Chapter 4

The afternoon sun baked the classroom, casting long shadows across Dasia's desk.

She rested her chin on her hand, spinning a yellow pencil between her fingers. The history teacher droned on about the Industrial Revolution.

Cody sat at the next desk, sweating. He slid a crumpled piece of paper onto Dasia's notebook. It was a crude drawing of the parking lot with stick figures showing their "strategy."

Dasia glanced at the childish scribbles. She picked up the paper, crumpled it into a tight ball, and flicked it with her thumb. It bounced off the wall and landed perfectly in the trash can in the corner.

Cody panicked. He leaned over, his voice a frantic hiss. "Dude, the guys we're fighting are from the vocational school. They bring weapons. They fight dirty."

Dasia let out a slow, bored yawn.

Cody sank back into his chair, groaning. He thought his friend had lost his mind.

The shrill scream of the final bell pierced the air.

Dasia dropped the pencil into her bag. She slung the strap over her shoulder and stood up. Her movements were fluid and completely relaxed.

She walked down the hallway with Cody trailing behind her. Girls whispered as she passed, and boys glared, but no one stepped in her way.

They pushed through the heavy metal fire doors at the back of the school.

The cold wind hit her face, carrying the smell of exhaust fumes and old asphalt. In the far corner of the parking lot, ten guys in leather jackets and ripped jeans were waiting.

The leader, a massive guy with a shaved head, slapped an aluminum baseball bat against his palm. When he saw Cody and Dasia, he threw his head back and laughed.

Cody swallowed hard. His knees shook, but he stepped in front of Dasia, raising his hands to talk them down.

The leader pointed the tip of the bat right at Dasia's face.

"Well, look who it is," the leader sneered. "The trash that got kicked out of Glory. What's wrong, Gerald? Your right hand is crippled, so now your brain is broken too?"

The air around Dasia dropped ten degrees.

The mention of her brother's ruined hand triggered something dark inside her. A physical, suffocating pressure radiated from her body.

She reached out her left hand and pushed Cody aside. She dropped her heavy bag onto the concrete. It hit with a loud thud.

"Who did you call trash?" Dasia asked. Her voice was a whisper, but it carried a terrifying, icy weight.

The leader's face flushed with anger. He gripped the bat with both hands, raised it high, and swung it directly at Dasia's skull. The metal whistled through the air.

Cody squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

Dasia didn't blink. She tilted her head a fraction of an inch. The bat sliced through the empty air, ruffling the edge of her hood.

Before the leader could pull the bat back, Dasia exploded forward.

Her left hand shot out like a viper. She clamped her fingers around the leader's wrist and twisted violently.

A sickening crack echoed across the lot. The leader dropped the bat and let out a high-pitched shriek of agony.

Dasia caught the bat with her left hand before it hit the ground. In the same fluid motion, she pivoted on her left foot and drove her right heel into the man's stomach.

The impact lifted the two-hundred-pound guy off his feet. He flew backward and crashed onto the hood of a sedan.

The remaining nine guys froze in shock. Then, they roared and rushed her all at once.

Dasia moved like a ghost. She vaulted onto the hood of a Ford pickup truck, using the high ground.

As two guys lunged at her legs, she didn't jump. The tight bandages binding her chest restricted her breathing and core flexibility, making flashy aerial moves impossible. Instead, she dropped her center of gravity, planting her hands on the hood, and swept her right leg in a brutal, grounded arc that shattered their kneecaps. They collapsed, gasping for air.

She landed lightly on the concrete. A guy swung a pipe at her back. She ducked, spun, and drove her left elbow straight into his solar plexus. He dropped like a stone, vomiting onto the asphalt.

It took exactly three minutes.

Ten bodies littered the parking lot, groaning and writhing in pain.

Dasia stood in the center of the carnage. Her breathing was perfectly even. She tossed the aluminum bat. It clattered loudly against the pavement near the leader's face.

Cody was pressed against a car door, his jaw hanging open. He stared at her like she was an alien.

Dasia bent down and picked up her bag. She brushed a speck of dirt off her sleeve.

She looked at the bleeding guys on the ground.

"Scram," she commanded.