Sometimes, things just...happen. And not little things, either, big things, huge things, life-changing things. One minute you're walking down Main on your way to Flip's, and the next minute, everything's black because Chris Kanyon came out of nowhere dressed like DDP and hit you with a random Kanyon Kutter, now you're dead. Lincoln wasn't a history expert but he knew enough to realize that a lot of the biggest events that shaped the world just...boom, here it is.

And his history was no different.

It was a sunny May afternoon and he and Johnny were eating lunch on the bleachers overlooking the athletic field. Kids chased each other, tossed balls around, and otherwise worked up a sweat while the few who didn't scarf down their food so they could hurry up and play looked on. Lincoln sat his lunch box in his lap and stole a quick look around to make sure no one was looking, then opened it. He wanted an Ace Savvy lunch box but his father killed that noise real quick. I have a bunch of lunch boxes in the attic, use one of those.

The only problem was: They were wrestling themed. Hulk Hogan, The Rock, Sting, Goldberg, there was even one with the WCW Monday Nitro broadcast team with their arms crossed and serious expressions on their faces. They looked for all the world like a bunch of middle aged accountants trying to be hip and edgy. One was even wearing sunglasses. GAG. Beggars can't be choosers, though, so he swallowed his pride and took one with the old school WWF logo on the front. He felt like the world's biggest schmuck carrying it around, so he slapped a piece of duct tape over it. Now he lived in mortal terror that it would fall off at the wrong moment and everyone would see. He imagined shocked gasps, contemptuous stares, and open disgust. Dude, the WWF? Gross. He heard them throwing all the taunts he'd thrown at his old man over the years. WWF stands for Where Wrestlers Fake and if you wanna watch sweaty, shirtless men dancing around, Logo is Channel 354.

Shiver.

He'd rather people think he watched Blarney the Dinosaur than Monday Night Raw.

Anyway, the lunch box sucked but not what was inside. Mom, ever the homemaker, preloaded it each morning with the best lunch she could scramble together. Today's offering was a ham sandwich topped with potato chips, apple slices, a Handi-Snack (little breadsticks and cheese for dipping), a juice pouch, and a single Oreo cookie. Lincoln licked his lips and glanced at Johnny. His lunch box had Chyna on it. Chyna was a female wrestler with more muscles than most men. Johnny drew a beard and mustache on her with a Sharpie, and when Dad saw it, he said something about "desecration" and ISIS blowing up historical landmarks. Lincoln wasn't really paying attention.

"What'd you get?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny took a sandwich out of the lunch box and turned it this way and that. "Chicken salad on white. Potato chips. An Oreo. And apple slices."

Ew, chicken salad. That stuff looked like baby puke and smelled like butt, why Johnny liked it, he'd never know, but the guy went crazy for it.

"I dunno why you eat that crud," he said. "It's nasty."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Don't you literally eat peanut butter on sauerkraut?"

"That's different," Lincoln said. "That actually tastes good."

"If wrestling was a food," Johnny said, "it would taste like peanut butter and sauerkraut."

Lincoln's eyes narrowed. Did Johnny really just say that? "Take that back," he hissed through his teeth.

"Stop picking on me for liking chicken salad," Johnny said.

Lincoln's first instinct was to knock the sandwich out of his hand and make him eat it off the ground, but he stayed his hand. If they got into any more fights, they'd wind up in Saturday detention like those kids in that eighties movie his mom loved. The Brunch Bunch? He couldn't remember the name, but these teenagers had to spend their whole Saturday cooped up in detention. Forget that. He'd rather spend it shoveling poop at a farm or something.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Whatever," and turned away. He took a bite of his sandwich and looked out over the field. He spotted Stella, Sid, and Liam kicking a soccer ball back and forth and laughing madly, like it was the funnest thing in the world. Hehe, ball roll and bounce *gigglesnort*

In case he didn't make it abundantly clear, Lincoln kind of hated sports. Some of it could be fun once you got into the thick of it, but watching sports? Ugh. Why? What was the point of watching someone else play a game? It'd be like if he got his jollies by sitting next to Johnny with his hands folded neatly in his lap while Johnny played Call of Honor. It didn't make much sense. Like, bro, pass me the controller.

