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50.

Krav Maga class was charged and brutal. Vitko had heard about Radomir and made them drill for what seemed like forever. Freya held a plank until she felt like her arms would snap in half, trying not to be the first to drop, but of course she was. Vitko brought out the training knives, his eyes fell on Freya to make sure she was ok and she nodded back, she was eager. What if Malcolm had decided to carve her up instead of her tires?

Everyone was so serious, it was strange to see Cameron and Dan go through an entire class without clowning around once. A thrill shot through Freya as she caught Dan’s eyes. They were dark and flashing with intent as he disarmed Cameron. She felt like she was part of something, part of a team in a way she’d never felt in drama class. She caught other students looking around the same way. Everyone felt it.

At the end of it all they ran laps around the gym and here she wasn’t the first to drop out. As everyone else began to flag, Freya, Dan, and Cameron were still going strong. They shared a brief look between as Vitko raised his hand for a halt. They were the runners. She was sure now that she would join the track team in the spring. Vitko gathered all the students for a lecture.

“Now, I know what you are thinking,” Vitko said, pointing first to Dan, then to Cameron, then to Freya. “Your friend has been hurt and you think you should do something about it. Something is wrong and you think, I will make this right. I know you are thinking it because I am thinking it too!”

Freya’s eyes widened. She’d gotten so used to vague feelings being just in her head, it was a little shocking to hear Vitko openly name the electric thing in the air. For a moment, everyone was glancing at everyone else.

Dan was to her left and she saw a hard look in his eyes, something at odds with the rest of his face. The other boys had the same look, they were all trying to be more than they were, striving to be men. Now Freya felt the divide yawning between them. She’d felt so close to them only moments before, but that was only an illusion. She was a jejune outsider, who would never really know what it felt like to be one of them.

How bitter to only glimpse it!

“Look at me now. I am old, I know the cost of revenge,” Vikto said, breaking the moment. He traced along the scar on his neck with his index and middle fingers. That was an impressive scar, not some glorified skinned elbow. Vitko paced back and forth in front of them, in full command of their attention.

“Young men will do what they will do. I cannot make you take the right path. But anyone who is going out picking fights is not welcome in my class. What I teach you here is to defend yourself only. Not to bully. Not to take revenge. Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”

Freya’s face lit up with recognition. Vitko smiled at her as he scanned the room.

“Ha! Only Freya knows this one. Since the rest of you are illiterate I will dumb it down for you. Fighting is always stupid. If you are in a fight and no one is paying you to be in a ring, you made a mistake. My class is about fixing that mistake and paying the smallest price you can for it. Do not go out looking to make the mistake ok? I pay a lot of tax to make sure there are police out there to deal with stupid people who break the law and hurt others. Do not waste that money. Do not waste the time I spent teaching you to be smart by being stupid, Dan Gregulus.”

Vitko stopped pacing in front of Dan. Dan gave a look of fake outrage and everyone laughed.

“OK. Stay strong, stay smart. Everyone did well this week! Stick together! Make time to visit your friend who is hurt. He will always remember the ones who came to see him in the hospital,” Vitko said, dismissing the class.

* * *

No one was eager to go home after the class. A group of Renanin students migrated into Bella Reña Pizza, hungry to keep that strange feeling of accord going.

Freya was just hungry. She ordered a full meatball parm, not caring if someone gave her shit for eating a giant sandwich. No one did, the others were just as famished from the intense workout. Brad Klein was there already, he’d commandeered the booth, and they all squeezed in. Tate was the last to order and the table was full.

“Oh heeeeeey buddy, let me sort that out for you,” Cameron said, and he got up and brought over an infant’s high chair, presenting it with a flourish as everyone laughed. Tate bent low and moved like he was going to try and tackle Cam’s legs. Cam darted aside, but it was just a feint. Tate stole his seat.

“Thanks friend,” Tate said. Cam shook his head in mock-shock, he’d been had. Everyone was clowning harder than usual, trying to shake off the seriousness of the lecture.

“Hey what was Vitko talking about when he called us illiterate?” Tate asked Freya as Cam returned the high chair and borrowed a different chair from another table.

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent. That’s an Isaac Asimov quote from a trilogy called The Foundation. It’s about a psychohistorian who uses history and psychology to predict the downfall of a galactic empire and avoid a thirty thousand year long dark age.”

“Woah, like Warhammer?” Tate asked.

“Uh… sorta?” Freya shrugged. She didn’t know what he meant.

“It’s set in a 15,000 year dark age too, after the emperor is betrayed during the Horus Heresy—“

“No one cares about your toy soldiers Tate,” Brad chided, cutting him off before he could get going.

“Fuck off, it’s a game,” Tate shot back.

“Perma-virginity simulator,” Brad joked.

“When’s the next magic tournament Bradley?” Tate chided.

“Hey fuck off, at least there’s money in that.”

“Not with your deck,” Cam teased.

The food came and Freya set in on it and listened to the others talk. Bella Reña was surprisingly good for hole-in-the-wall pizza, the marinara wasn’t too sweet and they did dense, spicy meatballs that had an almost-burnt crust. They were far superior to the other pizza place in West Sillas, Pancho Pizza’s Meatballs were twice the size, but flavorless, more bread crumb than beef. She realized she was wolfing her sandwich, she told herself to slow down and keep pace with the others.

