Lincoln Loud's life changed forever on a rainy Monday afternoon in early November. Looking back, there was nothing special about it, nothing that set it apart from all the other days that had come before it. He had always believed that Big and Important Days were choked with tension like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. You would instantly know that something people would be talking about for years to come was about to happen, even if you didn't know exactly what it was. He supposed that he was wrong, and that historical events happened in the middle of otherwise unremarkable Tuesdays and Thursdays. It seemed strange to him that something so monumental as, say, the start of the Revolutionary War or the Stock Market Crash didn't permeate the entirety of the mornings and evenings they occurred on, like a strong and pungent odor, but he guessed that was real life: Things pop up and simply happen with no cinematic swell of music to herald their arrival and no signs in the stars you could decipher if you only looked up.

Like every other weekday, that Monday started with Lincoln rolling out of bed to the shrill cry of his alarm. The room was cast in ashy twilight and the sound of rainwater chugging through the downspout filled his ears like the low whisper of ghostly voices. He slapped the OFF button, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stretched. Something in his back cracked and he winced. Uh-oh, that didn't sound good. He got carefully to his feet, and a muscle twinged between his shoulder blades. He hissed, but as soon as it had come, the pain was gone.

Back pain was nothing new for Lincoln. Neither was knee pain, elbow pain, and every other kind of pain for that matter. The only boy among ten girls, Lincoln was very popular with his sisters. That is, they all came to him when they wanted or needed something. Lana needed someone to help clean the cages of her many venomous reptiles? Lincoln. Luan needed someone to race across town on their bike and buy a replacement whoopie cushion while she made her way to an event? Lincoln. Lori needed someone to do all her chores so she could sneak out and hang with her friends? Lincoln. Lynn...oh, Jesus, Lynn was the worst. She loved boxing, wrestling, football, and MMA - all the hardcore contact sports - and who did she drag along for the fun? If you answered "Lincoln" you're correct. Every afternoon, she made him play some dumb sports game with her and then proceeded to beat him up. Yesterday, she speared him into the fence and then spiked the ball off his head in celebration. By the end of it, he was so riddled with scrapes, bruises, and pains that he could hardly limp up the stairs to bed.

Standing up, Lincoln shuffled to the door on sore feet and went into the hall.

Like always, there was a line for the bathroom. He fell in behind Lucy and threw his head back; his bladder burst and if he didn't empty it soon, it was going to empty itself. Lucy turned around, clasped her hands behind her back, and looked up at him. Though her eyes were concealed behind her bangs, Lincoln could feel them boring into him. "I had a dream about you last night."

Oh boy.

"How did I die this time?" he sighed.

"Jason Voorhees shot you through the head with a harpoon gun," Lucy deadpanned. "Then he hung you upside down in a doorway and Luan found you."

At least it sounded like he went quickly, unlike that one where he burned to death. That one still sent shivers down his spine. "Did anyone else die?"

"No, just you."

The bathroom door opened and Leni came out with a towel wrapped around her body and another swaddling her hair. Luna went in and the line inched forward.

What seemed like hours later, Lincoln finally got his turn. When he was finished, he returned to his room where he dressed in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. As he pulled his shoes on, Lori poked her head in. "Before you go, you need to bring my laundry up from the basement. I literally don't have any socks."

Lincoln sighed. He knew better than to argue, though. When his sisters demanded something of him, it was easier to just go along with it than it was to fight back. Fighting back only got him into deeper trouble. "Okay," he said.

When Lori was gone, he got up, grabbed his backpack, and went downstairs, leaving it by the entryway to the dining room. In the kitchen, he opened the basement door, snapped the light on, and navigated the creaky steps. The washer and dryer sat side by side in a dusty, shadow infested corner underneath a slot window level with the backyard. Lincoln picked up Lori's laundry basket, carried it over to the dryer, and opened the door. He tossed her clothes in, slammed the door shut again, and carried the hamper up to Lori's room. "Be sure to fold and put them away!" Lori called up the stairs.

Lincoln sighed.

He dumped the clothes onto Lori's bed and then proceeded to fold them. As a token act of rebellion, he balled up two socks that didn't match and put them with the others. Ha, Lori, take that.