He took another bite and washed it down with a sip of juice. A group of girls walked along the sidelines, and Lincoln squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun to see them better. "Hey," he said and nudged Johnny's arm with his elbow, "there's your girlfriend."

Johnny stiffened. "Where?" he asked, a hint of alarm creeping into his voice.

"Over there," Lincoln said and gestured.

The girls stopped fifty feet away as if to allow Johnny ample time to study them. "Oh," he said and blushed.

His "girlfriend" was Cristina, a cute little brunette a grade below them. She was ten - a full thirteen months younger than Lincoln - which made her basically a baby. For reasons known only to him, Johnny had a thing for her anyway. He asked her out one time while they all stood in line in the cafeteria. Unfortunately for him, he was sick at the time and coughed during his attempt to woo her. A wad of phlegm flew from his throat and landed on the front of her dress. She screamed bloody murder and everyone in the lunchroom turned to look at her. Johnny tried to pluck it off of her, but she went into hysteria mode and rushed off to the bathroom. Johnny was so humiliated that he later on, at home, he cried.

That was one of the rare times Lincoln hugged his brother for more than a quick celebratory pat on the back.

That didn't mean he didn't rank on Johnny about it. Like right now. "I hear she's dating Chandler these days."

Johnny's jaw clenched and he looked down at his lunch box. "Lucky him."

"Lucky her," Lincoln corrected. "His family's loaded. He can buy her all kinds of stuff you can't."

Cristina and her friends laughed over something one of them said. "It's poop money," Johnny grumbled to his sandwich.

Chandler's old man owned the sewage treatment facility in Elk Park, a massive factory building with a towering smoke stack and a vast parking lot that always seemed to be filled no matter the hour. He owned a bunch of other stuff too, like Flip's, Gus's, the local Burpin' Burger franchise...come to think of it, he owned basically all of Royal Woods and a good chunk of the surrounding towns. Lincoln didn't know how much bank Chandler had on hand, but the kid handed out twenties like they were candy and wore clothes that cost more than the mortgage on Mom and Dad's house, so it was probably safe to say "a lot".

"That poop money puts 300 dollar shoes on his feet," Lincoln pointed out. "He can get her all kinds of expensive gifts and stuff, what can you get her?"

Johnny prodded the inside of his bottom lip with his tongue and looked at Lincoln. His expression said I'm gonna kill him if he keeps up. "Alright, knock it off."

"I'm just -"

"Dude, I know I'm a broke joke. Okay? But you are too."

Ouch. Johnny had him there. They made a little extra on the side with their bike repair business, but the income wasn't steady or reliable. Their best customers, the Loud girls, had fallen on hard times and didn't bring their bikes by as often. Lynn, the biggest spender among them, got into a fight with her butt ball teammate Dora and got hit with a month long suspension. Her parents grounded her and the only time she was allowed to come outside was to walk to and from school. If she wasn't riding her bike, then, she wasn't wrecking it, and if she wasn't totalling her ride, she wasn't dragging its half-dead carcass to Lincoln and Johnny for help.

It was really feast or famine with that business, and right now, their house was Ethiopia.

Not literally, than God.

Lincoln shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed. He grabbed his apple slices but froze when a shadow fell over him. "Hey loser."

His blood ran cold.

He knew that voice.

Billy Mason, the school bully, loomed over him like a mighty oak, his chapped lips pulled back from his yellow teeth in a hateful sneer that Lincoln thought was supposed to be a smile. His big, brick-sized hands were balled into deadly fists and sunglasses shielded his eyes - he always wore them, and Lincoln was half sure he didn't even have eyes beneath them, just gaping sockets filled with hate.

A recent transfer to Royal County Elementary, Billy looked more like a linebacker than a sixth grader. His shoulders were so broad you needed two buses and a taxi to get from one side to the other and his neck looked like two packs of hotdogs frozen together. He wore a leather motorcycle jacket like a fifties greaser and denim cut off shorts that were dangerously close to hot pants territory. If any other kid dared to wear something like that, the entire school would come together to roast them out the door, but no one said a word to Billy. No one, no one, was brave enough; whenever he was around, they put their heads down and scuttled past, grateful that this time, it wasn't them he was picking on.