Jeremy and Travis from class had joined them, they were both juniors and wanted to know what the deal with Radomir was. Cameron told them what had happened at Brad’s house, and when he got to the confrontation Brad and Dan climbed out of the booth to re-enact it. Cameron did an over the top Dan with a dopey expression. Dan acted out the part of Malcolm Lewis, nailing his cocksure body language and the fake thuggish way he talked.

“Yo lemme get a slice!” he cried, caricaturing his walk so that it looked like he was on the verge of having a seizure. Freya almost choked laughing. Their improvised play ended with Dan tucking his fists against his chest, flapping his arms like chicken wings and disappearing into the bathroom. From behind the men’s room door they could hear him shout “BAUK!” Everyone was dying laughing.

“Can’t wait till they arrest his retarded ass,” Tate said as Dan emerged and reclaimed his seat. “Who the fuck slashes bike tires?”

“On camera,” Freya added. “He’s gonna be bummed when he finds out there’s no JV basketball in jail.”

“Ooooh!” A few people hooted in response.

“Oh shit I didn’t even think of that. Is he eighteen?” Tate asked, and Freya nodded.

“Guy just fucked up his whole life,” Dan said, shaking his head.

“No great loss,” Freya replied.

“God damn,” Tate gulped. “You’re as cold as ice.”

Cameron lit up, his eyebrows arced and his eyes swept from side to side.

“Stop!” Dan warned, but it was too late.

“You’re willing to sacrifice…” Cam began.

“Stop!”

“Our looooooveeeee!” Cameron crooned into a half eaten Italian sandwich like it was a microphone. Freya clapped her hands in delight, just as Brad launched a garlic knot across the table at Cameron. But Cam was ready, he deftly ducked under the missile.

“Hey! Hey! Pick that shit up!” the pizzaman behind the counter snapped from across the restaurant. He’d been watching their table closely.

“Sorry!” Cam raised his sandwich in surrender.

Freya recognized the glaring face. Levi had been one of the seniors in The Girl Who was Asked to Turn Blue last year. He had long black hair that was tied in a ponytail under his Bella Renã baseball cap that was polka-dotted with embroidered pepperonis.

“Sorry, man! We’ll stop,” Brad called out in apology.

“No more Foreigner either. They fucking suck,” Levi demanded, with his hands on his hips. The other chef’s paper hat nodded in agreement. Cameron held his hand over his heart and gasped as if mortally wounded. Then he went hunting for the garlic knot.

“They don’t suck,” Freya called back. “Mick Jones is a great guitarist. He’s still touring.”

“Oh yeah? So is Kenny G,” Levi called back, he had a quick wit. There were more oohs from the group.

“He’s got you there,” Cam noted. He held the garlic knot that had been on the floor out towards Brad, who was shaking his head in refusal. He offered it to the others in turn, and when he found no takers he popped the whole knot in his mouth, chewing with bulging cheeks as everyone groaned.

Freya frowned, Levi was giving her a superior look. She had heard Levi play guitar backstage once, trying to impress the girl who’d played Tracey by butchering Speed Trials on a poorly-tuned Jasmine. He had no room to talk.

“Hey Levi, Kenny G sold seventy five million albums. Let me know when you sell seventy five million pizzas.”

A few people at the table crowed, but Freya noticed Dan wasn’t one of them. She’d gone too far. It took Levi an extra beat to find a comeback.

“Yeah, ok Freya,” Levi wielded her name like a club, letting her know he remembered her too. “Everyone in this room would take a pizza over one of his albums. Am I right?” He raised his hands in appeal to the crowd.

“Yup,” nodded Dan.

“Definitely,” Brad agreed.

“I’d settle for just a slice,” Tate said.

“I’ll pay YOU to keep the album,” Cam shot in.

Everyone’s eyes turned to Freya, and her cheeks were burning. She grappled for the right thing to say.

“Honestly, I’d take the pizza too,” Freya admitted at last. Cam began to slowly applaud, the others joined in. Levi raised his chin in triumph.

Freya was relieved, even if she got the worse of the exchange, she didn’t want to be the kind of person who shit on someone for working at a pizza place.

“I didn’t nkow you were into dad rock,” Cam teased when the moment passed.

“I like musicians who can actually play instruments,” Freya replied, with a sideways glance. She thought the kind of rap Cameron and Rodrigo listened to was atrocious.

“Oh wow, gatekeeping,” Cam said, hunkering down and taking an enormous bite out of his sandwich.

“Do you actually like Kenny G?” Dan asked, in the same tone he might have asked her if she had leprosy.

“Not really. It’s totally not the type of jazz I like, but you can’t sell that many albums if you aren’t technically sound. I really do like Foreigner though, I can play a bunch of their songs.”

“Wait can you actually play Cold as Ice?” Cam asked, and she nodded. “What about Hot Blooded? I unironically like that one.”

“I can play both. I would need to learn electric guitar to really hit the solo on Hot Blooded though. I really like Starrider, from their debut.”

“Can’t you just buy an electric guitar now?” Tate asked Freya, in the same incredulous way he’d said her tires cost more than his whole bike. She felt a pang of separation. Out of the whole group only Freya and Brad’s parents were well off. Brad’s eyes met hers, he understood.

“I want to get really solid on acoustic first,” Freya explained. “Fundamentals.”

“You should challenge Levi to a guitar duel. For the glory of dad rock,” Cam said in a conspiratorial mock whisper, but Levi was too busy cleaning up to pay attention to them.

“It wouldn’t be a duel,” Freya said.

“No?” Cam leaned forward with a single eyebrow raised, egging her on.

“It would be a massacre.”