"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
- Winston Churchill

Chapter 2: Beginnings (part 2)

"So then the lights went out, right?" Amy said, grunting as she held the punching bag in place. "Anddd… Cue the evil laughter."

"Oh, god," Sam threw another low punch. "He was cackling?"

Amy barked out a laugh, bracing her body better as Sam paused. "Like the frikken' Wicked Witch of the West."

"That's rich," he muttered, fixing the tape around his knuckles.

Sam looked the bag up and down a second, and Amy braced herself, seeing the gleam in his eye. Pressing herself against the pleather, she winced as he threw a plethora of punches and kicks at the hanging black sack. A few jabs, kicks, and right hooks later, he was panting softly as Amy leaned all her weight against the only thing close enough to support her. Sam leaned in too. His forehead rested against the opposite side as he tried to calm his breathing and pulse.

With a shaky hand, he reached around and patted Amy's arm lightly. "Your turn."

"Thanks," she said dryly, taking a step back from him and their shared object of tension release.

She barely gave him a moment before kicking to the side, her foot hitting harshly at the already worn center of the sandbag. Hiding a grin as her friend groaned from behind it, she jabbed with her left fist and then with her right. Her forearm rammed against the dark material, right where an average person's neck might be, as she swung her other fist low and landed a series of uppercuts. Shuffling back a step, she pivoted on her right foot, and swung the other leg around to send a mean kick to an imaginary jaw line. Sam gritted his teeth, fighting off the urge to just step back and run away screaming. For something so small, she was creepily—almost abnormally—strong.

"He caught on fire, yanno." She said nonchalantly, swinging round to dig her elbow into the bag.

Sam blinked in surprise. "Again?"

"Yep," she nodded, twisting again, her short hair fanning out as her right heel clipped the other side. "Full on Human Torch kinda thing. I'm telling you, he should have totally said 'flame on'. Would have added to the dramatic affect."

Peeking around the edge, he let himself grin at her straight face, their private joke bringing back old memories. "I thought I was the Human Torch."

"So did I," she laughed, backing up a moment, only to let out an almost battle-like cry and surged forward.

Sam's eyes widened as he saw the hit coming. He didn't have anytime to react so that he could bare the weight of the attack. The hitch kick knocked him off his axis, sending him flying back onto his ass and the punching bag swung wildly to and fro. A few of the surrounding students applauded and laughed.

"Oi!" Their Gym teacher called, giving Amy a foul look as she stilled the swinger. "Stop abusing my bag! Why don't you two spar, and give someone else a chance with that thing?"

Blushing nicely, the two moved away from the practice bags, and onto the fighting mats. As soon as their teacher turned away, Amy had the gall to stick her tongue out at him. Many of the other teens in her class chuckled under their breath, and she did a bit of a twirl-and-bow for them.

Rolling his eyes, Sam charged with no warning. With an almost frightened gasp, she ducked his hook and swung round, her fighting style changing completely during the spar. Her movements were smooth, flowing together like a dance as she spun, back peddled, and then settled down into a defensive pose. A few people paused in what they were doing to watch the playful fighting that occurred often, but was always strangely new. Sam, himself, did a few movements, mocking his friend's. She quirked a brow and watched with an amused smirk. When he finally finished, she jerked her chin up as a cue, and he struck.

Copying her spin kick from earlier, he entered full force, ready to injure. Amy twisted forward to her right, gliding around like the air itself was propelling her past him. Two open palms met his leg, pushing it back around as quickly as it came. As he spun, he switched legs, and brought forth the same attack on her opposite side. Spreading her stance, she continued her turn right by pivoting on her back foot to spin and face Sam once more. Having dodged out of his reach, she was easily missed by the attack. His left fist came flying next, and she deflected it with another open palm and leant away from the blow.

He twisted, his momentum being spun the reverse direction. Amy grinned, lifting her leg to kick him square in the back and sent him stumbling forward. He growled, doing a one-eighty to glare at her harshly as she tried not to giggle at the unusually serious expression he wore. Noting that her guard was down, if only for a brief moment, he charged once more, resisting the urge to yell a quick 'for Narnia'.

The brunette's eyes widened as all her air left her; she tried to catch her breath while tumbling backwards. Nothing like a punch to the diaphragm to remind a girl to pay attention. Letting out an almost inaudible groan, she blinked away the black spots in her vision and slid back into her defensive position just in time to parry another chop aimed at her neck. Gripping his wrist, she torqued his arm around and gripped the back of his shirt as he turned, keeping him close. Panting softly, she wrenched his arm higher up his back and waited.

