Page 64 of Lost
He braced himself as Ethan Masters opened his mouth.
“There’s this funny story about you going around the school,” the boy said. His eyes gleamed. “Something about you having a twin.”
Lysander’s heart skipped a beat.
No,he thought.No, no, no.
“Adeadtwin,” Masters clarified. The four boys flanking him chuckled. “And a dead mother. There wouldn’t be any truth to that, would there?”
So the staring had not been because of his break-up with Eliza Beth. All those whispers had not been people saying what a terrible boyfriend he must have been, but people discussing his personal life like they were entitled to it.
“Oh, but there’s more,” Masters went on, louder now. And why wouldn’t he speak louder when he was gaining an audience? “They’re saying you’re the kid of a rockstar! Or at least, that you’re pretending to be. Guess you didn’t want to be little orphan Maverick, huh?”
The thought that people all around him thought he was masquerading as a rockstar’s son made him sick; the knowledge that they all knew about his recently deceased sister made him want to die. None of them were supposed to know about Dakota. None of them were supposed to care that he was related to Zack. None of them were even supposed to think twice about his name when they heard it.
But now they did. His name was as well-known around the school as Zack’s was to the music world.
And he knew, without a doubt, that this was all Eliza Beth’s doing.
His anger was sudden and frightening.
“So what have you got to say for yourself, Maverick?” This from Masters, looking like all of his Christmases had come at once. “Ready to confess to the world that you’re a loseranda fraud?”
His fist went flying.
Nobody saw it coming. Lysander himself didn’t realise that he had done it until Masters went flying backwards into his friends, arms outstretched and windmilling as they searched for purchase. There wasn’t a person in attendance who didn’t look stunned — Jack’s eyes were as wide as saucers; Masters’s friends stilled, looking to their leader for direction. Masters himself looked like he had never seen anybody fight back before.
And if nothing else, that was a victory to Lysander.
It took several seconds for Masters to recover, and by that time the students that had stopped to stare were already chuckling and forming a circle around their little scene. Jack looked like he was ready to run, and Lysander couldn’t blame him. They both knew what the circle of students meant — there was a fight about to start and there was nobody around to stop it. And usually Lysander would have been on Jack’s side here — he would have grabbed his friend and made a run for the nearest opening, intent on avoiding the fight and keeping in authority’s good graces.
But not now. Now he welcomed the idea.
He stood tall as Masters righted himself and stepped forward. The boy’s friends flew to flank him again, scowls back on their stupid faces and fists at the ready. But Lysander didn’t care about them. It was Masters that he had his eyes on; it was Masters that took it upon himself to tease and torment everybody that crossed his path. It was Masters that had brought up his mother and Dakota and Zack, so it was Masters that he was going to take out his anger on.
The asshole deserved it.
“You wanna fight, Maverick? Then bring it on!”
Prepared as he thought he was, Lysander wasn’t quick enough to stop the boy when he lunged.
They both went sailing into the grass. Lysander swung, but Masters was faster — his fist made direct contact with Lysander’s nose, and the taste of copper blossomed in the boy’s mouth. It was a new experience for him, but not one that he had the chance to linger on — Masters’s fist was coming in for a second blow, and Lysander had less than a second to react. He moved, just in time, and sent his own fist flying once more. He caught Masters in the side of the head, effectively throwing the boy off, and then they were going at it.
Lysander wasn’t one for fighting. He only knew how to throw a punch because Kieran’s father had taught them on the off chance that they were ever attacked out on the streets, but it had always been stressed that such a thing was not to be used lightly. Doing it now, Lysander could see why people like Masters would get themselves into fights for the hell of it.
It feltgood.
It felt good to let his anger out on somebody who deserved it. It even felt good when Masters hit him in the stomach, in the face, in the chest. Every blow meant something different — people laughing at him, Eliza Beth using him, Dakota dying. And every blow he managed to land on Masters was a point against those things, a small victory for Lysander.
The more he thought about these things, the more effort he put into hitting his target.
He was aware of students cheering — for him and for Masters both — but he cared so little for them that they may as well have not been there at all. A small part of him knew that Jack was among them somewhere, that he should be taking care of his friend instead of fighting, but a bigger part of him said that Jack could take care of himself and that beating up Masters was exactly what he needed. So he threw another punch. And another. And another.
He didn’t know which way was up. The world flashed by in shades of green, of blue, and the blur of infinite colour that was the circle of students that had gathered around them. Every now and then Lysander would see red — the blood on his knuckles, the blood on Masters’s face — and his stomach would lurch:what was he doing?
He was making things right. He was making them pay.
He took another hit to the face, but he didn’t feel a thing except the burning anger that seemed to have taken up a permanent residency in the pit of his stomach. Masters took a hit to the stomach that Lysander thought might have kept him down, but he bounced back just as well. They were equally matched, it seemed — Masters with his experience and Lysander with his endless pit of rage — and that was okay with him. He needed the challenge. Hewantedit.