When he was, thankfully, finished, Lincoln went downstairs for breakfast, getting there just as Lori was herding everyone into the van. "Come on, Linc," she said shortly, "you're so slow, you need to stop dawdling in the morning."

"But I haven't eaten."

"That's a personal problem. You had time."

"But -"

Lori put her hands on her hips. "No buts. Now get in the van or you're walking in the rain. Choice is up to you, Lincoln."

Hanging his head, Lincoln trudged out to the van and slid in next to Lisa, stomach growling all the while. In perhaps a subconscious act of mercy, Lori dropped him, Lisa, Lana, Lola, and Lucy off at the elementary school first, which gave him just enough time to eat. Clyde, Rusty, Rocky, and Poppa Wheelie were sitting at their usual table by the drink machine. Clyde called out to him and Lincoln turned his head to wave, but bumped into someone. Like a flash, she whipped around and glared at him, her brows angled down in an angry V and her brown eyes burning with hatred. "What's your problem, retard?" she demanded.

She was roughly his age and Hispanic with black hair pulled back from her forehead in a ponytail that lay limp against her back. Freckles dotted her cheeks and two rat-like teeth protruded from the front of her mouth, reminding Lincoln of Nosferatu the vampire. She wore shorts, a purple hoodie, and -

Her arms shot out and she shoved Lincoln hard. He stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and landed on his butt with a jarring thump. The girl stood triumphantly over him, fists balled. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life, white boy." She reared back her foot to kick him and Lincoln cringed like a small, frightened dog, his eyes squeezing shut. This was it. He had a good run but now he was going to die squirming on the floor like a bug. There would be a candlelight vigil in his honor and maybe they'd name one of the bathrooms after him. Who would wash Lori's clothes? Who would play football with Lynn? Oh, what a tragedy for his family!

Before the blow could come, however, the girl let out a sharp cry, and Lincoln creaked open one eye. Principal Huggins, in all his balding, middle-age glory, held her off the floor by the back of her hoodie. She kicked and thrashed in an attempt to break his hold, but couldn't quite shake him off. "It's your first day and you're already proving everything the principal at the alternative school told me, Santiago. Enjoy ISS 'cause that's where you're going."

Giving up, the girl crossed her arms and glowered. Principal Huggins carried her away, and she fixed Lincoln with a baleful scowl. She pressed her thumb to her neck and mimed cutting, and Lincoln gulped. When she was safely gone, he struggled to his feet and dusted himself off. Everyone was looking at him and a few girls snickered behind their hands. Blushing, he got in line, grabbed his tray, and sat with his friends. "You okay, buddy?" Clyde asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lincoln said.

"That girl owned you, Loud," Poppa Wheelie said. "It was so embarrassing."

Lincoln ignored him. Ribbing and making fun of his friends was just Poppa Wheelie's way. "Who is she?"

"Ronnie Anne Santiago," Clyde said. "She just transferred from the alternative school."

The air left Lincoln's lungs in a rush. The alternative school was the Earl Simmons Industrial School in Oak Lawn, a virtual day prison for the worst students in Royal, Oak, and Fauquier counties. Lincoln had heard a million and one horror stories about it: Fights, lockdowns, harsh treatment from the teachers, and even rampant S-E-X assault. If she came from there, she was bad news.

Which didn't bode well for Lincoln.

He drew a deep breath and hung his head. Clyde patted his back and said, "It's okay, buddy. I'm sure she'll forget all about this."

Lincoln wasn't so sure, She looked really mad at him.

Why did he have to bump into her? Why didn't he watch where he was going instead of being a careless idiot? This was all his fault. He should have been more careful. Now because of his stupidity, he was in the crosshairs of a dangerous (though kind of cute) Hispanic girl from the psycho school.

Could this day get any worse?

He blinked. God, he better not ask that or it totally would get worse.

Now his appetite was suddenly gone.

After breakfast, he went to his first class, thanking his lucky stars that Ronnie Anne was in ISS. He sat in his usual seat at the front of the room and complemented Ms. Johnson's hair and clothes: The former was messy and stuck out at funny angles and the latter were baggy and rumpled. You have to kiss up to get ahead in life. That's what his dad said and Dad knew everything.

