Third period.

Time to rock.

I looked at Fi, who was next to me, nervous but ready.

"Now I want you all to be a respectful audience," Mrs. Lydecker was telling the class. "And remember that every one of you will someday be in front of this room facing your peers."

She looked at the two of us, giving us an encouraging nod. I glanced at Fi, and she stepped forward.

"Mes amis," she began, and told them a brief overview of the Marseillaise, talking about how it brought the peasants together, blah, blah, blah. Buckley looked interested, but most of the other kids were slumping around, vaguely alert. Fi stepped back and looked at me.

"Pour la gloire!" I whispered to her, and winked.

And that did it. I took a breath, ripped into the opening, and Fi sang. HARD.

"ALLONS ENFANT DE LA PATRRRRRRIE! Le jour de GLOIRE est ARRIVÉ!" She blasted that out, pushing her voice hard and it was fucking unbelievable! Up there with Lita Ford!

"Contre nous del la TYRANNIE!" I roared, "L'étendART sanglant est levé! L'étendART sanglant est levé!"

We kept singing, loud, proud, and HARD. Between her voice and my guitar, the sound was vibrating EVERYWHERE. The door flew open; Mr. Charles and Miss Evans stared at us. The students were getting into it, clapping along, and bobbing their heads. More people started crowding around the door.

I was so damned proud of her! I knew Fi was scared, but she belted the song out like it needed to be blasted on the back wall. She didn't slip up, or forget, and I was thinking that maybe Fi might wanna join Corroded Coffin . . .

We finished, landing on the end notes at the same time, and I felt her lean against my right shoulder, huffing a little from the exertion.

"Encore!" We looked up; Mrs. Leydecker was in tears. She yelled it again, and the class roared. I glanced at Fi, who was deep pink, but grinning.

"ÊTES-VOUS TOUS PRÊTS?" I yelled at them, and some of the kids started stamping their feet, and clapping. I nodded and so we did it again, only this time I got fancy and added added some riffs at the ends of the stanzas. When we finished, even the teachers in the doorway clapped, and Mrs. Leydecker was wiping her eyes.

"Magnifique! Trés magnifique! Ohhhh that was deeply moving, Eddie, Fi! You really captured the intensity and passion of de Lisle's work! Just wonderful!"

I slowly packed up my guitar and we both sat down, feeling flushed an embarrassed by all the smiles and thumbs up we were getting. Fi was kind of dazed, and I wish I'd mentioned that performing kind of leaves you that way when you're putting your ALL into it.

She looked so damned cute, and I wanted to hug her because she'd done a hell of a job for someone with no performing experience. And that voice! Where the hell had THAT come from? For the rest of the day I was kind of floating on my own little cloud of happiness.

Which ended at around seven twenty-two PM.

I stopped into Melvald's to pick up some smokes, and when I came out into the twilight, I heard my name.

"Well, well, Eddie Munster. So it's YOU we have to thank today," Jason Carver came striding up, standing between me and the Plymouth.

"You're . . . welcome?" I tried to bluff, realizing that Jason had back-up, now circling behind me. "Seriously, what are you talking about?"

Jason glared at me. "Oh I don't know . . . maybe that fucking anthem to Satan? Because of YOU, we had to run ten extra laps, asshole, and I think a few of the team would like to make sure that never happens again."

Now, I'm not a coward. I've got enough common sense to know when I'm outnumbered, and I know to go defense when the punches start. Jason waded in before I could turn, and got a few good ones in. I fell against the car, and then onto the parking lot asphalt as the other two waded it, kicking me hard.

Did it hurt? Fuck yeah. Three hardcore athletes kicking and beating the shit out of you will do that, man.

I never made a sound. One of the things I'd learned from my old man was if I made any noise—crying, cursing, yelps of pain—the beating would keep going. So I kept my mouth shut, sucking air in through my nose and kept my eyes closed.

I was never going to give that walking sphincter Carver the satisfaction.

They got tired after about five minutes, but by then I was already in a haze of hurt, and when they walked away, laughing, I just lay there, waiting for my head to stop ringing before getting up. It . . . took a while.

I dragged myself into the front seat, gasping a little because my ribs were aching, and my mouth was full of blood. Ran my tongue around and all the teeth seemed to be okay, but I had to get home. I drove about ten miles an hour, blinking because I wasn't focusing too well. Luckily the road was pretty empty back to the trailer park.

Wayne wasn't there—Friday's his poker night over at the VFW hall—so I crawled up the stairs and stumbled my way to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. Yep, bruises starting to rise. I spit blood in the sink and rinsed my mouth before digging in the cabinet for some aspirin. Took three.

I stripped down and got in the shower, blasting it as cold as I could take it. Sounds sadistic, but cold water numbs, and right now that's what I needed. I sat on the floor of the shower, letting the ice flow over me . . .

And I cried. It's hard to admit that, but it's true. I cried because it hurt, and I cried because it was fucking unfair, and I cried because there would never be any justice here. I could go to the cops, to the school, hell, to Jason's parents and not one of them would do a Goddamn thing.

Any wonder I wanted out of this forsaken hellhole of a town?

-oo00oo-

The weekend was a blur. I slept until the pain wouldn't let me, and I forced myself to stretch and walk so my muscles wouldn't cramp up. When Wayne saw me, I told him what happened and he just got that bleak look on his face, and gave me one of his Ketamine tablets for the pain. He's got part of a leftover prescription for his back, and normally I wouldn't touch it, but I needed the sleep so I took the one.

Everything hurt, including my mood, and I wasn't ready to go back on Monday. Wayne agreed and let the attendance office know so I wouldn't be marked truant. I slept a little more and was making toaster waffles when the phone rang.

It was Fi. I couldn't believe how much hearing her cheered me up, but when she started asking about why I wasn't in class, I tried to bluff, but I got the feeling she saw through it, and a few hours later when I answered the door, there she was.

"Fi!" I snapped, and then immediately softened. "It's okay. Looks worse than it is." I knew what my face looked like.

She wasn't having it, and came right up to me. "Tell me what happened, right now, Munson. Right. Now."