jumped out of his skin. He turned. It was Gonzalo. Gonzalo was huge. Six foot seven. Stout and round. He carried a fire ax over his shoulder. He had long, dry, white metalhead hair that covered his face. Back when David had been captain of the football team, he’d tried desperately to get Gonzalo to join the team, but the guy couldn’t be bothered. He was the epitome of a loner. Gonzalo was the only student who was able to thrive at the drops, fighting all by himself. Every two weeks he walked through the drops unchallenged, picking up what he wanted.
No one wanted to mess with him, and there was never a good reason to. He only ever wanted enough for himself.
“Heard they tried to hang you in the market,” Gonzalo said.
“That ain’t right.”
David was in shock. Gonzalo towered over him. He could only nod slowly in response.
“Is it true you’re starting a gang that won’t stand for that shit?” Gonzalo asked.
“Th-that’s right,” David said.
“Then I’m in.”
“You’re shitting me,” Will said. David couldn’t have put it better if he tried.
Gonzalo took his place beside David and faced the crowd, ax in hand.
The sight of Gonzalo threw the crowd into disarray. Everyone was shocked. The bats cracked faster. The blades above thumped louder. One white-haired Scrap came running out of the crowd and stood in front of David and Gonzalo. He was a little guy, wiry. His face was latticed with crisscrossing scars.
“Name’s Ritchie. I want to fight with you guys. Is that cool?” David nodded again. This was really happening.
Nelson handed Ritchie a hammer. Ritchie refused it and cracked his knuckles.
“No, I’m cool.”
Then more Scraps came. It was just a few white heads of hair trickling through other gangs at first, but within moments Scraps converged on him from all over the quad. Some he didn’t think he’d ever seen before. They were loner kids who lived in the shadows, who haunted the edges of the school, who had long ago been forgotten.
The helicopter roared overhead. The canopy was opened, and the giant pallets were lowered through the hole.
David was encircled by white hair. There had to be eighty of them now. He had no idea this many kids were without gangs.
A familiar feeling flickered inside of him. He had a team behind him again, one with a fighting chance.
“Listen to me!” David screamed. “You’re not alone anymore.
We fight together!”
They raised their fists and cheered.
“This is your gang! And that”-David pointed to the heavy pallets swinging above-“is OUR food!”
The pallets dropped.
With a wooden crack, the pallets hit the ground. Food erupted from the broken containers. David’s gang charged.
Varsity and the rest of the school did the same. The quad was a vortex of bodies, all grabbing for loot. Everyone slammed into each other. David swung his club into the forearm of his old teammate Rhodes and heard a crunch. Rhodes clutched his ruined arm and fell.
Someone blindsided David, tackling him into a pileup.
Anonymous fingers hooked the inside of David’s mouth, threatening to tear his cheek off. David chomped down on the fingers. Whomever they belonged to screamed. George Diaz rushed toward David wearing a lacrosse glove with nails sticking out from it. George swung at David with looping punches. The nails whizzed by his nose. David threw a lucky punch and caught the underside of George’s glove, driving the nailed side into his face. George screamed and tumbled off, the fat glove still fastened to his cheek.
David lifted himself to his feet. He saw Hilary bolt from the Pretty Ones and into the mix. Sam was one thing, but Hilary never left the sidelines during a drop. David tracked her path to Lucy, who was hefting food toward the exit with Belinda.
Hilary grabbed Lucy by the hair and flung her to the ground. David pushed off to stop her, but Will was already ahead of him. David ran up and kept pace with Will. He was afraid of what Will might do to Hilary.
“I got this,” David said, putting his hand out to block Will.
“Focus on the food.”
“Get off me,” Will shoved back. “I’m serious.” David stumbled, and Will took the lead. Ahead of them, Lucy flailed underneath Hilary, who had both hands in Lucy’s hair, pulling her around like a dog by the ears. Will got to Lucy first and grabbed hold of her. David ran to Hilary and clutched her by the waist. David yanked Hilary off of Lucy and spun her away. He held her firmly in his hands. It was the first time he’d touched her since the night she’d broken up with him. He didn’t want to let go.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at her. Her eyes were still savage from the fight, but David’s voice seemed to tame her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, and jerked free of him.
When David reached out to take her hand, a rock hit him in the forehead. He didn’t lose consciousness, but he clutched his eyes shut and bent in pain. When he opened them again, Will was already hurrying Lucy off the quad. All around, rocks, bricks, pencil sharpeners, staplers, and other small objects rained down from above.
David looked up to see white-haired kids throwing those objects out of second- and third-floor windows. Their target was a large group of Varsity guys who were dragging a huge unbroken pallet of food toward the gym. The Varsity guys were pelted over and over, bricks ricocheting off their helmets. The ones without helmets bailed until there weren’t enough of them to haul the pallet. Ritchie was on their trail and moved swiftly with a pack of white-hairs to reverse the pallet’s path. The supplies had all been scooped up, and the fights were dying down.
“Scraps!” David called out, his hands raised victoriously in the air. “Let’s roll!”
As David turned toward the southern exit, he saw Sam tromping toward him, his heavy steel chain dangling from his hand. David knelt down to pick up a bat that had been lost by a Varsity. He took a wide stance and dug in.
Sam was closing in fast. Scraps, eager to prove themselves to David, stepped into Sam’s path to stop him. Each one received a vicious slap of chain for their trouble. But they still piled in.
Five feet from David, Sam was consumed by vengeful Scraps.
They hated Sam. They fought each other for the privilege of hitting him. They kicked his face, they pounded his ribs, they tore at his skin. They were going to kill him. David caught glimpses of Sam’s face through the writhing heap. Sam was in agony. He met David’s gaze. Sam was scared. Truly, honestly scared.
“Get off him!” David shouted.
No one listened.
“I said stop!”
The mob backed off, leaving Sam on his back, bloody and limp. David stood over him. Seeing the tyrant who had tormented him for a year lying broken on the ground in front of him was better than any trophy he could ever win. David walked away. Varsity members swooped in fast and carried Sam off.
David led his gang off the quad. No one blocked their path.
He saw awestruck grins and nods of begrudging respect from the other gangs. If it was a show they were looking for, David had delivered. David’s gang regrouped near the foyer. The initial nine were now nearly a hundred, their faces blood-streaked and smiling. Each one had their arms full with food.
“Let’s go eat,” David said.
David walked toward the West Wing with an army in his wake.
15