All during class, he listened and took notes like he was supposed to, but his mind kept drifting back to his harrowing encounter with Ronnie Anne Santiago. Looming over him with her hands balled into fists and her forehead wrinkled, she was terrifying...and kind of cute.

But mostly terrifying.

When the bell rang, he went to his locker, swapped out books, and started toward the math room. On his way, he scanned his surroundings like a wary animal on the lookout for danger. He rounded a corner and found it. Ronnie Anne Santiago grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands and pulled his face to hers. His heart launched into his throat and his life flashed before his eyes. "How you doing, lame-o?" she hissed.

Lincoln sputtered.

"Thanks to you I have in school suspension," she growled.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln moaned. "Please don't hurt me."

She shoved him back and he bumped into an boy who pushed him back into Ronnie Anne's arms. She spun him around and slammed him into a locker, the metallic clang drowning out his pained gasp. Kids streamed by, some of them sparing mildly interested glances, and Lincoln prayed a teacher would show, but none did.

"I'm going to make your life miserable, white hair," Ronnie Anne said. "You're going to wish you were never born." She yanked him forward and then shoved him back against the locker, knocking the breath out of him. She released his shirt, wheeled around on her heels, and rushed off, her hands shoving into the pockets of her hoodie. Lincoln was frozen in place until he was sure she was gone, then he collected his things and went to class with his head down. Scarlet shame spread across his face and cold dread sloshed like black ice in his stomach. Part of him considered ducking out a side door, running away, and never coming back, but he'd get in trouble and wind up in ISS where Ronnie Anne would have free reign to do whatever she wanted to him. That thought sent a shiver down his spine.

It wasn't fair! He didn't mean to bump into her! And it wasn't like he made her drop her food all over her shoes or anything. Why was she so mad? Why would they even let her into school knowing how psycho she is? She came from the alternate school, for crying out loud! They should have known better. Anyone who comes from that place is bound to be a complete psychopath.

What should he do? Tell? He doubted that would help. If anything, it would make things worse.

He reached the math room just ahead of the bell. Long tables with two chairs each faced the blackboard and projects from fourth period science, which was also held here, stood on tables pressed against the wall. Lincoln sat next to Clyde and threw his head back. "You alright?" Clyde asked.

"No," Lincoln said. "I saw Ronnie Anne in the hall and she roughed me up."

A look of puzzlement flickered across Clyde's face. "What was she doing out of ISS?"

"I don't know, probably going to the bathroom or something, but that's not the point. I'm on her crap list and she's not going to let me off." He buried his face in his hands and took a deep, quavering breath. "I am so screwed."

Clyde nodded silently. "Yeah, it sounds like it."

"What should I do?"

"Well," Clyde offered, "the way I see it, the only thing you can do is transfer schools."

Lincoln groaned. That wasn't an option. Maybe Clyde, the only child of an upper middle class couple, could go where he wanted when he wanted, but not Lincoln. The only other school in Royal County he could theoretically go to was the Catholic school - he wasn't even going to count on the gifted school, since the only area he could claim being gifted in was video games. Homeschooling was out of the question since Mom and Dad both worked and going to the alternative school would make things worse; instead of one Ronnie Anne, he'd have to deal with fifteen, twenty, a hundred.

All he could do was hope and pray that she would forget his transgression and not make his life a waking nightmare.

Maybe she wouldn't.

Maybe.


She did.

The very next day, Lincoln was at his locker before the first bell when Ronnie Anne strode up and slammed the door shut, almost catching his finger in the process. "'Sup, lame-o?" she asked.

Oh no.

Maybe if he was calm and casual, she would move onto someone else. "Hey, Ronnie Anne," he said. "I like your, uh, hoodie. It's cute."

Deep down, he expected her to arch a quizzical brow, thank him, and then stop bullying him. That, however, is not what she did. "Did you just call me cute?" she demanded.

