My left eye opens slowly, not quite registering my surroundings. There's people around me, fiddling with my face, which hurts so bad I try to swat them away with my open hand, which sends a jolt of pain right below my left armpit so severe it makes me moan.

"Stay quiet, please. I'll give you something for the pain," a female voice says, one I don't know. I follow her advice, though, trying not to breath too deep, which also hurts like hell. "You might have a broken rib there."

I wince in silence as I just lay down. The woman puts an oxygen mask in my face, like I'm about to die, and when I focus my open eye enough, I notice I'm inside what looks like an ambulance.

The rest of the day happens in a blur at the hospital in Preston, where I'm diagnosed with a cracked rib, a broken left pinky, and several bruises of minor importance. My right eye is okay, apparently the x-ray they did hadn't revealed anything wrong with the bones, and once the swell subsided a bit, I could see with it just fine. The doctor is pretty much done examining me when the door to my hospital room swings open, and a nurse signs for someone to enter, after which Mom walks in. I almost expect her to go straight to me, but she acts like I'm not in the room while she talks to the doctor.

I just lay back slowly, trying to fool my rib, and close my eyes as I listen to the doctor's briefing, how he tells Mom once again how lucky I am, how it could have all been worse, and how I should be more careful in the future. Then a small briefing on the visiting hours, how I'm allowed someone to accompany me, as I'll be held here for the rest of the day to make sure nothing else complicates. Mom thanks him for everything, and the doctor leaves the room, leaving me to deal with Mom on my own. I keep my eyes closed, hoping that's enough to sway the wave of hostility I expect from her.

Instead, she lands a kiss on my forehead, and softly asks me, "How are you, honey?"

It hurts like hell. I'm all mangled or broken. "I'm fine."

"Lyle told me what happened."

"Did he?" I ask, suddenly meeting her eyes.

"Yes," she says, smiling. "It was a challenge to get the story from him with Grandma in the car complaining at every word."

Whoa. Did Lyle brave a car ride with Mom and Grandma all the way to Preston? "That's kind of an impressive feat," I say, trying not to laugh, because that sounds like a painful idea.

"He's outside, but he can't come in until visiting hours."

There's a small silence while Mom leaves a small duffel bag I didn't notice she was carrying on top of a small cupboard, next to a small tube TV.

"I'm sorry," I say, finally. Not like I really am; I'd fight Rude again without thinking it, but I realize this might be disappointing from Mom's perspective.

"You're just like your father was, really." A wry smile creeps up to her face. She leans on the cupboard. "A reckless idiot."

"Wow. Harsh."

"It's true, though. When I met him we were about your age. And he loved to go full renegade, fist-fighting wrong-doers left and right, convinced he'd make a better world for people like me."

It's more or less the same story Dad told Rude yesterday when he stopped our fight, the one about him fighting bullies alongside Rude's father.

"I didn't know any of that," I say, slightly offended that my father would so openly share these things with Rude and not with me.

"Yup. He ended just like you right now more than a few times." A new silence envelopes the room, allowing me to further munch on how little I know about my father. "He wouldn't change his ways until he found out I was pregnant."

"Huh. That sounds like something he'd do."

"He did!" Mom says, now beaming. "You should ask him to tell you the rest of the story. It was all sorts of deranged and crazy back in the day, but in hindsight? Those were fun days."

"I have a hard time thinking you'd find that kind of thing any 'fun', really," I say, though I was meant to just think it.

"Well, to be fair, seeing you all maimed like this worries me to no end."

"I suppose."

"But Lyle painted you as a hero who would go and fight this huge guy who had the entire school on check for so long." Her arms flail around gracefully, illustrating the epic dimensions of whatever Lyle told her. "And inside, I pumped a fist. Because, way to go, Johnny."

"Who are you, and where's my mom?" No, really. I don't know who this stranger is. Not sure I'm ready to complain, though.

Mom laughs. "You really think I'm some kind of crazy witch, don't you?"

"I kinda do, yeah."

