Author's Note: The next few pieces are going to be similar to the little mini-arc with the newspaper – just an outsider's perspective about some of the things the series touched on. I felt like we didn't really get enough of the inner workings of The Sharing, so I just thought I'd explore it a little more. Want to come with me? Oh, and Wylie's an OC…just don't want anybody searching the books for this kid. I just made him up for the piece. Enjoy!

#43 – Fire

Wylie

Ever love something and hate it at the same time?

High school is like that for me. I like the fact that I get to learn. Maybe I'm weird, but I like learning new things. It's like a snowball effect; I like learning something that allows me to learn other things, and then those other things allow me to learn more. I'm interested in the process of it, just as much as the things I'm actually learning about. I kind of want to be a teacher. A teacher at a nice college somewhere, where I can be around people like me. Definitely not a high school teacher, putting up with the jerks I have to put up with now.

That's what sucks about high school – the kids I go with. Most of them don't even know exist, and I'm just fine with that. It's the ones who can't help screwing with me that I can't stand. I don't make a spectacle of myself. I don't raise my hand for every question the teacher asks, and I'm not first in line to pass out papers for them. I'm not a teacher's pet. So why do people feel the need to single me out and make me look bad? Why do they feel the urge to pound on me when nobody's looking? Who knows? I don't.

Even when school's at its worst, I still think I like it a little better than home. My parents are in the middle of a divorce. They're still living under the same roof, but they can't stand each other. My dad constantly makes horrible comments to my mom, things that make me feel terrible. When he's home, that is – he's usually out with one of his younger girlfriends. My mom's way of dealing with it is being drunk. Like, twenty-four/seven. I can't tell you how many times I've had to flip her on her stomach when she's passed out, or how many broken dishes I've swept up from her drunken attempts to cook. The little pint-sized bottles of rum she likes litter the house like landmines.

So, yeah, that's why I don't mind school, even though I can't get through a day without my laces tied together or my head getting dunked into the water fountain. Nothing I do seems to make a difference. Kids made fun of me for being fat freshman year, so I knocked off the Fritos and started jogging. When I was finally in shape, it was my glasses they made fun of. I worked harder, cut more lawns, and saved up enough to get contact lenses. When the glasses were gone, they started in on the acne. I was currently using a medicated cream to get rid of the pimples, but it wasn't really with much hope…I knew from experience that once the blemishes were gone, they'd find something else to hate on me for. Anything will do, just don't let Wylie have a moment's peace.

When the final bell on Friday rang, I breathed a sigh of relief. The week was done, and it had been a fairly good one, as far as the constant bullying went. There had been a couple of snide comments, of course…but I was a pro at dealing with people picking on me by this point. I'd eat a couple of snide comments for breakfast and ask for seconds.

I decided to stop off at my locker to drop off my books before the walk home, since I'd already finished my homework for the weekend. That turned out to be a mistake. When I got outside, the busses had already left and the courtyard was empty. The teachers who were supposed to be on monitor duty were gone, too; I guess teachers are like students when that last bell on Friday rings. They just want to get the hell out of there, too.

I spotted them before they spotted me – a couple of first-class jerkwads hanging by the coke machines. I put my head down and walked the opposite way, even though I'd just have to double back around when I hit the street. It would add ten minutes to my walk, but that was a fair price to pay to avoid those two. Woo and Rhett were two of the worst my school had to offer, in terms of bullies. They didn't have an altruistic bone between the two of them. They didn't fight fair, and humiliation wasn't enough for those two. They liked to injure my body as well as my pride.

I got far enough away to where I thought I'd gotten away with another one when I heard shoes on the ground behind me. I turned and felt that familiar ball of fear clench my stomach – both of them were running toward me. They weren't trying to hide their intentions. They were like two idiot cruise missiles locked onto their target, and their goal was the same, too – destruction of the nerd.

Well, hell, if they weren't going to hide their intentions, neither was I. I took off running, matter-of-factly glad I'd emptied my backpack into my locker before walking home. The empty bag lightly thump-thump-thumped against my back as I picked up speed. "Get him!" Woo yelled unnecessarily, like Rhett didn't already know why he was running after me.

Jogging had done me a world of good. Woo was in good shape, he was on the swim team, but he was too big to keep pace with me. Rhett was a pack a day smoker at the ripe old age of sixteen, and he fell back quickly. Woo's footfalls were fading as I neared the street, and I risked a look around behind me to see how much ground I'd gained. That turned out to be stupid.

All the relief I'd felt at outrunning Woo and Rhett drained out of me instantly when I felt my right foot slide. I looked down in time to see the ripped-off cover of a binder sliding underneath my foot. Why didn't anybody pick that shit up? I thought desperately as I felt my balance go and my legs went out from under me.

As I landed flat on my back on the edge of the school's lawn, all of my breath got knocked out of my chest in one big whoosh. I tried to get up right away to run again, but my body just wouldn't cooperate. I didn't have a chance to catch my breath before Woo's big ham of a knee was planted squarely in my stomach, causing the pain in my torso to tighten and localize.

"Why'd you run, Wussy Wylie?" he gasped, pinning my struggling shoulders with his hands. I tried to tell him I couldn't breathe, to get off of me, but nothing would come out. The edges of my vision blurred and greyed. "Now you know I'm going to have to kick your ass." Like that hadn't been his intention in the first place.

Rhett put his hands on his knees as he finally caught up. "What're you waiting for?" he asked Woo, huffing for the breath I couldn't catch. "Give the bastard what he deserves!"

Encouraged, Woo grinned. I was about to pass out when my nose exploded with pain. Woo drew his fist back, and I distinctly saw two droplets of my own blood drip from his knuckles in slow motion. He positioned his fist to hit me again, and I closed my eyes and prepared myself for unconsciousness.

