Chapter 3: Uneasy Alliances
After the fight in the schoolyard, the supervisor wasted no time. He marched Peterson, Jean-Daniel, and Wilkens into his office and made them sit on a long wooden bench, side by side, under the scorching glare of the midday sun pouring through the window.
He didn't scream. He didn't need to. His voice was sharp and cutting, the kind that made you sit straighter without realizing it. "Three boys. Three different grades. Same problem. You think this school is the street?" He gave each of them a warning slip, then pointed toward the yard. "Think about what you're doing before you ruin your futures."
Back on the bench outside the office, silence hung thick in the air.
"I didn't even throw a punch," Peterson muttered, breaking it first.
"You were going to," Jean-Daniel replied. "I saw it in your stance."
Wilkens hugged his torn backpack to his chest. "My glasses are cracked. Again."
Jean-Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah… my bad, bro. I was mad. Didn't mean to go that far."
Peterson raised an eyebrow. "You always that angry?"
"Nah," Jean-Daniel said with a faint grin. "Only when the heat's messing with my brain."
They all chuckled, just a little. The tension eased. The hostility drained, replaced with something new. Curiosity.
"You guys ever hang out?" Jean-Daniel asked.
"Not really," Peterson answered. "Not until now."
"Well," Jean-Daniel said, "maybe we should. We already fought. That means we've passed the test."
Wilkens laughed quietly. "What test is that?"
"The dumb teenage boy test," Jean-Daniel grinned.
But the grin didn't last long. His expression darkened.
"Look… real talk," he began, his voice dropping. "Things been rough at home. My mom's sick. No job. Rent late. I got two little sisters who cry every night 'cause they're hungry."
He looked up, serious now. "That's why I started doing side work. For this group in the neighborhood. Nothing crazy. Just running messages. Watching corners. Sometimes I get a little extra for helping with deliveries."
Peterson and Wilkens sat quietly, absorbing every word.
"I get paid," Jean-Daniel continued. "It ain't much, but it's something. If y'all ever want in, I can put in a word. It's not for everyone, but it helps when you got nothing."
Peterson's jaw tightened. He didn't respond. Wilkens looked away.
Just then, a loud voice shouted across the yard.
"There he go! That's him!"
A group of teens appeared, four of them, all older. They wore red braided bracelets and had matching designs carved into their backpacks. Their eyes locked on Jean-Daniel.
"We didn't forget what you said to our boy last week!" one of them barked.
Without warning, they charged. Jean-Daniel barely had time to get on his feet.
Peterson stood, fists clenched. Wilkens froze.
The fight was coming.
And this time, it wasn't just about schoolyard pride.