Almost Normal

The first punch hadn’t even hurt the way Luka expected it to.

Micah couldn’t hit nearly as hard as Dante or Rico. It still stung, and it snapped Luka’s head just enough that the fluorescent lights smeared for half a second. The real impact landed when his vision steadied, when he tasted metal and realized his lip had split.

Perfect.

Now he wasn’t just in a fight at school, he was going to wear it on his face. No hiding it. No playing it off. Rico and Dante were going to have a field day.

It was the first fight he’d been in since he’d come back to school. Actually, it was the first fight he’d ever been in at school. Somehow, the second his home life stopped being the biggest threat, trouble found him anyway. Or he found it. He almost cringed thinking about what Rico was going to say. Yeah, that was going to be a fun conversation.

Another fist cut through the air.

Luka rolled sideways and let it miss. Micha had to pivot to find him again, and Luka couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his split lip.

Too heavy on his feet. Too committed to every swing. Micha moved like he expected the world to stay still and take it.

Luka didn’t.

This was going to be easy.

Thanks for the training, Dante.

Luka hadn’t picked this fight. He also hadn’t walked away from it, but he hadn’t exactly had the option. The senior in front of him was Micah Parsons, a silver spoon jock with a talent for picking targets he knew wouldn’t swing back.

Luka had tried to ignore it. He’d tried to keep out of it. He was tired of trouble, he’d had plenty of it in his life thanks to his mobster stepfather and his extremely bossy, overbearing older brothers. But today was the day he snapped. He wasn’t looking the other way anymore.

He knew what it was like to be the underdog, the one who got shoved around because nobody expected him to do anything about it. So no, he wasn’t going to turn his back while Micha tried to herd a fifteen year old kid toward the bathroom like it was private property and the rest of the school didn’t matter.

Whatever Micah planned to do in there, it wasn’t going to be harmless. And Luka wasn’t going to let him make that kid feel small.

Micah swung again.

Luka ducked fast, and Micah’s knuckles cracked into the lockers behind him with a hollow clang. Micah really was an idiot, all power and no control.

Micah yanked his hand back, wincing.

Good. Metal didn’t care about his daddy’s money. Metal always won.

Luka flashed him a wolfish smile when Micah looked back at him.

Micah was tall and he had broad shoulders, he wore an expensive haircut that somehow still looked effortless, varsity jacket that had never seen a day of actual work. His father’s money clung to him the same way cologne did, and Micah carried it like it made him untouchable.

He’d been untouchable for years. Untouchable enough to terrorize sophomores like it was a sport.

Micha’s father was the backbone of the town, at least that’s what people liked to say. So of course Micha got away with whatever he wanted. Money did a great job of keeping mouths shut, and Luka had seen that trick before.

It reminded him of Alonzo, his stepfather, except Micha’s dad played his power in daylight. Legal, polished, and impossible to argue with without somehow becoming the problem.

The sophomore kid stood a few feet away, frozen in that helpless way Luka recognized too well. One strap of his backpack dangled useless, ripped clean from the bag. His eyes kept flicking between Luka and Micha like he couldn’t decide which outcome would hurt less.

Luka had managed to stay under everyone’s radar for the past three months. Half the school probably couldn’t have picked his name out of a lineup. He had a feeling that was about to change.

He wasn’t looking forward to that part.

Micah’s friends lingered close, half a circle of smug faces, waiting for entertainment. They always waited. Micah fed them, and they ate.

“You done?” Luka asked, voice low and pleased.

Micah stepped forward and shoved Luka once. “I’m just gettin’ started.”

Luka pressed his tongue against the cut, felt the sting spike again, and fought the instinct to step back. That instinct had kept him alive plenty of times. It didn’t belong here. This was not the kind of danger he was used to. This was nothing.

Luka lifted his gaze and met Micah’s eyes. He didn’t say anything. He just smiled back at him, a snide little smirk that said Micah wasn’t nearly as impressive as he thought he was.

Micah’s smile faltered, just a little, like he’d expected anger or a shove back or anything loud. He didn’t like quiet. Quiet meant someone was thinking.

Luka glanced past Micah at the sophomore kid trying to look invisible against the wall, then back to Micah.

“You only like to pick on those who can’t fight back. You know what that makes you?” Luka paused and tilted his head slightly just for effect. “A coward.”

Micah’s eyes went dark and thin. “You’ve got no idea what I could do to you. I’m like nothin’ you’ve ever seen before.”

Luka almost laughed. Was this guy for real? He smiled at him, then leaned in so his mouth was just to the left of Micah’s face. “You’ve got no idea what I’ve seen.”

