Miguel leaned over, suffering through another rough coughing fit that seemed to rack his lungs until he felt like he might gag. He groaned when the spell ceased, then reached beside him at his nightstand to grab a tissue, blowing his nose like a horn to clear the passageway. It was like someone had taken a jackhammer to his sinuses, the pressure there throbbed so bad.

"Man, you sound brutal."

He glanced at his doorway to see Hawk standing there, a nonchalant grin on his face. "I told you, I'm sick," said Miguel, tossing his gross tissue in the trash bin beside his bed. He'd texted Hawk that morning while his mom called the school to report his absence. "You really shouldn't even be here."

Hawk rolled his eyes and stepped into the room, although he maintained a bit of a distance. "Like I've never had a cold before."

"How was practice?" inquired Miguel, propping his pillows up again. He was upset he'd had to miss it. He couldn't even remember the last time he missed karate practice.

Hawk's features sharpened, and he swelled. "Sparring today. I got the most wins. Mitch, Stingray, Dieter, Red, Edwin, they all got to face the fury of the Hawk. Got them eating mat. I mean, not to brag or anything."

"Hey, why stop now?" Miguel joked playfully.

"I gotta say, it feels pretty good being top dog," said Hawk, his crooked smile widening. "With you out of commission, I get to be the champ."

A sharp laugh broke from Miguel, which morphed into a quick cough-fest. "Don't get used to it," he said after it subsided. "I'll be back and kicking your ass before you know it."

Another coughing spelled forced him to stop talking again. Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Might want to kick this cold's ass first," he remarked. "Haven't you taken anything for it?"

"Ya-Ya's given me so much Robitussin, I think I got permanent fake grape taste on my tongue," said Miguel, blowing his nose again.

"Have her make you some of this," said Hawk. He slipped off his backpack and reached inside it to grab a small box, which he tossed on Miguel's lap.

Miguel picked it up to see what it was: a box of Manischewitz's matzo ball and soup mix. The corners of his mouth curled. "Did you really come all this way to bring me soup?"

Zipping up his backpack, Hawk rolled his shoulders and said, "That shit's like penicillin, it'll get you back up."

Part of Miguel wanted to continue teasing him for how schmaltzy of a gesture this was, especially coming from him. After all, how many times had Hawk taken the piss out of him for similar gestures? But, looking at the box again, he decided to take it for what it was and just smiled back. "Thanks."

Hawk shot him one more look. "But get better fast. It's not worth being the best if I didn't beat you myself to get there."