I woke with a start; my latest foray into Neverland had been particularly arduous. Running a hand through my hair and shaking the sweat off, I looked up to see my father, James, sticking his head in through the doorway. Concern littered his face: being the Vault physician as well as parent, he was well aware of my nightmares.
"Are you alright, Jake? Your G.O.A.T. is today, but I can talk to your teacher-"
"No, Dad, I'm okay," I interjected over a wheeze, not wanting my weak medical history to keep me in bed. "I… I can make it today."
Pride flickered through the cloud of worry on my father's face, but I knew he was reluctant to let me go to school today. I had just gone through a particularly horrendous bout with my as yet undiagnosed condition, and my health was precarious. My stubbornness and pride probably didn't help: I was often getting into fights defending myself, my father, and Amata. She was the only person that didn't see me as a liability to the Vault.
Grunts and strained groans filled my room as I heaved myself to my feet. Changing my jumpsuit after showering was just as painful as ever, but I'd get through if I had to beat the life into me. My lucky hat, a birthday present from my father's and my friend Stanley, fit snuggly on my head, and I wiped the sweat from my brow. Amata's birthday was today, and I had every intention of putting my best foot forward. Before I left the room, I grabbed her present from under my pillow: it was in an unwrapped box, but it was the best I could do. I really had Jonas to thank, since he was the one who gave me the idea. The gift secure in my pocket, I went out into the living room, towards the hallway door.
"You know, Jake," Dad piped from his desk, "You shouldn't be so nervous about Amata; something tells me you aren't the only one with romantic feelings."
I knew that, despite (or perhaps because of) his position as Vault physician, my father was the best when it came to reading other people. I took his word whole-heartedly, although it did little to ease my nerves; the best had been wrong before.
The grey corridor welcomed me as warmly as a freezer, but my mind was focused on the vibrant girl of my dreams. Amata was the only person that didn't see me as a liability to the Vault; Amata was the only friend I had; Amata was being harassed by the Tunnel Snakes.
Wait, what was that last part?
Butch and his gang had Amata surrounded, refusing her passage to the classroom. Their tactics were evocative of the pre-war gangs and animals I had read about during my more intense stints in the infirmary, picking off individuals as a pack.
"What's going on here?" I said as powerfully as I could.
Butch, Wally, and Paul turned to face me. Paul and Butch were my equals in age, but Wally was older and larger. In truth, they were all larger than I: being sick so often had left me thin and atrophied, although I was still taller than all of them.
"Well, lookey here," Butch gloated, "Little weasel for a fat cow. Back off, punk; this doesn't concern you."
A single glance at Amata insured my response. "Back off, Butch," I commanded, "I mean it."
Butch's laughter was echoed by his cronies, but it didn't shake my nerves. He caught this, however.
"So? What are you going to do about it if I stay?" A simple enough question, but one for which I had no real response. A false one would have to do.
"I'll make you leave, Butch. I'm not afraid of you."
The Tunnel Snakes bared their fangs, to which my response was an amateur fighting stance. I remembered when Butch tried to beat me at my birthday party a few years ago, but I had been able to outsmart him. Here, unfortunately, there was no leverage, only laughter, the thrill of the kill.
Butch threw the first punch, but I was the first to land a hit. Perhaps an explanation is in order: my condition restricted me to a hospital bed for most of my life, but in the few instances when adrenaline hit my system, my senses reached a level of attunement that I had only been exposed to in literature and film. The popular "Matrix" series from the late twentieth century exemplifies best my situation.
My fist landed on Butch's shoulder, stopping his shot dead. Next was a head shot at Paul, colliding with his left temple; Paul went reeling, his head smacking the wall with a sickly sweet crack.
Wally came around on my left and landed a sucker punch just below my eye. I could hear Amata's frightened voice, but the words were indistinguishable from the ringing in my head.
Swinging wildly at Wally, I instead came face to face with Butch, who had now drawn his switchblade.
"Coward," I sneered, "Real tough guys, pulling a knife on a cripple." It wasn't a tone I liked the taste of, but if I could talk myself into a fairer fight, I didn't have a choice.
Butch faltered, allowing me to land a side kick to Wally Mack's ribs. He thudded to the floor.
Now alone, Butch slowed his pace, circling me. I mirrored him, but sweat was beading on my forehead; this fight had to end fast.
"Stop it already," Amata pleaded. I maneuvered my back to her, keeping her under what little protection I could offer. The usefulness of this protection diminished as Wally and Paul resumed their positions on Butch's flanks.
Wally charged me, tackling me to the floor. Paul took position preventing Amata's interference, and Butch twirled his switchblade in his hand. I glared at him, mocking his hollow victory.
He knelt above me, his knee in my chest, Wally on my legs. I had a chance to escape, but no flaw could exist. Butch brought his knife down hard, but it hit only steel plating. My head snapped to the right, my legs slamming Wally's head into Butch's spine. The switchblade was in my possession as I leapt to my feet. Wally was on his stomach, Butch sitting against the wall, Paul frozen with his eyes on my hand. Needless to say, everyone was surprised when I tossed the knife away. I resumed my stance, and the Tunnel Snakes were again poised to strike. The look I shot Butch, however, deterred their advance.
"Come on, Tunnel Snakes," he ordered, "let's go."
They turned tail, Butch scooping up his knife, and strutted into the classroom as if they had won a war.
Amata rushed to my side as I leaned against the wall for support. "Thanks. That was really brave."
"Anytime; are you okay?"
She nodded, smiling her angel's smile at me. Fatigued as I was, I felt like I would move mountains for that smile.
"What's this?" Amata knelt to pick a box off the floor… a box that looked exactly like the box her birthday present was in. She opened it as I confirmed that my pocket was empty. It was make or break time. Her eyes flitted across the page, drinking in my carefully chosen words. She stood facing me, and I searched her face for a response. I didn't need to.
She planted a kiss on my lips with a hushed "thank you". I swear to you, my brain ceased all function save the processing of that kiss.
Her face shifted to that of concern. "Are you alright? I'm sorry."
"Don't be," I grinned stupidly, "I feel great. I just wish I was more of a participant."
She smiled softly. "Let's try it."
We kissed together, and I could feel her breath against my cheek, our lips together, our mouths opening to each other. I withdrew a second before her, examining her face; an angel on earth, surely.
"You're a wonderful kisser," Amata complimented breathlessly, prompting me to blush to an even greater degree than present. Then she saw the necklace I hid in the lid of the box, and threw her arms around me. I knew, even with everything wrong with me, I was the luckiest man in the Vault- scratch that-the world.
We entered the classroom, my heels bouncing on a cloud of ecstasy: Amata loved the song I had written for her, and had agreed to let me play it for her on my guitar. Admittedly, it was old, but it was Dad's and Jonas's gift to me on my tenth birthday, and it was smooth and sturdy.
I took a seat across from my new (read: first) girlfriend, awaiting my G.O.A.T. Mr. Brotch glanced knowingly at us, but mentioned nothing.
He, like me, found the G.O.A.T. unreliable, but administered the test nonetheless. Five minutes later, I received my results. I believe in signs and fate and destiny and all that stuff, and I couldn't help but I couldn't help but chuckle when Mr. Brotch told me I would be a marriage counselor. I knew that, although other people might need me, there was one couple that would not.