After the dense curtain of smoke passed, I still remained sprawled on my hands and knees,wincing in pain as I peeled my face off of the jagged pavement. In both of my ears, there was a harsh, sopranno ringing, in rhythm to the rapid beating of my pulse. My vision blurred and distorted, I watched in bewilderment as the fabric of my jacket darkened into a deep crimson. Despite my injured state, I was well aware that what had just occurred was no accident.

There was a dull ache on the palms of my hands as I hefted myself back to my feet. With a brief glance, I could tell in the pale glow of the moon they were scraped raw. Thankfully, nothing serious, but it would be a challenge to engage in any activities involving my hands for the next week. All concern for myself pushed aside, I scanned the premises for my attacker. Tonight the dim streetlights cast a subtle hue on the quiet streets of Treegap, but all seemed empty and devoid of any human presence. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Back in New York, the city was always teeming with life and noise. My mother had remarked that the silence of Treegap was peaceful, but secretly, I found it unnerving and lonely.

An eerie, distant hoot of an owl was abruptly interrupted by rambunctious whoops. Instantly, I whipped around to the source of the noise. As soon as I analyzed the people before me, my suspicions were confirmed. Teenagers.

There were four high-school-age boys, all clad in leather jackets and worn jeans. Their dark attire nearly camouflaged them as part of the night sky, but my sharp eyes were easily able to detect their distinct moving forms. None displayed any sort of guilt for nearly killing me. In fact, they didn't even acknowledge me at all; instead they were absorbed in laughing and stupidly shoving each other as they swore and joked among themselves.

After several moments, a member of the insane boy pack finally noticed me standing there. "Hey! Hey, bitch!" he called at the top of his lungs. His friends chortled behind him. The speaker smirked, encouraged by the attention of his followers, and continued. "How did you like the fireworks? I heard girls like explosive things, and baby, I am dynamite.."

Anger vibrated throughout my body, incinirating my veins like molten lava. At my sides, I clenched my hands in fury. Who did these assholes think they were? Not only did they come close to ending my life, but now they had shifted to verbally assaulting me. With words as rigid as my spine, I replied, "What the hell do you think you're doing! I'm calling the cops."

"Wimpy slut," another boy interjected, snickering, "she's just upset we made her ass harder to want than it already was."

Although I'd been in many scenarios with disrespectful boys before, where I had handled it in a placid fashion, this time something snapped within me. None of them knew me, and I wasn't about to let them make false judgements. If anything, they should be in court, with a hefty lawsuit charged against them. Rather, I decided take justice into my own hands. Adrenaline sent me surging forward, charging toward the boys like an enraged bull. At about the time I started screeching, they got smart and made a break for it, dashing in all different directions.

Instead of pursuing the slowest victim, I targeted the fastest boy, simply for the elevated sense of satisfaction I would have when I caught him. Challenges were always a thrill for me. Since I was young, I basked in competition, similar to the behavior of an addict when they are able to acquire their desired drug. A faint breeze whistled in my ears as the soles of my sneakers slapped against the pavement. Merely five feet ahead, I heard the panicked, uneven breathing of my target. He was quick on his feet, but not fast enough. Mentally I thanked my mom for all those painstaking years she'd made me participate on the track team.

In one swift motion, I lunged using the soles of my feet, and then hooked my arms around the boy's neck, knocking us both to the ground. I was not a heavy girl, but because I distributed my body weight evenly, I was able to pin him on his back. Under me, my victim thrashed and cursed as he struggled to escape.

"Let go of me you... you bitch!" he gasped, wheezing from exertion. On his breath I caught a whiff of the stale stench of alcohol.

So he was drunk. Figures.

"Why did you do it?" I interrogated, trying to place a name to a face concealed by the blackness of the night. "Why did you attack me?"

"I'm not telling you nothing," he slurred, the words garbled like had a mouthful of marbles.

In the loudest tone I could muster, I ordered, "You will tell me. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't kick your ass." When he remained unresponsive, I pretended to heave a sigh of reluctance before I dug my nails into the delicate flesh of his arms.

Within several seconds, he was literally howling in pain. "Shit! Okay! Okay, we were trying to get that looney old man who runs that music store with the stupid name!"

"Mr. Quinn?" I whispered, the rage in my voice replaced with puzzlement.

Although I had spoken Mr. Quinn's name under my breath, the boy had apparently been listening as he agreed, "Yeah, Mr. Quinn. My buddy Ricky has a score to settle with that fat bastard."

"Why? What did Mr. Quinn ever do?" I persisted.

"None of your business," he snapped, his voice nervously cracking as it raised an octave.

Cocking a brow, I glared at the stranger beneath me. "Don't forget who has the upper hand here," I reminded him firmly, tightening my grip. "Tell me everything you know about Mr. Quinn."

The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment before he jerked upward, striving to throw me off of him. Prepared for his escape tactic, I swiftly put them to an end as I punched him in the left eye with crippling force. A brief dagger of pain shot through my knuckles as my hand connected with his eye socket, but I knew it was nowhere near as agonizing as what my victim was experiencing. Despite his screams as he covered his injured eye with his fingers, I couldn't help but feel a bit satisfied. In my head, my dark thoughts jeered he deserved it. And I found myself agreeing.

Without warning, the other three teenage boys came tumbling out of the bushes, rushing to the aid of their fallen comrade. Although there were still so many questions I wanted my captive to answer, I accepted I was outnumbered. And according to tonight's earlier incident and the fact that these boys were as far from sober as anyone could be, I knew any fight with them they would win unfairly. Instead of opting for an early death, I released my grip on the boy.

However, as he was staggering to his feet, a single car came coasting down the road, illuminating him in the glow of the headlights, and giving me a glimpse of my victim for the first time. My jaw dropped as I immediately identified the deep blue eyes of Jesse Tuck, his left eye nearly swollen shut and turning a nasty shade of purple. His good right eye widened as he realized who I was. For several moments that seemed like an eternity we both stood there, paralyzed, staring at each other with bewildered expressions. Jesse was the first to break out of his reverie. Brushing the dirt off his jacket, he proudly set his shoulders forward in a cocky manner. His mouth curved upward into an unattractive smirk. As he turned to rejoin his friends, he called over his shoulder, "See you in school, bitch."

At the conclusion of chapter 4, I just wanted to thank all of my readers, especially those who reviewed my story! I love positive feedback because it encourages me to keep pursuing my dream of being a future author. As always, keep reviewing! :-) Also, if you have any questions regarding any of my stories, you can always pm me.