"Glasses, nerd. NOW!" Billy Ford backed Mark against the lockers. Mark could feel his hands trembling. He had enough anger to beat all three of these guys, but not nearly enough height.

"What are you going to do?" He stumbled over his words embarrassingly. Billy laughed maniacally, raised his fist, and was rewarded with a visible cringe from his victim.

"Billy..." One of the tall guys was hesitating. Mark stared at the kid pleadingly. When he was distracted, a rough hand ripped the glasses off of his face.

"Hey!" he couldn't help crying. Being the intelligent person that he was, Billy put the glasses on upside down and cackled.

"Lo-o-ok," he mocked. "I'm Mark Cohen! Duhhh..." The other two boys snickered uncomfortably. Mark gulped down his tears and gritted his teeth. Don't fight back, don't fight back, don't fight back. Let him have his fun and lose interest.

"Stop it!" Suddenly, Billy was being whacked over and over with a metal lunch box. "Give — back — the – glasses!"

The large kids turned around to find a pint-sized blond boy in black sneakers and a murderous expression. He kept on hitting Billy fearlessly, grunting with each wallop.

"Ha-ha, look at this!" Billy cackled. He grabbed the metal lunchbox and threw it across the third grade hallway. It crashed mightily into Tom's locker.

"I'm telling Mrs. Larson on you!" Mark bellowed, finding his voice now that the attention was directed at Roger. Billy whirled around to grab his victim by the shirt collar, but he made a run for it. Mark sprinted away on well-practiced legs.

"Roger, c'mon!" he gasped.

The blond boy reluctantly stopped hitting and kicking Billy's friends and took off after Mark with a triumphant cackle. The eight-year-olds sped down the fluorescent hallway and through the cafeteria, their lunch and glasses forgotten. Roger felt wild and free, running fast enough to make wind in his face.

They skidded out of the cafeteria, and Mark marvelled at the fact that no teachers had caught them. They were almost to the art room. It had to be a record!

"Are they – chasing us?" Roger panted. He loved fighting, but hated being chased. Mark risked a glance over his shoulder.

"I don't know, you're the one that can see!"

"Oh, right." Roger checked behind them. "They're not there."

The boys slowed to a stop in the middle of the kindergarten hallway. It was mostly quiet, aside from a buzz from the surrounding classrooms.

"Mrs. Larson is probably looking for us," Mark said, gesturing back in the direction of their classroom. "We'll be in such big trouble!" Roger smirked at the possibility of being chastised. He laughed in the face of danger and detention. Ha-ha-ha.

Just then, a yelp of frustration came from the kindergarten water fountain. A brown-eyed girl was struggling to reach the squirty nozzle. "Agh!" she exclaimed, cursing her own tiny stature.

Acting on a whim, Roger walked up to the P.O.-ed five-year-old and wordlessly lifted her to the height of the fountain. He grunted only slightly, using every ounce of his eight-year-old strength to keep her aloft. The girl gratefully bent over and took a long drink of water. Mark could only watch and wait awkwardly as his friend showed a rare side of his mischievous personality.

When she finally let go of the button, Roger lowered her to the ground gently.

"Thanks," the girl squeaked.

"Uh, yeah," Roger replied with a shrug. He softened when she flashed him a bright smile. "I'm Roger."

"I'm Mimi." She took off across the hallway and slipped into Miss Vega's kindergarten classroom.

"If you're done playing hero, come on already," Mark spat. Roger snorted in response.

Out of nowhere, disaster struck again. "Mark? What are you doing here?"

Oh good grief. Mark knew that voice all too well. "Cindy?" The presence of his older sister immediately made him nervous. She loomed over him in a I-am-SO-telling-on-you sort of way. He thought of a quick retort: "What are you doing here?"

"Going to the bathroom. Duh." She held up a card on a string that read: "MR. PASCAL - FIFTH GRADE - HALL PASS".

"Oh."

Cindy got an accusing look in her eye. "Are you skipping class, Mark?"

"No!" Mark yelled.

"We're running away from Billy Ford," Roger interjected.

"Who's that?" Cindy surveyed their faces like a policewoman drilling two suspects. "Was he bullying you, Marky?"

"No," Mark mumbled at his shoes.

"It doesn't matter, she couldn't help anyway," Roger shrugged, tugging on Mark's arm to get him to follow. "She's just a girl."

Cindy's mind was set on fire. Oh. No. He. Didn't.

"You take that back, Roger Davis! Take it back!" She grabbed his wrist and wrenched him towards her.

"Cindy, stop it!" Mark demanded, rushing forward to tackle his sister. Some yelling and struggling followed. Miss Vega came rushing out of her classroom. With the swift, firm gentleness of an elementary school teacher, she seized Cindy's wrist and Roger's shoulder and pulled them apart. Mark recoiled from his assault on Cindy, looking up at Miss Vega with big, guilty eyes.

"Everyone, stop fighting, please!" she exclaimed. Mark peered over at the door to her classroom. The wide, curious eyes of the kindergartners were staring at them.

Great. An audience.

I don't know where I'm taking this, so it might just end here. I kind of like the sarcastic Mark Cohen-esque ending statement. Thank you so much for reading.