"Uncle!" He exclaimed with pain-laced surprise. "Uncle!"

Smirking once more, she released him, and the students watching clapped at their leisure. Both of them bowed, happy to please their audience once again. A group of girls giggling had Sam blushing hotly and averting his gaze as he turned to Amy.

"Do you always have to beat me?" He hissed under his breath, relieved when everyone went back to his or her own business.

"What?" She looked at him, head tilted as she stretched.

"You're always beating me in front of…" he made a meager gesture over his shoulder, and gray eyes followed to spot the small group of cheerleaders in their class period huddled together. Sam's face only enflamed more as she waved over at them, and the team captain smiled bright and waved back. The older girl gave Amy a questioning look before scanning Sam in admiration.

Amy simply shrugged before an elbow met her gut.

"Stop having silent, girly conversations with the love of my life!" Sam hissed, pouting slightly as he crossed his arms.

She laughed softly, still cradling her stomach before she could finally form words again. "Well, if you'd just tell her I'm sure she'd reciprocate."

"Yeah, right." He scoffed, running a hand over his Mohawk self-consciously. "She's the daughter of a big CEO, Ames. She wouldn't even spare me a glance. Besides, you never tell a girl that you like her; it makes you look like an idiot."

The brunette didn't have time to argue her own point before he was walking away towards the boy's lockers. With a long huff, she spun on one heel and headed to her own locker room as the teacher blew his whistle to signal the end of class. She'd barely gotten to the doors before a hand on her shoulder stopped her in place.

"Hey," a sweet voice said, and Amy turned to face Yazmin with a smile.

"Hi."

"Is Sam okay?" The girl asked with a frown, tucking silver locks behind her ear.

"He's just being a sour grape because I beat him again. No biggie." Amy chortled and Yazmin smiled.

"Did he—?"

"He's working on it," she replied mildly. "He really likes you, but he doesn't think you like him back. I still think it would be a lot simpler if you just fessed up. Ask him out."

Yazmin's tan skin flushed, and her blue eyes darted around a bit. "That's just so…"

"Terrifying?" Amy asked, and the cheer captain nodded. "Yeah, but it gets the job done. Not all of us have boys chasing us around. We have to do the chasing. And, scary as it is, we have to put ourselves out there."

"Including you? I mean, I've seen the way you look at—"

"Maybe not so much me. This is really more of a do as I say, not as I do kind of thing…" she felt the dire need to change the subject. "I like the hair, by the way. Silver streaks look good. Very school spirited."

Yazmin laughed, twirling a piece of it around her fingers. "Thanks. I did it kind of on a whim. Just feels right, you know?"

Amy smiled. "Yeah. I get that."

Both girls jumped as their teacher's whistle went off again. "Ladies! Can you please get a move on? I'd rather not have to stick around after the bell rings."

Both of them flushed nicely, stifling their mirth as they quickly scurried through the green door and into the locker room. The teacher rolled his eyes, glancing at his watch with a sigh before retreating out of the gym and into his office. Amber eyes glinted in the empty gymnasium, and a man stood with a deadly ease from his spot on the bleachers. He gazed at the girls' locker room door, absently rubbing a finger across the long, angry scar that cut a line through his left brow and down the side of his cheek.

"Zain!" The boy looked over, seeing his P.E. teacher standing there, looking like a flustered fish. "Go get changed, would you?"

He nodded, walking down the bleachers silently, like a lion on the prowl. Sweeping his bangs out of his golden, dangerous eyes, he cast one more glance at the opposite door before walking away. His fists clenched and seemed to flow from within as he thought about her smile. As he thought about how unfair everything was.


Her muscles burned. Her heart raced. Her lungs ached. Her skin was hot, even as she cut through the cold of the water. Her body rotated, giving her more speed as she sprinted the last fifty meters. She was coming up on the end of it, palm outstretched as she glided in for the big finish. She emerged panting; her goggled eyes darted over to the other lanes before she let out a whoop of triumph. No one else was in yet.

Heaving herself up onto the side of the pool, she laid back and panted numbly, her feet still dangling in the cool, blue water. Laughter met her ears, and she looked up at her coach, who simply pointed to the giant time board on the side of the pool. Amy almost squealed with delight. Not only had she come in first, but she'd also beat her best time. If she hadn't been so thoroughly exhausted, she was sure that she would be doing her Happy Dance—a ritual generally reserved for Sam after a winning football game.

