“WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?”
Fred stares at the vice-principal with wide, bewildered eyes, his enormous index finger pointing directly at me. I take a few more steps back. He could kill me with that finger alone.
“She, she... CHEATS,” he sputters, sounding like a child whose favorite toy has been taken away. I glance at his colossal cartoon-face and then, completely unexpectedly, totally inappropriately, and utterly against my better judgment, something inside me snaps. I try to suppress it, or at least hide it, but I can’t help myself. First comes a single snicker, then a chuckle, followed by another, and another, until I’m laughing so hard that I have to steady myself against a bookshelf. Tears stream down my face.
Fred turns to the vice-principal for support, but it’s clear she sees something entirely different from him, and when it finally dawns on him that she won’t help, he takes a threatening step toward me.
“Stop... stop... just... a moment... to... catch... my... breath...” My words are so unexpected, that he even stops. Normally, students flee from him like New Yorkers from Godzilla in a B-movie. But since I don’t, he hesitates, trying to figure out if he’s missing something, observing me with his head slightly tilted, like a big dog unsure if the stick he’s been ordered to fetch might actually attack him. It seems to take ages before he reaches the only logical conclusion: the stick is just a stick and won't do anything.
He closes the gap between us with two big steps. I feel his enormous fingers grip the front of my T-shirt, hearing the soft ripping sound as holes tear into the old, washed-out fabric. He brings his face so close to mine that I can see every blemish and pimple on his huge rectangular face. I catch the unmistakable scent of the ‘tonic’ all my classmates use in their battle against puberty—a potion so toxic that it leaves their faces red for the better part of the morning. His teeth, however, are remarkably white, and his breath is unexpectedly fresh, smelling of menthol.
“Legs, arms, neck,” he mumbles softly. He’s making a to-do list. His eyes lock onto mine, probably expecting them to break when he snaps my leg in two. His grip tightens.
And then, finally, my laughter stops. Of course, it does. It was only a coping mechanism, and now that it’s gone, the panic it suppressed, explodes inside me.
I try to break free, but it's no use. I'm no match for Fred and now that everything's back to normal, I can feel the unadulterated pleasure surging through him. A deep, ecstatic sigh escapes his lips as he lifts me off the ground with just one hand.
"You thought you were special, didn't you? But you're nothing. Absolutely nothing," he sneers, nodding toward the vice-principal. "I'll show her that I am the special one. "I have earned it."
I don’t listen anymore, and since fighting is useless, I have only one escape left—the only thing I’ve successfully trained myself to do over these last few years: withdraw from reality and turn inward. And so I do. I spiral further into my mind, eventually ending up where I always do: the attic of our house. My safe place. The place where my father stashed his old superhero comics. The place where I feel most connected to him. Thanks to those comics, I’ve swung through New York, fought space monsters, and saved the world countless times. All these years, I’ve blamed him for... well, everything, even though deep down I knew it wasn’t true. The fact is, his comics have made my life bearable in my darkest hours. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with grief because I might never be able to tell him this. I should have done so long ago.
I spiral further and further until, suddenly, all my fear evaporates, like the rising sun dissolving the early morning fog. Somehow I realize that Fred will not be able to destroy me. Not truly. Even if he smashes me into my grave. He can kill my body, but my mind will always be mine. This realization courses through my veins like a fast-acting medicine, like wildfire spreading through a bone-dry forest. My body may be depleted and on the verge of breaking, but inside, I’m a deer, majestically leaping through the trees as if gravity has no hold on me.
The vice-principal watches the two of us with keen interest but doesn’t intervene. Fred interprets her silence as encouragement. Mercilessly, his fingers tighten around my skinny upper leg. I hardly notice it anymore. Reality barely penetrates my consciousness. My mind is a bird, soaring toward the sun—free, afraid of no one, unbeatable. Fred inhales one last time. High above a desert, I bathe in the blood-red light of a rapidly ascending sun.
"HEY! WHAT?" Fred's grip loosens. He tries to regain his hold, but eventually, he has to let go completely. I land hard on the floor, my mind yanked back to reality. The first thing I see is Fred, staring in utter bewilderment at his still-smoking hands, unsure of what to do next. Then, he storms forward.
I close my eyes and curl up, wrapping my arms around my head in a laughable attempt to protect myself, waiting for the first blow to land. One second, two seconds, three—but nothing. After what seems like an eternity, the vice-principal’s voice breaks the silence. “That will be all, Roberto. I need her.” When I finally open my eyes, what I see is mind-boggling, even after an evening filled with mind-boggling events. Fred’s hands are still reaching out to me, but his legs are trapped in a large block of ice, making it impossible for him to come closer. He looks shocked and confused, like a little boy who tried to help his mother but got slapped instead. Suddenly, I feel a surge of pity for him. The vice-principal’s face, however, shows no empathy at all. “Unscathed, I said, Roberto. I need her in one piece, not several.”
“But... but... I should... I...”
“You should do nothing. It was a fair competition, and you lost.”
“Lost?! To her? Impossible. She’s nothing. I could destroy her with one thumb.” He looks no older than nine years old now and seems on the verge of tears. The vice-principal is not impressed.
“Still... she has the list, and you don’t.”
“Luck, pure luck! We just took a wrong turn, that’s all. She’s no match for me. Give me three minutes, and the list is mine. There it is—I can take it from her right now.”
“It’s too late, Roberto. My choice is made.”
Something inside Fred seems to break. The woman he trusted and obeyed for years is betraying him, and he doesn’t have a clue why. His eyes search her face, hoping this is a joke, a test, or something else. Then his eyes drop to the floor.