"No," Lincoln said quickly, "I just like -"

Ronnie Anne grabbed his wrist in both hands and twisted back and forth in opposite directions, her broken, dirty nails gouging his soft flesh. Hot agony shot up Lincoln's arm and his eyes strained from their sockets. He let out a tongue wiggling scream and the corners of Ronnie Anne's mouth sharpened into an evil smile. He tried to pull away, but she applied more pressure, and his legs turned to hot butter, spilling him to his knees. Ronnie Anne's hold broke and she grabbed his cowlick, wrenching his head to one side. Tears filled his eyes and he cried out in a high pitched wail of pain. "Am I still cute, you piece of shit?" she asked.

"No," Lincoln sobbed.

"Oh, so now I'm ugly?"

She yanked his cowlick again and laughed merrily at his pain. Finally, she let go and walked away. "See you real soon," she said over her shoulder.

Real soon wound up being the very next class. She sat directly behind him just to kick the back of his seat and fire spitballs at the nape of his neck. At one point, she leaned forward and yanked his cowlick again. Having had enough, he whipped around and shot daggers at her. "Stop," he said.

"Stop," she mocked.

"You're being dumb."

"You're being dumb."

Lincoln sighed in frustration and faced forward. Ronnie Anne kicked his seat and he grinded his teeth. He pictured himself punching her in the nose, and the sight of blood trickling down her upper lip turned his stomach. She made him mad, but not mad enough to do that: The thought of hitting anyone sickened him, but especially a girl.

That afternoon, he did the only thing he could think of: He confided in Ms. Johnson. After the final class of the day, he approached her desk and said, "I really need to talk to you about something."

"What is it, Lincoln?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Taking a deep breath, Lincoln told her about Ronnie Anne's bullying. The teacher listened with a slight frown, and when he was done, she puffed out her chest and donned an expression of righteous indignation. "There shall be no bullying in any class of mine. This is a state program. Leave it to me, Lincoln."

"Thanks, Ms. Johnson," Lincoln said, "I knew I could count on you."

The next day at recess, everyone lined up to go inside. Ms. Johnson stood by the door with her hands behind her back. When Lincoln passed, she stopped him. "Psst, Lincoln. I talked to Ronnie Anne for you. I used your name. It was all a misunderstanding."

"You what?" Lincoln asked, horrified.

"She wasn't bullying you at all. See, Ronnie Anne comes from a town where picking on someone means she wants to be your friend and maybe play sports with you on the weekends."

Ronnie Anne appeared just inside the door, a malicious smile on her face. She punched her hand and Lincoln quivered like jelly. As soon as Ms. Johnson was gone, Ronnie Anne punched Lincoln's arm. "That's for snitching," she said.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln moaned.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be."

Lincoln didn't know if she was sorry or not, but in the coming weeks, he was very sorry. Ronnie Anne stalked him like a shadow. She slapped the back of his neck, kicked him in the butt, tripped him in the cafeteria, shoved him into a locker, chased him home, and even pantsed him in gym class, yanking down his shorts and his underwear. She did it right in front of a group of girls, including Cristina, whom he had a giant crush on. They all gaped at his wee wee, then launched into a fit of hysterical giggles. Lincoln pulled his shorts back up as quickly as he could, but it was too late, the damage had been done. To add insult to injury (or injury to insult), Ronnie Anne flung a ball at the back of his head, driving him to his knees. "Heads up, lame-o," Ronnie Anne said.

Tears welled in Lincoln's eyes but he put on a brave face and held them back. He got to his feet, brushed himself off, and walked away, meeting Clyde, Poppa Wheelie, and the Spokes brothers by one of the basketball hoops. "Wow," Poppa Wheelie said, "it was funny at first, but now it's getting sick."

"I can't believe she did that," Rusty said.

"She's gone too far this time, buddy," Clyde said. "You should go to the principal."

Hot anger gripped Lincoln's chest. "I can't! She'll just find out and it'll make things even worse."

"You can't keep taking it," Poppa Wheelie said.

"Yeah," Rocky agreed, "you'll never make it."

Something about that remark rubbed Lincoln the wrong way. What, did they think he was weak? Did they think he was going to fold like Lori's laundry? Screw them and screw Ronnie Anne too. He downright refused to give her the satisfaction of breaking him. He would take whatever she had to dish out and he would do it like a man: In silence.