Suddenly, there was something tugging on her ankle, and she yelped shrilly. Sitting up rigidly, she glared down into the water where Kyana was treading quietly. The tan girl giggled, and so did a few of the other swimmers who had rolled into finish not long after she had. A nice blush painted her already flushed cheeks, and she kicked at the water, splashing a few of them. Kyana went for her feet again; ready to yank her back into the water, but Amy pulled them away to tuck her legs under her.

"Alright, alright," Mr. Burgess interrupted the deviants, and grinned at his co-coach—Kyana and Sam's uncle Palmer. "Good job today, everyone. You have a three hundred cool down, and then you're out."

The team groaned in unison, but nodded. There was no arguing with the coach on intervals or distances. Amy was about to slip back in, when he clapped a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him blinking in slight confusion as he beamed down at her.

"You just do a quick hundred," he said, pride in his gaze and voice that he usually only reserved for his son or the water-polo players. "Great job, Amy."

She smiled, sliding into the chill liquid, and paused at the bottom of the pool. With a strong push, she shoved off the ground, streamlining until she hit the wall. Coming up for a breath, she touch-turned and shot back out, taking a slow and easy couple of laps, alternating strokes where she could. Reaching the wall, she pulled herself out, and climbed to her feet.

Water rolled off of her, mixing with the sweat that clung to her skin. She ripped her goggles and swim cap off, shaking her head like a wet dog and letting it cascade around her shoulders in dark, almost black, wetness. Padding over to the bleachers, she grabbed her towel and started drying out her hair. She smiled brightly as the rest of the swimmers climbed out too.

"Good job, today." Kyana said breathlessly, taking the towel Amy held out for her. "You smoked 'em."

"Yeah," she giggled, tugging slightly at the sleek, black of her swimsuit as it stuck to her skin. "It was pretty epic."

"Don't be too humble," Kyana chuckled, sitting on the metal seat to stare up at her best friend.

"Oh, never!" Amy replied jokingly, still ringing out her short hair.

They stood there, chatting and laughing, and a few other joined in; most of them unable to resist such a charismatic personality. Suddenly, Amy stumbled forward a step as one of the other girls shoved by. Cold golden eyes met her wide silver ones, and the shorter girl smiled meekly.

"Sorry," she said, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Was I in your way, Ashley?"

"Yeah, actually, you were." She snapped bitingly, her black hair hanging in her narrow face.

"Geez, no need to be rude," Kyana said, sliding to her feet, blue eyes glaring.

Ashley rolled her eyes with a snooty huff. "Whatever. Just because I'm not going to bow and kiss Her Majesty's feet—"

"I'm royalty?" Amy asked in mock surprise, trying to defuse the situation before it got too out of hand. "That's so cool."

A few people laughed, but most of them stayed silent, sensing a growing tension between the two girls. Ashley scowled, taking a slow step forward and crossing her arms over her chest. Never wavering, the brunette leveled with the raven, her normally warm gaze turning to steel. They both squared off for a second, the apprehension rising as Ashley's irritation peaked.

"Where to hell do you get off?" She hissed, stepping even closer.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're such a cheat, you know that?" A zing of satisfaction rolled through her as Amy slid back a step towards the pool.

"Okay, now I'm confused." Amy held her hands up passively. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she snarled, backing her up more. "I know what you are, Amanda."

"A teenage girl with delusions of grandeur?" A spike of panic shot through her, but she didn't know why even as sarcasm dripped from her voice like venom. "What I am? Ashley, I don't know what's wrong with you today, but I'm—"

"I know what you are," she stated again, adding a shove into the mix.

That's when Amy felt it. A familiar sense of fear as she stumbled back. She'd always been nervous and wary around Ashley and her brother, but this was full-on 'she's going to kill me'. The floor was slick with water, and suddenly she wasn't stumbling—she was falling. Ashley's gaze widened, and she went to reach out for her, but it was too late. That surge of heat she'd felt from the shove was enough to make her tremble and turn away from those outstretched hands.

Amy faintly heard a scream. She didn't know if it was her or someone else, but she knew that there was no stopping her decent. She heard the crack of her skull against cement; a sickening sound that made her gut wrench. She felt it too, and she barely had time to cry out in pain before she hit the water. Her mind raced a moment, trying to piece together what had just happened, but as she sank, all she could think about was the fact that she couldn't breathe and—oh, her head hurt. The dark claimed her mind then, and she sank like a rock, welcoming Death's cold embrace.

TBC.