But there was always tomorrow. Billy held the whole school in an iron-clad grip of fear. No one was safe from his wrath, not even the old bullies Chandler and Poppa Wheelie. They both tried to cozy up to him and act as his squad, but he treated them the way Moe treated Curly and Larry - that is, he hit and picked on them even more. None of the teachers had the courage to stand up to him, not even Coach Meyers, and word on the street had it that he was man of the house, not his father.

Lincoln could believe it. He was built like a pro wrestler - and just as dumb too. He once got a two percent on a science test and spelled his name as BILEE. Being big and stupid really works up an appetite, apparently, because at lunch, he went around the cafeteria taking people's food away and eating it in front of them with obscene and mocking moans of pleasue. This brownie is so good. My compliments to your mom. Everyone handed their stuff over willingly. If they didn't, he'd pulverize them.

A long time ago, Dad showed Lincoln and Johnny this old school comedy called Friday. There was this dude in it named Deebo and in one scene, he hits some guy so hard he flies like ten feet in the air (Lincoln always imagined the WASTED screen from Steal That Car popping up when he hit the ground). Billy did that to the biggest kid on the football team when he refused to give up his Lunchable. Poor Sean (that was football kid's name) sailed through the cafeteria and crashed onto a table, which then collapsed under his weight like the announce table every week on Raw is War.

THAT'S MY LUNCH, PUNK.

Presently, Billy leaned over and Lincoln cringed in fear. Next to him, Johnny quivered in fear. "Uh...h-hey, Billy, how's it going?"

Billy ignored him. "What'cha got there, Velazquest?"

"Just, uh, just some apple slices."

Like an eighty year old Democratic socialist, Billy thrust his hand out, palm up. "Give 'em here."

What could Lincoln do but comply? He handed over the apples with a sigh.

"Now the cookie."

Okay, that was going to be a problem. Lincoln liked apples and all but sweets were something else. His parents didn't have very much money and rarely bought sugary stuff. Every cookie, cupcake, scoop of ice cream, Ho-Ho, and Twinkie was an exotic treat he was seldom allowed to partake of.

Billy was glaring at him. "Uh...it's sugar free, I don't think you'll like it," Lincoln said. "It's crap, I mean, if you want it, you'll be doing a huge favor."

Reverse psychology was one of those simple but effective tactics that you wouldn't think worked but totally did.

But not this time. Billy wiggled his fingers. "Glad to help. Now give it here."

Crud.

"Are you sure? I'm telling you, it's pretty -"

Flashing, Billy grabbed him by the back of his jacket and dragged him off his butt. Lincoln's heart rocketed into his throat, and suddenly he was soaring through the air, five feet above the kids sitting on the lower tiers of the bleacher if he was an inch. The ground rushed up to meet him and he had just enough time to brace for impact before hitting the grass. A girl screamed in alarm and a gang of boys jumped to their feet and darted away like Old West townspeople at high noon. Billy made his way down the bleachers like Andre the Giant stepping over the top top, and Johnny gaped in horror.

Lincoln let out a pained moan and tried to get to his hands and knees, but Billy planted his foot between his shoulder blades and drove him to his stomach. "I said I wanted your cookie. Now fork it over."

"O-Okay, fine, you -"

Billy stumbled and screeched in surprise. Lincoln sat up and blinked: Johnny was on his back like a small, vicious mammal, his tiny fists battering Billy's head in a furious rain of hellfire and brimstone. Billy reached behind him, peeled Johnny off, and tossed him aside like a ball of paper.

Before Lincoln knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and charging his adversary. No one was allowed to hurt Johnny...except for him.

Lowering his head, he threw out one shoulder and speared Billy Goldberg-style. Billy staggered back with an oof, but didn't go down. He shoved Lincoln back just in time for Johnny to kick him in the knee. Billy yelped and sat hard on the bleachers. Johnny, lost in the release of months' worth of pent-up aggression at being bullied, slapped him hard across the chest with the back of his hand. "Woooo!" Johnny cried, unconsciously imitating RIc Flair.

Billy came alive and pushed Johnny away, then got to his feet. Lincoln jumped onto the bleachers, got behind him, and did a driving fist drop. Billy sank to one knee and Johnny wrapped his arm around his head in a DDT. He threw himself to the ground, and Billy's face planted in the dirt. Johnny jumped up, slapped his elbow, and dropped it onto the back of Billy's head.