That was easier said than done, of course. He ignored her spitballs, name calling, pokes, prods, slaps, and cowlick pulls, but instead of being discouraged, she just upped the ante. She filled his locker with 10,000 Tic Tacs that cascaded out and across the floor when he opened it; she shoved a sandwich down the back of his pants; she passed him note and when he opened it, there was a big heart with a booger in the center; she threw things at him, called him names, and lurked around his locker between classes like a shark, preventing him from getting the books he needed for class and getting him into trouble with the teachers. He made a game of trying to duck and dodge her in the hall. He would hide behind lockers, crouch in alcoves, shelter behind trash cans, and lose himself in crowds, using the overcrowding of Royal Woods Elementary to his advantage, His heart pounded as he slipped from place to place, and after a while, he realized he was kind of having fun.

The fun stopped when he got to class and Ronnie Anne started in on him, though the sound of her laughter as she tormented him was melodic and eased the pain just a little. One day, she chased him all the way to Franklin Avenue, a full six blocks. She was right behind him the whole time, but when he swung onto his street, she fell back. "I'll get you tomorrow, Lincoln!"

Lincoln's lungs burst for air and a hot stitch flared in his side. He came to a stop, slapped his hands to his knees, and bent at the waist to catch his breath. He looked over his shoulder and caught Ronnie Anne staring at him with a strange, faraway look in her eyes. She bit her bottom lip and nodded to herself. He gauged the trajectory of her gaze and was almost certain she was looking at his butt.

When she realized he was watching her, she furrowed her brow and contrived to look angry. She lunged at him, and he broke and ran. Her laughter followed him all the way home. That night, as he sat in bed and tried to lose himself in an Ace Savvy comic, he thought of her, and his stomach did this weird twisty-turny thing that it usually only did when he was about to throw up.

Later, he tossed and turned in the dark, so conflicted he couldn't be still. He hated Ronnie Anne bullying him, but he liked the fact that she spent so much time and effort on him. Other girls completely ignored him, but not her, in fact, she went out of her way to acknowledge him. Being picked on wasn't very fun, but she cared enough to do it, and while it might be a little strange, he appreciated that. It was nice to know that he was such an important part of her day...even if it wasn't in the best way.

That night, he dreamed of Ronnie Anne. They ran together through a meadow in spring, her with a stick and him with terror on his face. She was barefoot and wore a white dress, he wore pants and a shirt ripped from being struck repeatedly by the jagged end of her stick. She laughed musically at his fear, and her face glowed with heart-stopping happiness.

They joined hands and spun around like two happy children playing Ring Around the Rosie, then Ronnie Anne let him go and he slammed into the trunk of a tree. When he tried to get to his feet, she kicked dirt in his face and snorted laughter. "How does it taste, lame-o?"

Like manna from on hgh, my queen, Lincoln thought.

The screeching of the alarm scattered the dream like smoke on the wind and he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. That was strange. Kind of cool, but strange.

Getting up, he got dressed, pulled his shoes and socks on, and walked to school alone, backpack draped over one shoulder and his hand absently gripping the strap. He went over the dream again and again, trying to make sense of it and of the gurgling in the pit of his stomach, but couldn't...or wouldn't. He turned onto Schoolhouse Road and slowed. The school was ahead on the right, old glory flapping and snapping on the pole out front. Kids converged on the building from every direction like zombies from an old black and white horror movie and buses idled at the curb as scores of students spilled off in a sloppy rush. Lincoln spotted Ronnie Anne crossing the street and came to a complete stop. She looked around, waited for a car to pass, and then hurried across without seeing him. Lincoln held his breath and darted his eyes up and down her body, from her ponytail to her purple knee length socks. A mixture of disgust and something else washed through him and in that moment, he honestly didn't know if he liked or hated her.

Something took hold of him and he heard the sound of his own voice, his blood freezing when he realized what he'd done. "Ronnie Anne!" he screamed. "You suck!"

The Latina screeched to a halt and pivoted her head around, neck muscles flexing and straining. She saw him and her eyes narrowed to wicked little slits. She squared her shoulders, balled her hands, and started toward him. The light of the morning sun shimmered like fire in her hair and made her eyes sparkle like chocolate gems. Her skin was warm and coppery, putting Lincoln in mind of exotic beaches, and her overbite lent her the appearance of a cute little mouse. She was almost to him, stalking like a lioness to a gazelle, and Lincoln had only one thought.