"Wow, harsh," she says, mimicking me earlier. She slowly walks to me, and carefully cups her palm around my cheek. "I do not approve of you getting in fights like this, of course. Would I love it if you could talk your way out of these problems instead? Absolutely. But, I also understand that's not always an option. That's why I'm glad you know how to defend yourself."

"I got rusty in Celadon Bay, though."

"You did!" she says, narrowing her eyes, but still smiling. "The John I used to walk to Karate in Sunset Central used to win entire tournaments without getting this beat up."

"There were a lot of rules that don't really apply in a street fight," I say in my defense, but I realize I don't have to prove anything to my mother.

She smiles like my usual proud mom. "I guess you have to start training again."

"I'll be fine," I say. "I look like I got beat up, but I'm pretty sure I won."

"And you think this 'Rude' won't try to take revenge?" Mom asks, playfully poking my nose. "Or his friends?"

The Fist. I forgot Rude was at least pretending to be part of their gang. Will they come after me for this? They can't really be that short-sighted. Or can they? They sure went after Newt, after all, and his mother's store.

I'm suddenly worried, not just for myself, but also my family. Will Mom be fine, locked at home with Grandma? Will Dad be? Two knocks on the door bring me back to the room. Mom opens the door, and to my surprise, Zeus himself is on the other side. Mom walks outside instead of letting him in, and I'm glad she did. For a while, the entire room goes silent. I use this time to focus on my breathing, as the doctors suggested to take slow and deep breaths to keep my lungs healthy despite my rib.

A few minutes later, the door opens again, but instead of Mom, it's Zeus himself who enters the room. Neither of us say a word at first, and Zeus paces the room slowly, like he's counting the tiles on the floor. This man drilled me for months that I shouldn't talk unless I'm asked, so that's what I do.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asks, his thunderous voice tuned down to a deep one that reverberates all around anyway in the silence.

"Painkillers work wonders," I reply, not sure what this man is doing here.

"That was a raw display of skill back there," he says, and for some reason it sounds like he means it. Does he like watching kids beat each other to a bloody pulp? "It's clear you know your martial arts quite well."

"Oh." Well, now this is unexpected. I was sure he was going to say I'm at least suspended for a couple weeks, if not expelled from school, instead of him complimenting my fighting prowess. "Do you know martial arts, Mr. Sunderland?"

"Not as much as I'd like to, I'm afraid," he says, a hint of a smile stretching his lips. "But it's obvious that your moves are measured and deliberate. You are clearly agile with your footwork, you know how to hit, and how to take hits, as well."

Spot on.

"Mr. Riggs, on the other hand, is more... unconventional, if you will, but he had an edge on size, reach, and raw strength."

"You sound like you know your fights very well, Mr. Sunderland."

Zeus walks to the window, crosses his arms behind his back as he watches the street below. "Humans have fought even before the rise of civilizations, Mr. Foster. We have fought for everything imaginable. Food, territory, religion. We fight for good causes, for ideals, even as a form of entertainment. Fighting is one of the two natural reactions when one perceives danger. I'm sure you're familiar with the fight or flight response."

"It rings a bell."

He finally turns on his heels facing me. "One of the reasons why I'm here right now is to ask you what exactly you reacted to, that caused that fight earlier."

I take a minute to arrange the whole story in my head before speaking. There's no way I'm going to lie to this man. I'm in enough trouble already as far as school is concerned to add wood to the fire. "It is complicated," I say vaguely, recalling my conversation with Dad last night, when I said the exact same thing.

"I'm sure there's more to it than I know about," he says. "I want to know the facts Mr. Riggs isn't willing to tell me."

"I don't really know if you're aware but, he's a bully."

"I don't want to sound accusatory, but it looked like you were the one doing the bullying today, Mr. Foster."

"I'm sure Abigail Scarborough doesn't feel the same way."

"What about her?"

"Rude and I had a... an exchange yesterday, because he heard Scarborough and I were friends, and he didn't like that I was apparently associated with her."

