Chapter 4: The Tanning Bed and the Trailor

​Right in front of the staff room, Aby pressed her phone to her ear, her fingers trembling as the line rang. Once. Twice. She cut the call and dialed again. Marcus wasn’t picking up. The cafeteria was only a few blocks away, but every second wasted felt like a death sentence for Ned.
​On the third attempt, the line finally clicked open. Before Aby could get a single syllable out, Marcus’s voice cut through the static—low, uncharacteristically sharp, and urgent.
​“I’ll be there, Aby.”
​The line went dead.
​Aby lowered her phone, exhaling a shaky breath. Even with Marcus on the way, a cold knot of dread remained tight in her stomach. Everyone on campus knew Tyler Avon’s dirty game. He wasn’t just a bully; he was an institution of terror. Standing well over six feet, with a broad, heavily muscled frame built from years of aggressive varsity athletics, Tyler carried himself with the entitlement of a guy whose wealthy family essentially owned half the local district. Everything about his history, his background, and his volatile temper resembled a category-five storm. Nobody stood in front of him.
​Except for one guy. Devin.
​Devin Farrell was the polar opposite. Where Tyler was loud, physically imposing, and destructive, Devin was lean, precise, and brilliant—proven both inside and outside the classroom. They didn’t share a traditional rivalry, but a deep, mutual loathing existed between them, born from entirely clashing ideologies. Months ago, Devin had gone word-for-word against Tyler in a crowded hallway, publicly dismantling Tyler’s ego with a calm, devastating intellect. Since that day, Tyler had been desperate to drag Devin down to his level, constantly probing for a reaction. Marcus had begged Devin to stay out of it back then, telling him that acting as the campus savior wasn’t his job.
​But today, Tyler had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
​Inside the cafeteria, the air was suffocatingly hot.
​Ned was slumped against the linoleum floor, his jaw and mouth smeared completely red. A steady, dark stream of blood dripped from his lip onto his torn collar. Tyler stood over him, his expensive varsity jacket thrown back, his face twisted into a mocking sneer. He reached down, grabbing Ned by the front of his shirt, lifting the smaller boy until his toes barely touched the ground.
​“Oh, Mr. Fembot,” Tyler sighed, shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. “I expected more of a challenge after all this time. You really disappointed me. Don’t you know rule number one of this university? You do what you do best, and you serve Mr. Tyler Avon.”
​“Do me a favor, Mr. I-Slept-Too-Long-On-A-Tanning-Bed.”
​The voice rang out from the cafeteria entrance, clear, cold, and cutting through the tension like a razor.
​The entire cafeteria—stuffed with dozens of students who had been watching in horrified silence—instantly broke out into a wave of nervous, explosive laughter.
​Tyler’s smirk vanished for a fraction of a second before returning, sharper and uglier. He tossed Ned aside like trash and turned his massive frame around, his icy blue eyes locking onto Devin. Devin stood in the doorway, his sleeves rolled tightly up to his elbows, his posture completely still.
​“Oh, this fucking guy, man…” Tyler muttered, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward. “So what now? You’re going to interrupt our lovely therapy session, Dex?”
​“You don’t need to do this, Tyler,” Devin said, his voice terrifyingly level. He didn’t look at the crowd; his eyes were fixed entirely on Tyler. “Leave him alone. Let’s talk this all out at once.”
​“Stop acting like a parent,” Tyler spat, taking two heavy steps forward, closing the distance. He towered over Devin, his shadow completely swallowing him. “Goddammit, just leave. Unless you want one of these too.” He raised a massive, calloused fist.
​Devin didn’t flinch. He looked past Tyler at Ned, who was choking out a cough on the floor. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just let him leave for now.”
​Tyler paused, a cruel, calculating realization dawning across his sun-darkened face. He looked at Devin’s rolled-up sleeves, then cracked his knuckles, leaning in close so only Devin could hear the full venom in his words.
​“You’ll do whatever I want, huh? The great Starboy, bowing down,” Tyler whispered, his voice dripping with malice. “You think you’re better than everyone here because you’re smart? Because you play the hero? Everyone knows what you really are, Farrell. A charity case. A trailer-park rat whose own daddy realized what a pathetic loser you were and took off, leaving your family to rot in a tin can on the edge of town.”
​Something inside Devin snapped.
​The carefully constructed, polite “Dex” persona shattered into a million pieces. The heavy storm he kept locked in his chest erupted into pure, unadulterated raw anger. Without a word, Devin’s right fist shot forward like a piston, striking Tyler squarely on the jaw with a sickening, heavy thud.
​The force of the punch sent Tyler stumbling back two full steps, his eyes rolling back momentarily before he crashed hard against a cafeteria table, knocking it completely over.
​“Tyler!” one of his lackeys shouted.
​Before Devin could even reset his stance, the reality of the situation caught up to him. Tyler didn’t walk alone. Six to eight guys from the varsity athletic line immediately swarmed out from the surrounding tables. Devin was fast, but he was heavily outnumbered.
​A linebacker-sized student lunged at him, but Devin pivoted, driving a sharp left hook into the guy’s ribs, following it with a brutal right cross that knocked the student instantly out cold across a plastic chair. Another guy rushed him from the side; Devin caught him with a hard elbow to the temple, dropping him instantly to his knees, unconscious. A third attacker took a wild swing, but Devin ducked beneath it, driving his fist upward into the man’s solar plexus, completely incapacitating him.
​But Devin wasn’t a superhero. There was no plot armor here.
​As he knocked the third guy out, a heavy heavy combat boot caught Devin from behind, kicking his legs out. He hit the floor hard. Instantly, three other guys descended on him, raining down a barrage of unchecked, chaotic blows. A stray, heavy fist caught Devin squarely across the bridge of his nose. A sharp, loud crack echoed, followed by a sudden rush of warm, blinding blood that covered his mouth and chin. He took two sharp kicks to the ribs, his breath escaping in a ragged gasp as he rolled, desperately trying to shield his head, his face already bruising heavily.
​“Stop it! Separated! Right now!”
​A sharp, authoritative voice echoed through the cafeteria, backed by the heavy, frantic clicking of heels.
​Mrs. Smith, the notoriously strict head of the academic board, marched into the cafeteria, her face pale with fury. Right behind her were Eva and Cassie, who had run to the administration building the moment they realized Devin was heading into a trap.
​The remaining athletes immediately backed away from Devin, raising their hands in mock innocence as Mrs. Smith injected herself into the center of the chaos. “All of you—my office! Now! Marcus, get medical help for Ned!”
​Through the red, blurry haze of his vision, Devin saw Marcus rushing into the room from the opposite side, immediately dropping to help Ned up.
​Devin tried to push himself up from the linoleum floor, but his muscles screamed, his broken nose throbbing with a violent, agonizing pulse. Before he could fall back down, two pairs of hands caught him under his arms.
​Cassie’s face was frantic, tears hovering at the edges of her eyes as she pulled his arm over her shoulder. Her voice was trembling violently. “Devin… oh my god, Devin, look at your face. Come on, breathe.”
​On his other side, Eva gripped his waist tightly, helping lift his weight. Her usual sarcastic, playful demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a cold, hardened expression as she looked at the blood dripping down his shirt. She didn’t say a word, but her grip was rock-solid, anchoring him.
​Together, the two girls pulled Devin out of the chaotic cafeteria, guiding his faltering steps down the quiet hallway and toward an empty, dimly lit classroom, leaving the wreckage of the Starboy’s facade behind.