Jake Fisher remembered things most vividly when he was getting his face bashed in. Surprisingly, his memories were not of the pain. Once, as some kid crushed his head against the ground, he noticed how a single tree root could lift an entire slab of sidewalk. Another time, when someone slammed him into a car bumper, Jake noticed how chrome bubbles and flakes when it gets old. Today, he noticed how rough a chain-link fence felt as his cheek was being squashed up against it. His flesh pushed into the diamond-shaped gaps like Play-Doh forced through a spaghetti strainer.

“Is that all you got?” Jake grunted to the boy in the blue varsity jacket over the roar of the other kids.

The boy grabbed the fence on either side of Jake and shouldered him harder into the steel links. The thick white embroidery on his jacket read Chris.

In addition to helping block out the pain, focusing on other things helped Jake avoid a full-blown asthma attack. He thought about how great things had been back in Texas until his father had destroyed everything…yet again. This was his fourth school in just as many years.

When Chris took his weight off, Jake stumbled around and lifted his fists. Sweat prickled the back of his neck. He did not want to be thought of as a coward. Crazy is better than coward.

“You gonna start anytime soon?”

The surrounding crowd howled like hyenas circling a lion’s kill.

With the fence at his back, Jake knew no one could sneak up behind him like that one time in Tennessee when some kid cold-cocked him with a lunch tray. Anyhow, the fence might actually keep him on his feet. Falling meant a risk of a more serious injury. Kicks were worse than punches.

“Why don’t you just mind your own business?” The boy’s jaw muscles pumped fiercely with every word.

Jake thought about how stepping into the fight had been so effortless. He had grabbed Chris’ arm before he knew what he was doing, saving that other kid from the beating that was now coming his way.

“Mason deserves what’s coming to him,” Chris said.

“No one deserves a beating like that. He wasn’t even putting his hands up.”

Chris shoved Jake backward. Jake heard a clang and then felt the pain of his head striking metal.

“Leave him alone, Chris,” a tall red-haired girl said. “He’s like a sophomore or something. You’re twice his size.”

“He started with me. I’m gonna finish it.” He pushed his fine blonde hair to the side, and it fell perfectly into place. Jake envied hair like that.

Jake did not want the girl’s pity. He knew his first few weeks at any new school were crucial. Being defended by a girl would only solidify his role as a wimp.

“You had enough yet?” Jake asked. His words came out weakly, between light wheezes from the back of his throat. He felt the familiar needling in his lungs and patted his pocket for his inhaler. “My grandmother hits harder than you.”

Jake was surprised at how swiftly Chris moved. His actions seemed more like a panther’s than a seventeen year-old’s. Had he not been the object of Chris’s aggression, he would have complimented him. Chris wrapped his arms around Jake’s waist, shifted under him and arched his back. Jake surged into the air and everything turned upside down. When they landed, Jake’s body rattled. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder into his neck.

“Perfect takedown!” someone yelled.

“Two points!” another howled.

Jake rolled to his back. His lungs were blazing and he could not suck in a breath. Whenever his asthma flared up, Jake felt like metal bands were wrapped around his chest and a chunk of apple was lodged in his throat. This was the tightest he had felt the bands in a long time and the largest the chunk of apple had ever gotten. His eyes blurred with tears.

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” the crowd chanted. Chris scrambled around and put Jake into a headlock. He drew back his right hand and curled it into a fist.

“Teacher!” someone hissed.

Chris froze before the first punch landed. The mob of students scattered.

“This isn’t over,” Chris said. “And stop your panting, Wheezer.” Then, Chris disappeared into the sea of students.

Within seconds, Jake lay alone, gasping next to the fence. He scrambled for his inhaler. His fingers fumbled with it and he placed the nozzle into his mouth. He forced a painful breath and discharged the vapor. The medication crept into his chest. The metal bands loosened and the chunk of apple disappeared. The odor of potato nuggets from the cafeteria exhaust fans flooded his lungs and burned into his memory like a flashbulb white spot.

Mr. Ferraro, one of the gym teachers, rolled Jake onto his back. “Are you okay, son? Get up. We have to get you to the nurse.”

Jake struggled to his feet, leaned forward and propped his hands on his thighs.

“Son, what happened? Who’s responsible for this?” Jake panted a few moments longer while he thought about what to say.

Finally, he stood up and lied.