Suddenly, Woo's knee jerked painfully in my stomach, and then it was gone. All of the pressure was gone. The oxygen flooded my lungs, and my brain woke up a little. I rolled onto my side to see Woo on his back with some new kid on top of him. The guy new to this particular fight – Joe, my reviving brain informed me – was going to town on Woo. Woo was bigger, but Joe'd gotten the jump on him. He was straddling Woo and whaling on him. Joe's arms were going up and down faster than I thought humanly possible as he dropped bombs on the bully. I heard the rapid, flat smacking sounds Joe's fists made as they found Woo's face and head time and time again. "Gahh!" Woo yelled in surprise and pain. "Rhett, God dammit! Get this lunatic off – ugh – get him off!"

Rhett got him off, but not before Joe landed his most brutal punch of the fight, a straight right hand on Woo's chin that put him on Queer Street. Woo tried to get up after Rhett tackled Joe off of him, but he stumbled and fell back onto his head.

Now Joe was on the defensive; Rhett had him down on his knees in a headlock and was throwing short uppercuts. All of a sudden, my fear and pain turned into a massive ball of rage. I went nuclear. Enough. That was the only thought I had as I got up, shed my backpack, and walked over to where Rhett was manhandling Joe.

He was hunched over, holding Joe down, and without thinking about it, I threw my knee into his exposed ribs as hard as I could. I heard all of the air whoosh out of him, and his grip on Joe's neck loosened. Joe immediately pushed him backward and started throwing wild punches. Joe looked like he had it covered, so I stepped back and let him work. Rhett covered up for a minute, then dropped under the sustained punches.

Rhett was down, groaning lightly. Woo was still motionless on the ground, but I had a feeling he'd had enough and was just playing opossum. Joe calmly said, "If either one of you morons comes near this kid again, next time I'll kill you." He said it like he was stating a fact, like he was telling them the sky was blue and the grass is green. "You got that? I'll kill you, next time." He picked up my backpack, handed it to me, and said, "Come on. Where do you live?"

We left the two bullies lying on the lawn and began walking toward my house. Neither one of us said anything – I was still marveling at the fact that I'd just hit somebody. In all of the times I'd been beat on, it had never occurred to me to fight back. Seeing Joe fight them like that had flipped a switch inside of me. His bravery was contagious or something.

Finally, when I realized he wasn't going to be the first one to say anything, I thanked him and asked him why he did it. He studied me for a moment before shrugging. "It's simple, man. I took a vow not to stand by anymore. Most people in life are spectators. I made a promise to right wrongs and get my hands dirty, if necessary. I'm a doer now, not a watcher."

"What do you mean?" I asked. His speech was weird and interesting to me. I mean, I knew Joe by name only. He'd had no skin in the game when Woo and Rhett were beating on me. There was nothing in it for him to have a goose egg on his forehead and the beginning of a black eye (not to mention two enemies at school.) He'd stepped in to help me, a virtual stranger, and all of a sudden it was really important for me to find out why.

He just pointed to a pin on the shoulder strap of his backpack. It was a cartoony, three-pronged flame. "That's Fire," he said. "I wear it to remind me to have one. Things are never going to change without people who have fire inside of them. If I walked by those two idiots beating on you, I'd have been no better than them. The Sharing really changed the way I look at things."

"The Sharing?" I asked, surprised. The Sharing was supposed to be like the Boys and Girls Club, the Boy Scouts, and the Girl Scouts all rolled into one. "The Sharing taught you to fight like that?"

Joe laughed easily. "They didn't teach me how to fight. I don't know how – that was my first one. I did all right, huh?" he grinned, and I felt the first connection of friendship form between us.

"All right? You ruled!" I exalted. "I would have thought you were doing that for years! The look on Woo's face while you were whooping him – man, I'll take that with me to the grave!"

Joe grinned a little more, then got serious all of a sudden. "I don't like violence. In a way, I hate those guys for making me do that. But sometimes you don't have a choice. Sometimes, it's the only thing a person understands. That wouldn't have gone down like that if I'd just walked over and tried to talk it over – we both would have ended up getting pounded. Violence is the only language those two dumbasses speak."

We'd reached my house. I tried not to look regretful as I said, "Well, this is my stop. Thanks for the help, man, I…I appreciate it more than I could tell you. I guess I'll see you around?"

He looked surprised. "I assumed you'd invite me in for a glass of water after the work I just put in."

I wanted to, but the image of my mom, lying drunk and half-naked on my couch flooded my mind. I guess Joe could see it on my face; maybe not that, but the fact there was something I was ashamed of behind my front door. "No sweat, dude. It's not a good time, I gotcha. But hey, why don't we hang out sometime?"

The friendship bond grew stronger, and it was a light, bubbly feeling. "Absolutely! We could go hang at the mall tomorrow, or go to the skate park or something."

Joe smiled and shrugged. "We could," he agreed. "Why not hang out tonight, too, though? Think you can make the seven o'clock Sharing meeting at the Rec Center? My buddy Alan is a junior, he usually drives me. We could swing by and pick you up, if you want to check it out."

Too good to be true didn't even begin to describe the way I felt about that offer. I could get out of my house on a Friday night? Be with people who could potentially be friends? Not have to be scared about being out after dark in a town where everyone seemed to want to pound me? "I definitely do. I'll be out front at six forty-five," I promised.

He stuck out his hand, and I slapped it. He grinned one last time and said, "Make it six thirty, huh? We like to get a shake before the meeting, usually. My treat. Later, Wylie." And my first real friend turned around and walked down my street.

To Be Continued