The other kids had gathered around in a screaming mass, their chants and cheers urging Lincoln on. Is this what it felt like to be Hulk Hogan in 1985? He felt strong, he felt...he felt...powerful.

Backing up, he ran at Billy's crumpled form and hit him with an Atomic Leg Drop. He jumped up and high-fived Johnny like a wrestler tagging his partner in. The kids jumped, pumped their fists, and chanted, slurping up every second like it was candy-coated and filled with chocolate. Lincoln bent at the waist and strutted around like RIc Flair, stopping to swipe his hand over his hair. The girls swooned and the boys went crazy with envy.

Johnny climbed onto the bleachers, stuck out his thumbs, and curled his arms, tapping his shoulders with them three times. "Johnny. Velaz. Quest." He jumped , did a frog splash, and landed on Billy, who was stone cold out. Lincoln came over, threw one leg over Billy's back, and squatted down. He slipped one arm around Billy's neck and held him in a Steiner Recliner. Johnny ran around the front, knelt in front of Billy, and checked him for signs of submitting. He didn't, but Johnny called it anyway.

It wouldn't be the first screwjob in the history of wrestling.

Lincoln let go, and Johnny grabbed his hand, lifting it high above their heads in triumph. The crowd surged forward, mobbed them, and carried them on its shoulders. "We're popular!" Lincoln shouted to be heard over the din.

Johnny flexed his non-existent muscles. "And all we had to do was wrestle for it."

They looked at each other...then shamefully away.

That didn't matter, though. The heel had been vanquished and they were on top of the world. Literally.

But then Principal Bodner came out and things went from great…

...to not so great.


"I can't believe he gave us Saturday detention," Johnny fumed as they walked home later that day.

Lincoln sighed heavily. "Yeah, it sucks."

After their big match against Billy (FIGHT WITH, not match, ugh he was starting to sound like Dad now), Principal Bodner dressed them down and called them delinquents. When they went back to class, they passed a team of paramedics in the hall rushing Billy away on a stretcher. Lincoln felt kind of bad, but you can only push someone so far before they snap on you.

He stopped feeling bad pretty quickly, though. Everyone in school clapped, called out to them, and patted them on the back for a job well done. At the beginning of the day, Lincoln and Johnny were just there, unremarkable mid card talent no one liked or hated. Now, they were main event guys and everyone loved them.

Lincoln could get used to that.

At home, Mom finished what Principal Bodner started and grounded them. Lincoln studied his face in the mirror over the dresser and frowned. He picked up a black eye when Billy threw him and it looked pretty gross.

"On it," Johnny said. He dropped onto his bed, whipped out his phone, and danced his thumbs across the screen.

Lincoln sat on the edge of his bed and rolled his neck, it was kind of stiff.

Sergio, Johnny's pet parrot, fluttered through the open window and landed on the sill. A red parrot with a yellow beak, Sergio wore tiny sunglasses and a gold chain. "What up, party people?" he squawked.

One of Dad's passions outside of wrestling was old school hip hop. He had a thousand records in the attic ranging in intensity from The Sugar Hill Gang (least offensive) to Tupac (most offensive...probably). Sometimes, when wrestling wasn't on, Dad would go up into the attic and listen to them. Sergio went with him, and, long story short, he learned to talk like a rapper from the early nineties. It was annoying.

Lincoln's pet rat Cinnamon jumped onto the bed and Lincoln picked him up. The rodent's glowing green eyes and two tails were a result of getting into Lisa's chemicals one day. That was a long story, though.

"What happened to your eye, homeboy?" Sergio asked.

"We got into a fight," Johnny said. "We won."

Sergio flew over to Johnny's bed and landed on the headboard. He started nodding his head and shuffled from side to side. "Gonna put you on the racks like a pair of slacks with another wack rapper tied to your back," he sang.

"Yeah," Johnny said, "like that."

Something zipped through the window, all metal and spinning blades, and everyone started.

A drone.

"What up, dog?" Sergio greeted his brother in flight.

The drone dropped a package then took its leave. Johnny opened it and took out a spray can. Shiner-Be-Gone read the label. "C'mere, Linc."