She's beautiful.

That thought dissolved in a white hot flash of pain when she crashed her fist into his chest. "What did you say?" she pressed.

"Nothing," Lincoln whined.

"You said I suck," she hissed. She grabbed him, stuck her foot behind his, and shoved him to the ground. The back of his skull hit the grassy ground inches from the concrete and his ankle twisted, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. Lincoln cried out and sat up, his eyes bugging from his head. He grabbed his ankle and wailed when Ronnie Anne kicked it. "Who sucks now?" she asked.

Tears burst from Lincoln's eyes and he began to sob. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He hung his head, cradled his wounded ankle, and hitched with the power of his misery. Ronnie Anne started to walk away, but hesitated, a very brief look of worry flickering across her face.

"Dude...stop crying," she said uncomfortably. "It didn't hurt that bad."

Lincoln made an effort to stop, but only cried harder. Ronnie Anne frowned and looked left and right to see if they were being watched. The nearest kids were about 500 feet away, too far to hear Lincoln's pathetic whimpering, and didn't spare them so much as a second glance. She sighed and looked at Lincoln again, her features softening...but not by much. "Seriously, knock it off. Boys aren't supposed to cry. Just man up and take your lumps.

"I'm trying!" Lincoln sobbed. "It hurts so bad."

Sighing, Ronnie Anne shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels, looking longingly toward the school and chewing her bottom lip in thought. Finally, she sighed. "Whatever. Come on."

With that, she grabbed him by his cowlick and started dragging him like a caveman with its bride. His scalp caught fire and his weeping cut off as pain enveloped his entire being. He thrashed and kicked his good leg, and Ronnie Anne shook him. "Stop it," she said, "or I'm gonna leave you in the street."

Lincoln gritted his teeth against the pain and gave up the struggle. The rough pavement tore at his shirt and scratched his back, and at one point, Ronnie Anne swerved in order to pull him through a warm pile of dog poop, leaving a chunky brown streak down the back of his shirt and pants. "That's gross," she said. "You should probably change into your gym clothes or something."

"They're at home," Lincoln said.

"Sucks to be you then."

She couldn't get him over the curb, so she yanked him to his feet and guided him by his cowlick, pulling and steering like a rider on the reins of a horse. "This way, retard."

Inside, she led him to a bench flanking the office and sat him down. "There. Don't say I never helped you." She started to walk away but came back and jammed her finger into Lincoln's face. His heart jumped into his throat and he cringed in expectation of a killing blow that didn't come. "You owe me big for this, Snow White."

She lightly slapped the side of his face and took her leave. Lincoln watched her go, then let out a pent up breath he didn't realize he was holding. He was shocked that she actually helped him. He thought she'd beat him to a pulp and leave his broken body on the sidewalk to be found by a jogger like a dead body in an episode of Law & Order. That she sacrificed a good fifteen minutes to literally drag him to school was touching.

He caught a whiff of something foul and his nose crinkled.

Oh, right.

He was covered in shit.

Getting to his feet, he hobbled to the bathroom. "What's that on your back, kid?" someone called.

"It's crap!" someone answered.

The chatter of talking voices died and everyone turned to look at him, some with looks of disgust and others with shark-like grins. "Ew, gross," a girl said. Someone else laughed and another person still threw a paper ball at his head.

Lincoln blushed and went into the bathroom, where he did his absolute best to clean up using soap, water, and cheap paper towels that kept disingirating. He got as much of it as he could, but you could still smell the faint odor of dog poo if you got too close to him.

Kids avoided him all morning, and at lunch, Clyde and the others held their nose. "What's that stench?" Poppa Wheelie asked.

"Dog poop," Lincoln said.

He told them about Ronnie Anne helping him, and as he spoke, a dreamy inflection crept into his voice. He pictured her mean smile, her angry eyes, and her knobby knees playing peekaboo with the cuffs of her shorts, and he propped his hand in his upturned chin like a girl with a crush. Clyde and Rusty exchanged a puzzled look and Rocky arched his brow quizzically. "Dude," Poppa Wheelie said, "she's the one who hurt your ankle in the first place."

