Leander sat in the back row, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Walker with a look of mild amusement. The guy had the energy of a used-car salesman trapped in a fifteen-year-old's body.
"What's with the face, Walker? You sound like you've spent your life studying high school dynamics like it's a PhD," Leander chuckled.
Walker grinned, leaning even closer into Leander's personal space. "Leander, buddy, I actually have quite a bit of experience. My middle school was a war zone. Come on, let me give you the rundown on the power players. You're going to need an ally."
"Walker!" Mr. Heck shouted from the podium, slamming his coffee cup down. "Do you want to move your desk? Should I just let the two of you sit at the same table and hold hands? Or are we going to let the rest of the class learn something today?"
"Hehe, no, we're good, Mr. Heck. Just discussing... history. Recent history," Walker said with an awkward laugh, sliding back into his own seat.
Heck sat back down, rubbing his temples. He looked at Leander, his expression weary. "Leander, aren't you going to tell me what just happened with Miss Fete? It's only the first day, and I've already had the Secret Service in my room."
"Karin got sick and her medical team picked her up. She's resting. Is there anything else to talk about?" Leander asked, his voice flat.
"And Mike? Class starts in sixty seconds. Where did he go?" Heck asked, scanning the room for the missing bully.
Leander didn't have to answer. Right then, the classroom door creaked open. Mike walked in, but the "King of Queens" looked like he had seen a ghost. His face was a pale, sickly shade of grey, and he was clutching his right wrist to his chest. He shot a look of pure, unadulterated resentment at Leander before slumping into his seat. Behind him, his two lackeys shuffled in, looking bruised and swollen, their eyes downcast as if they'd just been through a meat grinder.
Heck gave Leander a long, suspicious look but decided he didn't get paid enough to investigate. He walked back to the blackboard.
"Alright, let's get this over with. The interim class monitor election. Everyone has a vote. Does anyone actually want to come up and put their name on the board, or am I picking a victim?"
The room was quiet. Mike, Walker, and Isis all went up to write their names. The rest of the class stayed glued to their chairs; they were smart enough to stay out of the crossfire.
"Excellent. Three candidates. You've seen their... credentials. Let's vote."
The tally was quick and brutal.Mike: 10 votes.Walker: 11 votes.Isis: 7 votes.
Walker won by a single vote. Mike's face went from pale to a dark, bruised purple. He sat there, his knuckles white as he gripped his pen. 'If Leander hadn't made a fool of me, those five undecided votes would have been mine. That damn guy... he's dead.'
Walker, on the other hand, was beaming. He didn't care about the duties; he just cared about the win. To a kid like Walker, status was everything.
Once the final bell for the half-day rang, Mike bolted for the exit, but Walker took his time. He strolled over to Leander's desk as the latter was packing his bag.
"Leander, listen to me," Walker said, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "That guy Mike? He isn't just some loudmouth with a burger joint. His dad is connected. Like, 'deep in the Queens underworld' connected. The police usually look the other way when it comes to the O'Loughlins. You've made an enemy out of a guy who doesn't play by the rules."
Walker leaned against the desk, a cunning smile playing on his lips. "But look, I can help you. My dad does some... business with his dad. I can smooth things over. One word from me and you're off the hook."
Leander zipped his backpack, not even looking up. "And let me guess, there's a 'small' favor involved?"
"Teach me that kung fu," Walker said, his eyes lighting up. "That wrist lock earlier? That was the coolest thing I've ever seen in real life. You're like a movie character."
Leander stood up and shouldered his bag. He didn't have time for high school syndicates. "Forget it, Walker. I'm not afraid of a little trouble. And I don't teach."
"Hey, Leander! Think about it!" Walker shouted as Leander walked out the door. "This is America, man! People have guns! No matter how fast your hands are, they aren't faster than a 9mm!"
Leander ignored him, walking out into the crisp spring air of Queens. Once he was clear of the school grounds, he reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of sleek, silver-rimmed glasses. He put them on, and they instantly adjusted, the frames vibrating slightly as they locked into his biometric data.
"Jarvis, display the tracker location," Leander said softly.
"Location successful, Leander," Jarvis's voice echoed in his ear. "The target is currently stationary in Manhattan, near the Columbia University district. However, I must note that my processing speed is slightly hampered by the local relay. Shall I optimize?"
"Do it," Leander said.
A real-time HUD appeared on the lenses of his glasses, overlaying a map of New York City. A pulsing red dot marked Karin's location.
Leander paused, staring at the map. 'Strange. Karin lives in a high-end Manhattan district, a place where people don't even breathe the same air as Queens. Why would she cross the East River to go to a public school in a chaotic neighborhood like this? It doesn't make sense.'
He looked at the distance. For a girl with her health condition, a daily commute across the bridge on a bicycle was a suicide mission. 'What are you hiding, Karin?'
He was about to dig deeper into the data when a flicker of movement caught his eye. He took off the glasses and stuffed them back into his bag. Not far away, a group of men were stepping out from behind a row of parked vans.
They weren't high schoolers. These were grown men, dressed in sleeveless vests despite the chill, their arms covered in faded prison ink. They carried heavy wooden bats and iron pipes, their eyes locked on Leander with the hungry gaze of predators.
Leander didn't panic. He changed his direction, walking toward a more secluded, industrial side-street.
The group followed. They weren't even trying to be stealthy. They walked openly, tapping their bats against their palms. A few bystanders saw the group and immediately crossed the street, staring at the ground. In this part of Queens, if you saw a dozen armed men following a kid, you minded your own business if you wanted to keep your teeth.
Leander walked briskly, leading them deeper into a maze of warehouses. His expression became grimmer with every step. He had already passed three perfect spots for an ambush, but they hadn't moved. They were just trailing him, keeping a consistent fifty-foot gap.
'They aren't trying to jump me here,' Leander realized, his eyes narrowing. 'They want to see where I go. They want to find out where I live.'
He thought of Aunt Jenny and Uncle George. He thought of the quiet life he was trying to protect. If these thugs found his front door, his "normal" life would be over.
He reached a crossroads near a Chinese gathering area in Flushing. The streets were filled with the smell of roasted duck and the sounds of street vendors. He planned to loop around three more blocks; if they were still there, he would have to drop the "quiet student" act and end this permanently.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from a narrow alleyway and grabbed his jacket.
"Don't say a word, just run!" a sharp, clear female voice hissed.
Leander was pulled into the shadows before he could react. He found himself running alongside a small, hooded figure. They ducked behind crates and navigated through a labyrinth of back-alleys with practiced ease.
Behind them, the group of thugs erupted into shouting. "They're running! Don't lose the brat!"
A few blocks away, a black sedan sat idling. Mike sat in the back, his face a mask of cold fury. He watched through the tinted window as the mob of men he'd hired scrambled after Leander.
"Mike, are you sure about this?" the driver, a thick-necked man with a Russian accent, asked. "The police have been crawling all over the district since the last shipment went missing. Your old man said no noise. This kid is just a brat."
"He's not just a brat," Mike snarled, clutching his aching wrist. "He disrespected me in front of everyone. He made me look weak. In our world, if people think you're weak, you're dead. I don't care about his parents, and I don't care about the heat. I want him broken."
Mike's eyes flashed with a dark, irrational ferocity. He had spent his whole life being the biggest shark in the pond, and Leander Hayes had just reminded him that there were monsters in the deep water. And Mike hated being reminded of his own fear.