Lincoln went over and allowed Johnny to spray his eye. The shiner instantly disappeared.

Just as they were finishing up, the door opened and Dad came inside. Lincoln's heart sank and Johnny went rigid. Uh-oh, they were in for it now. Dad was going to beat them with his belt or worse...make them watch old AWA wrestling videos.

Dad closed the door behind him and stared at them from behind a pair of sunglasses. Only then did Lincoln register what he was wearing: A loud pink blazer and pants, a black shirt underneath and a purple tie. He held a bullhorn in one hand instead of a belt and it took Lincoln a second to place who he was pretending to be today. Jimmy "The Mouth of the South" Hart, the wrestling manager from way back who dressed like Elton John on a particularly gaudy day.

"Lookin' fly, homie," Sergio complimented.

"Boys," he said, "I heard what happened at school today."

He came forward and Lincoln and Johnny braced themselves for punishment.

It didn't come.

"I'm proud of you. I've reversed your mother's decision and ungrounded you. We're going out for pizza and video games to celebrate."

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other.

And grinned.


Beating up the bad guy and freeing the school from his evil grip made Lincoln and Johnny popular. Each morning they were received as heroes and everybody scrambled to give them anything their heart desired. Girls clustered around them, blushing and giggling at their greatness and boys sought them out to learn "how to be more like you guys." They were rock stars and their schoolmates were their adoring fans.

Johnny loved it. For the first time in his life he was somebody, and that's a heady feeling. He was no longer just Johnny from the block, he was famous, beloved, and, by golly, people liked him. Every day his swagger got a little more pronounced, and his head swelled just a touch bigger. He and Lincoln ran Royal County Elementary and they knew it. They could do and say whatever they wanted and the other kids would kiss their butts for the honor of hearing it.

Not every kid was agog at their awesome might. Some were poor, blind idiots who failed to realize they were in the presence of greatness. That bothered him and Lincoln both. Lincoln pointed out the fact that no one liked them before they became aggressive and assertive, and Johnny agreed. People love dominant personality types. No one votes for the limp rag running for president, they vote for the young, charismatic maverick who shoots from the hip or for the old billionaire who's too rich and old to care if he hurts your feelings.

We gotta be like that, Lincoln said, or we're going to lose our top spots.

That prospect terrified Johnny. He enjoyed his new fame and respect. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to being a glorified jobber on the bottom rung of the ladder.

We have to establish dominance, he said.

At lunch one day, Johnny spotted the perfect seat, right next to Cristina (who had become a lot more friendly and flirty since he and Lincoln beat up Billy). The only problem was, some boy was sitting in it. "Hey, punk, outta my seat," Johnny said.

"This is my seat," the boy whined.

Lincoln glared. "You heard the man, get out of his seat."

The kid sighed, got up, and started walking away. To really get their point across, Lincoln plucked his cookie off his tray. "This is mine now."

They sat next to Cristina and Johnny grinned at her. "Hey, girl, how about a date Friday night?"

Cristina grimaced. "I don't know. My parents don't want me to date anyone."

Was that a lie? Johnny felt like it was a lie and it probably was. She was practically dating Chandler before so yeah, she was lying. Well, he'd show her. "Oh, so you don't like black guys, huh?"

The color drained from her face and everyone around shot her dirty looks. "It's okay if you're a racist," Johnny shrugged.

"I'm not a racist, I swear!"

"So sad that a pretty girl such as yourself is filled with hate and bigotry."

"Wow, Cristina," a girl said from across the table, "you're literally worse than Hitler."

A panicky, doe-in-the-headlights look crept into Cristina's eyes. "Okay, I'll go out with you."

Ha. #Winning. "Great. You can pick me up at eight."

Later on, Johnny was going through his locker when Stella and Sid stalked up and crossed their arms, matching expressions of outrage on their faces. Jeez, someone always wanted his autograph or to tell him how great he was. It was cool but got majorly annoying. "Not now, ladies, I'm busy."

Stella jabbed her finger into his back and he spun, ready to throw down. "That was really messed up what you did to Cristina."

"Yeah," Sid said.

"What? Asking her out?" He laughed. "I'm the biggest hero this school's ever had, I beat Billy up and saved everyone's worthless butts. She should be honored to date me."