"And intentionally dragged you through dog poo," Clyde said.

"You make it sound like she saved your life, man," Rusty said.

"She kind of did," Lincoln countered defensively.

"After almost taking it away," Clyde pointed out.

Lincoln didn't have a retort to that. They were essentially right, but still, he appreciated that Ronnie Anne helped him when he needed her. She didn't have to do that. She could have just left him for the ants and vultures.

That she didn't mean she cared.

Outside of his mother and sisters, no girl had ever cared about him.

Emotion welled in Lincoln's chest and his eyes got all misty.

The next day, he limped to school on his bad ankle, hoping to see Ronnie Anne before class started. He turned yesterday's events over and over in his mind and felt like he was close to an epiphany. When he started crying, Ronnie Anne was nice to him. She helped him and treated him with a tender kindness that he had never experienced before. Sure, to the outside observer, it looked bad, but he knew otherwise. Under that hard shell bully exterior, Ronnie Anne Santiago was a good person. If he had to make himself cry in order to see that silky soft side of her, he would, because it was everything he hoped to find in a girl and more. Even her bullying was sweet in its own way. It meant she liked him. Did she like-like him or just like him? He didn't know but he imagined it was the former.

He turned onto Rosedale Drive, three blocks from school, and suddenly, he was surrounded by a group of eighth grade boys. They towered over him like mighty oaks in a forest and sneered down him like he was a bug. The leader wore a mullet, an olive green T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and studded leather wristbands. He pushed Lincoln into one of his cronies, and the crony shoved him back. "Hey, kid," the leader said, "how's it shaking?"

Lincoln shook like a leaf and tried to stammer out some reply, but the leader cut him off. "I saw you coming off Franklin. People on Franklin aren't like people in the trailer park. People on Franklin are rich. Are you rich, little boy?"

"N-No."

The leader's face darkened and he grabbed the front of Lincoln's shirt in both hands, pulling him off his feet. "Don't lie to me, you little shithead. You're a high falutin prep boy and you're gonna pay. Give me your lunch money."

"I don't have any lunch money," Lincoln sputtered. "Honest, I'm poor just like you."

"Wrong answer," the leader said. He shoved Lincoln to the ground and stood over him, hands balled into fists.

One of his toadies snickered. "Kill him, Butch."

Butch pulled something from his pocket and flicked it. A knife blade popped out and refracted the light of the sun, freezing Lincoln's blood. "Look, rich boy, I don't have time to screw around. Either give me your lunch money, or I'm going to carve your face up."

"I swear," Lincoln said, starting to cry, "I don't have any money."

That's not what Butch wanted to hear. He took a step forward and raised the knife.

Without warning, Ronnie Anne sprang out of the bushes like a small but furious mammal. She hit Butch with a spinning kick and he stumbled back, dropping the knife. She kicked him in the shin and when he doubled over, she jammed her knee into his face, shattering his nose. He crashed to the ground and lay on his side, moaning. Another boy went after Ronnie Anne, but she ducked to the side and stuck out her foot. He tripped, pinwheeled his arms, and fell flat on his face. She kicked a third boy in his crotch, and he sank to his knees, clutching his wounded family jewels. The remaining two boys faced her down, looking scared, then turned and ran. Butch and the others staggered to their feet and shambled away, Butch crying and gushing blood and the boy with the hurt sac panting and staggering. "No one picks on Lincoln but me," Ronnie Anne called after them. "Spread the word."

She turned and Lincoln gaped up and her, jaw slack. She stuck out her hand and Lincoln could only look at it. "Come on, lame-o."

Their eyes met and Lincoln felt that familiar stirring in his stomach. One corner of her mouth curled up in a ghost of a smile and Lincoln grinned. He took her hand and she helped him to his feet. "Thanks," he said, "that was a close one."

"If they carved you up, you wouldn't be able to return that favor," she said. She reached into the bushes and grabbed her books, then shoved them into Lincoln's arms. "Here, carry these."

And that is how Lincoln gladly became Ronnie Anne Santiago's slave.