ironic as it sounds. He was a total asshole whenever he lost, always pissing and moaning like his opponents cheated or something. We assumed his anger erupted at some point. He started being too aggressive on his opponents, beating them up even when they were down. We even had a guy who got a rib injury because of him. Took a lot of bluffing to get out of that one.”

“The point is, we didn't have any other choice but to kick him out.”

“And he didn't try to retaliate?” Connor inquires.

“Well, no,” Gordon answers. “There's not a whole lot one guy can do against a group of other guys who can fight. That, and he couldn't exactly tell the authorities either. The club's a well kept secret. It'd be like admitting his own guilt if he told them about us.”

“Good point...” I say. “So what you're trying to say is that because Byron couldn't do anything, he decided to vent out his anger in a different way?”

“That's exactly right. We think Byron just couldn't control his aggression, and you just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. And we're sorry for that. But to honest, you did good by beating him down.”

“Yeah, if anyone deserved it, it was him,” Nathan pipes up.

I sit silently for a while, trying to absorb all this information. All of the pieces logically fit together, yet they still feel out of place. I have a nagging suspicion in the back of my head that there's more to it; that we could be missing more. Byron said something before the fight that made me consider his motive, but the exact words fail to come to mind. I try my best to dismiss this idea.

I tilt my head up. “The fight club. It's still going on, isn't it?”

“Right. You're sharp,” Nathan says. I can't tell whether he's being sarcastic or not.

“I'm sure by now...” Gordon says. “You've figured out why we've invited you here.”

“You want to me to join the club,” I say.

“As they always say, the more the merrier. We have 21 regulars right now, including Nathan and I. You joining will make 22. And if Connor wants to join, 23. There's plenty of room for more.”

“This is all sort of abrupt. I mean... a fight club. Pretty big news you had there.”

“To be honest, I didn't expect you to make a decision today. Heh, two strangers you've never met before, asking you to join a club. Of course it's not an easy choice.”

“But why?” Connor asks. He has a tendency to take the words out of my mouth when I can't bring myself to speak them. “Like, do you guys just invite random people into the club whenever? Isn't that risky?”

“Actually,” Nathan replies. “The official rule is that only Gord here decides who joins and who doesn't. But anyone is free to make a recommendation if they see someone they like.”

“And what I saw in Erik fighting Byron, I liked,” Gordon finishes. “Byron was no slouch. His record was more wins than losses. Yet Erik here managed to make him look like a chump. I was a little more than impressed.”

“Was that your first fight?” Nathan asks.

“Yeah,” I respond.

“All the more reason why you would fit in perfectly,” Gordon says. “You have natural skill. I think that's kind of rare.”

“I don't have fighting experience.”

“And neither does anyone else in the club. What did you expect, a group of guys who knew kung-fu? We're just a ragtag bunch of free-stylers. Really, all that matters is everyone having fun; and we do exactly that. It's a great way to kill time and blow off some steam.”

“I don't know,” I answer. My gut is telling me that I do, in fact, want to join this club. If not just to see what it's all about. I enjoyed going toe-to-toe to Byron. This I inwardly confessed to myself a long time ago—and people like these are only reassurance that I'm not alone. My caution, on the other hand, is something I can't abandon no matter what I try. Not only would I sound awkward by being so eager, I'd also put pressure on Connor to make the same decision; a less than desirable side effect if we're not on the same page. “I'll need to think it over.”

“Then take your time. It's what I suggested in the first place, after all,” Gordon reassures. “Just let me know at school by Friday. The club's basically 'open' every Friday night. You could say it's something of a males-only party.”

“It's odd, though,” Connor says. “How the hell do you guys manage to do this? Without getting caught?”

“Reasonably lucky circumstances,” Gordon answers. “I have a decent-sized gym in this house. It holds upwards of fifty people, so we've had no space issues yet.”

“And your parents?”

“They work at nights during the weekdays. I've been a latchkey for years now.”

“Lucky for you,” I say bitterly. “I'd trade places with you any day. Speaking of which...” I suddenly remember to check my watch. “It's 5:10. I'd better be on my way home now. My parents are kind of antsy after the whole fight thing, so they're probably ticked off that I went somewhere without telling them.”

“Ha!” Gordon chuckles. “Well, okay then. I guess there's no time to show you the gym, then. Your big introduction will have to wait until Friday, if you decide to come.” He rises from the couch. “C'mon, I'll drive you back.”

I nod and stand up. Connor and Nathan soon follow. We shuffle our way out of the house, the general mood drowsy in spite of all the things mentioned. Gordon locks the door behind him. He motions for all of us to stop moving, then takes out a slip of paper and a pen. He asks for cell phone numbers and e-mail addresses. We exchange two for two.

The sun burns bright today. Deception, however, is always near.