Sid and Stella both glared. "Accusing her of being a racist for not wanting to go out with you," Stella said.

"Yeah," Sid echoed.

Johnny blew a raspberry. "You're just jealous I didn't ask you out."

"You've been a real jerk lately," Stella charged.

"Yeah," Sid agreed.

"Lincoln too. You think you're so great but you're both turning into Billy."

"Yeah."

"Until you start acting right, we're not hanging out with you."

"Yeah," Sid said. "I mean, no. I mean...yeah!"

They spun and stormed off. "Who needs you?" Johnny yelled after them. He threw his arms out on either side to indicate the entire school. "Everyone's my friend."

Be that as it may, Johnny was still hurt by their accusations, and took his aggressions out on kids in his math class. He made fun of a nerd boy until he cried, then called Chandler a wuss and challenged him to a match (er, fight). Chandler wisely declined.

It was fun but it didn't get his mind off what Stella had said. Were he and Linc really bullying people?

Nah, Stella was just trippin'.

The next day, some kid scuffed Johnny's shoe in the hallway and didn't even say sorry. Johnny retaliated by shoving him into a locker and calling him a bunch of names. Lincoln made a third grader give him his cookie, then called his haircut "dumb." Every day, the power went more and more to their heads. In bed at night, Johnny mulled over Stella's accusation.

Maybe she was right.

Around this time, the other kids started acting funny. They no longer greeted Lincoln and Johnny as liberators, they cringed and shied away when they passed in the halls. There was a certain tension in the air, like static before an electrical storm, and people looked...well, they looked afraid.

It all came to a head two days later. Johnny was sitting on the bleachers next to Lincoln when some kid came up and sat down to their left. Lincoln spotted a Twinkie in his lunch box, got up, and stood over him. "Hey, loser."

"Hey," the kid mumbled.

"What'cha got there?"

"Twinkie."

"Give it here."

Those same words rang through Johnny's head in Billy Mason's voice, and that's when it hit him.

Lincoln seemed to realize it too: He frowned, shook his head, and came back, sitting down beside Johnny with a dazed look in his eyes. "We're bullies."

"I know," Johnny moaned.

"And fools."

"I know."

"We let this go to our heads."

"I know."

Lincoln held his face in his hands. "Let's stop."

"Way ahead of you."

That afternoon, they walked home in shame, neither able to look the other in the eye. They reached their driveway and started toward the house, but a high squeal stopped them. "You're hurting me."

Johnny looked up to see Billy Mason by the garage. He clutched Lola's wrist in his hand and growled at her. "Let go!" Lola cried. "I told you, I just came to get my bike fixed, I don't know where they are."

She kicked Billy in the shin, and he slapped her hard across the face, knocking her to the pavement.

Something happened when her sobs reached Johnny's ears.

He got mad.

Before he even knew he was going to react, he was running at Billy, Lincoln right behind him. Billy turned just as they smashed into him. Billy cried out and fell backwards, landing on the garage floor. Johnny attacked him with a frenzied flurry of punches and Lincoln kicked him in the side. Johnny's vision went gray and he seemed to watch himself as he battered Billy's already bloodied face. Billy pushed him off and got to his knees. Lincoln rushed over with a steel folding chair and slammed him in the head. Together, they picked him up in a double chokeslam and sent him through the workbench in an explosion of breaking wood, then kicked him senseless.

"Please stop," Billy moaned.

"You can't see me," Johnny shouted and waved his hand in front of his face.

Billy started to cry.

Sergio flew in and perched on a high shelf. He looked down at Billy. "You got knocked the freak out," he squawked.

In the driveway, Lola got to her feet and sniffled, her tears having tapered off. "You okay?" Johnny asked.

"I'm fine," she said, "who was that?"

"Billy the Bully.'

"We beat him up and he came back for revenge," Lincoln added.

"But the worst revenge was that he we turned into him," Johnny said.

He and Lincoln both shivered.

But they weren't him.

And they proved it by fixing Lola's bike for free.

Also by personally apologizing to every kid in school.

Needless to say, once Johnny admitted to being a jerk, Cristina canceled their date with a sigh of relief that hurt his feelings.

Maybe being a bully wasn't -

Nevermind.

Being a bully is awful.

Really, don't bully people.

THE END.