"They have had some differences in the past," he tells me, like I don't know.

"That discussion from yesterday came to nothing because my father was around and stopped what was going to be today's fight," I continue. "And today, when I arrived at school, I saw Scarborough had a black eye. I knew Rude Riggs had to do with it, and that's how we ended fighting."

"Do you have any proof that Rudolph Riggs attacked Abigail Scarborough?"

Rudolph. Rude is Santa's reindeer.

"I don't need any proof. I know it was him."

"But you have no proof."

"I asked her if he did it, but she wouldn't respond," I plead, realizing that Zeus has a point. "She doesn't speak to anyone at school."

"So I heard."

"And nobody does anything to stop Rude because he's associated with The Fist or something like that."

"The Fist?"

"Don't you know? It's a gang of no-goods that bully people around, and nobody is brave enough to stop them."

"Where did you hear this?"

"From some of the people Rudolph bullied," I reply, Rude's real name actually tasting sour in my mouth. I kinda get why he goes by 'Rude' instead. "Are you perhaps familiar with Charles Newton?"

"He was one of my students until he transferred to another high school here in Preston."

"Well, he doesn't go to any high school at all now."

"Is that so?" Mr. Sunderland says, tipping his head slightly. "What a shame. He was a brilliant young boy."

"He's too scared to leave his house because of Rude... Riggs bullying," I explain to him. "And then, once they were sure Newton wouldn't leave his house anymore, The Fist went to his house and destroyed his mother's store, too."

Mr. Sunderland closes his eyes in a frown, and stays silent for a while, concern visible in his features. This is not the same literature teacher that barked at Lyle to get out of his classroom that first day of school.

"Are you a hundred percent positive about the information you're giving me?"

"You can go to the Newton's house and see for yourself, if you don't want to believe me."

"This is most disturbing news, Mr. Foster."

"They are," I say, trying to ball my fists, then I remember my left hand has a cast now. "Look, I don't know if you believe a word I said. And I don't know if you will agree with my motivations or not. But Rude had to be stopped at some point. I don't know if I'm in trouble or not, which I probably am, I guess. I just had to do something to stop him, since nobody else does."

"I will investigate into everything you just told me personally, Mr. Foster," he assures me, now slowly pacing the room. "If what you just told me ends up being true, I'll make sure none of this happens again."

"I have a request, though, if you don't mind," I say, to conclude this conversation. "It would be a good idea if you keep my friendship with Charles Newton a secret, to maybe prevent another fight like today. Riggs won't like me being friends with him, either."

"You have my word."

Then the door swings open, and Dad is arguing with someone else in the hallway. "I don't care who's inside. This is my son you have in this room." And then he ignores Mr. Sunderland entirely as he walks to me. "Hey there, Champ. How are you feeling?"

"What do you mean? These are just scratches," I joke with a smile, suddenly forgetting we had a fight yesterday. Mr. Sunderland leaves the room, as Mom walks in.

"I was supposed to stay at Aloha, but I just couldn't stay put, as you can see."

"Now you know how I used to feel, back in the day," Mom vents, nudging Dad lightly. "You didn't used to end much different to John."

"That's in the past, Liz."

"A badass past, or so I'm told, Mister Vigilante?" I push, and he finally allows a smile to lighten up his face.

"Not a mantle I want to bestow on you, son, I can tell you that much."

I repeat the same words I told Mr. Sunderland a minute ago, because I truly believe them. "I just had to do something to stop him, Dad."

Dad tries to smile, but then something unbelievable happens, as Dad's eyes fill up with tears. I repeat, my dad has tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, John. I thought I could talk some sense into Rude yesterday, that's why..."

"That's not why I was mad at you yesterday." It kinda is, but that's not important. "It's that thing about Abby that really made me angry."

Dad sighs as he wipes his tears. I can tell he doesn't like me pursuing the subject. "We'll talk about that when you recover, okay?"

And then, because I'm no longer pushover John, I press further. "We will."

You can be sure we will.