We got off where the bus had picked us up. All five of us kids started walking immediately and the bus pulled away.

Soon after, as I trailed behind the others, still wary of strangers, the three other boys turned on Henry and without hesitation, punched him in the stomach.

I heard the oof of his breath leaving him before he fell back and glared angrily, holding his stomach.

“I thought we were done with this shit,” Henry growled.

“We got bored,” the one who had punched said.

I came up next to Henry. I didn't understand the full dynamic here but bullying wasn't exactly rocket science.

“Don’t worry Taylor,” Henry said. “I'm fine.” He gathered his feet under him and slowly stood.

I eyed these three boys. None were particularly strong or athletic looking. One was a bit big but not in a strong muscular way. Another had muscles just for show.

The one who had punched Henry snorted. “Okay, Henry.” He sneered. “We can drag your big sis into this too.”

Henry looked panicked but I put a hand out to stop him before he said anything.

“Do you want to fight?” I asked the bully.

He snorted again. “Sure, bitch,” he said and raised his fists.

I dropped my book bag to the ground. 

“I'll referee,” the large one said.

I stepped forward, feeling Henry’s eyes boring into me. 

The ‘referee’ clapped loudly twice and my opponent stepped forward, throwing a right hook that was in poor form. My knees bent, effectively ducking and his fist went through the air above me. I snapped an elbow around and into his stomach hearing him wheeze and stumble back. At first he was just dazed, then paled and bent forward to vomit on the ground.

I straightened, and looked down at him as he coughed on the last couple mouthfuls.

Our referee had his mouth open.

I waited patiently as my opponent gathered himself, stepped around his vomit puddle and faced me again.

In my experience dueling with other contractors, we usually would stop here. But this tough guy put his fists up and readied for round two.

I shrugged and adjusted my stance, more ready this time. I’d shown I was more than just a choir girl, so he'd probably be more careful this time.

He started with the same right hook, but my eyes saw his feet stay planted on the ground. It was a feint so I deflected a half-hearted blow with a forearm before stepping back as he threw an uppercut with his non-dominant hand. Then I stepped forward and planted a jab against his ribs. It wasn't a strong blow, I didn’t have the time to shift my weight forward enough for that, but it still hurt and he backed off. I then threw a leg up and twisted my entire body with the force. He put his arms up to protect his head, and my shin slammed against them and forced them back and he ended up smacking himself in the head and stumbling again.

This time, though, I didn't give him a chance to recover and twisted more, unleashing a nasty roundhouse kick that got him squarely in the temple.

He fell to the ground, the other side of his head hitting the pavement.

Our referee shouted, catching my attention.

“No kicks,” he yelled.

I straightened, fixing him with a glare.

Then my opponent tagged out with the other non-referee. I squared myself. I hadn't exerted myself this much since I had been scraped off the side of the road. I hoped it didn't show, but I could feel my body beginning to overheat and my lungs were begging for me to do some heavy breathing. I was carefully hiding the signs of exhaustion. It didn't matter if these assholes were being unfair. I was molded for this. In a way, it was nostalgic.

Referee-boy clapped his hands again. My opponent barreled toward me for a full body tackle. I took it and stepped back with his momentum until he stopped, his head locked next to mine.

For a long moment we were glued together. I could feel sweat on his shirt beneath my hands and smell the odor in the air. He tried to twist my weight to the side to throw me down but I simply went with it and he let out a frustrated grunt. He tried it again and I followed the momentum, then took a firm step further and pulled hard with all of my muscles and what had been his attempt morphed into mine as I refused to let go and pulled until his balance shifted and I could force his weight away from me. He stumbled, but didn't fall and spit angrily at the ground. Assumably his large size and muscular build had been his primary method of overpowering people.

Without that, he looked a bit lost. I gave him an opportunity to forfeit, lowering my guard briefly.

But he looked too angry for that and pushed his sleeves up.

I inhaled for a long moment, then lunged. 

He dodged the first movement, tried to take an advantage of my opening but I blocked and let the force twist me back around to face him again.

I threw another punch, which glanced off his head and probably hurt but wasn't enough to put him down.

A few blows later he finally tried to counter, I ducked and tucked an elbow in and launched my fist straight up.

There was a quiet crack as it hit his jaw and dazedly stepped back before falling.

My first opponent stopped simply watching and went over to try rousing him, but the kid's eyes were rolling as his brain tried to unscramble itself.

I quietly reached down, picked up my bag and nodded at Henry, who looked petrified. We started back toward the house.

I paused before passing the one that had punched Henry in the first place.

“Leave us alone,” I grumbled under my breath, and left it at that.