Micah pulled back and glared at Luka. He wasn’t sure what to make of him. He was new to their school and had hardly even said two words to anyone in the school. He was no one. Nothing. But still he hesitated for a brief moment. Then he swung.

His fist came up again.

Luka moved.

He stepped inside the arc of Micah’s punch and let Micah’s momentum do the work. It was the same move Dante had pulled on him a few times when they were mock-fighting. Luka caught Micah’s wrist, turned it just enough to off-balance him, and drove Micah sideways into the lockers with a sharp clang that made everyone jump.

It wasn’t some fancy move. It was leverage, timing, and the simple fact that Micah wasn’t used to anyone treating him like he was just another body in a hallway.

Micah’s shoulder hit metal. His face twisted, more shocked than hurt.

Luka didn’t keep going. He didn’t pile on. He didn’t let it turn into a brawl. He held Micah there for a few seconds, just long enough for the world to see who had control, then let him go.

Micah stumbled, caught himself, and spun back around like anger could fix embarrassment.

“Who do you think you are?” Micah spat.

Luka’s lip throbbed. He tasted blood again and ignored it.

“I’m nothin’ you’re used to,” Luka said.

That landed. Micah’s eyes flashed, and he lunged.

This time, Luka didn’t meet him straight on. He stepped back, let Micah overcommit, and when Micah’s shoulder clipped Luka’s chest, Luka pivoted and used Micah’s own speed to send him off course.

Micah slammed into the lockers again, louder.

Luka moved in fast, pinned him with his forearm and shoulder, and pressed him just enough that Micah’s cheek flattened against the metal and his words turned mean.

“Most people get tired of lookin’ stupid,” Luka said, low. “You just keep comin’ back for more.”

Someone yelled, “Oh!”

Micah’s friends started shouting, half thrilled, half panicked, like they couldn’t decide whether this was hilarious or a problem.

A teacher’s voice cracked down the hall. “Hey. Hey! Break it up!”

Luka stepped away immediately, hands open, but it didn’t matter. The teacher had already seen him holding Micah in place.

Yeah. That was not going to look good.

Micah shoved off the lockers and came at Luka again, wild now, angry and embarrassed.

Micah swung.

The teacher grabbed his arm mid motion. “That’s enough!”

Micah fought the grip, yanking like he couldn’t believe someone was stopping him. “He started it!”

Luka stood still, chest rising and falling, hands down at his sides, blood on his lip. He stared at Micah with a quiet disgust that made Micah’s words sound pathetic. Luka didn’t say anything. He already knew how this usually went. The rich kid was never to blame.

The sophomore kid finally found his voice, shaky but real. “He didn’t start it. He was trying to help me.”

Any other kids who might’ve been witnesses scattered the second the teacher showed up. Of course they did. Nobody wanted to be involved. Nobody wanted Micah’s attention to land on them next.

The teacher let go of Micah and looked from him to Luka, expression tight. “Office. Now.”

Micah jabbed a finger at Luka. “You’re gonna regret this.”

Luka’s stomach dropped on instinct, that old reflex trying to grab the wheel, but he forced his face into a shrug like he didn’t care.

The teacher herded Micah forward, then pointed at Luka. “You too. Office.”

Luka rolled his eyes, nodded once, wiped his mouth again, and turned his head just enough to catch the sophomore kid’s eyes.

The kid looked like he didn’t know what to do with his own relief.

Luka gave him a small nod. You’re good. It’s done.

It wasn’t done. Not really.

But it was a start.

In the office, the air felt different, thick with paper and old carpet and the quiet threat of consequences. Luka sat in a hard chair across from Micah, a low table between them stacked with flyers about attendance and choices and respect. He was eighteen. He should’ve been past all this.

He wasn’t.

Micah stared at him like he was replaying a version of the fight where he won.

In his dreams.

Luka kept his gaze on the clock, listening to the second hand tick, trying not to picture Rico’s face when he found out.

Because Rico would find out.

Rico had warned him when he started school. Stay focused. Keep your head down. Don’t do anything stupid.

Luka had meant to listen.

He had listened for three months.

He’d told himself it was none of his business. He’d told himself he couldn’t afford attention. Then his stupid sense of right and wrong showed up like it owned the place.

A door opened. The assistant principal called them in one at a time, voices low behind the closed office door. Luka gave his statement. Micah lied.

It took longer than Luka wanted. Every minute felt like it was pulling him closer to the moment he had to explain.

When it was over, the assistant principal leaned back and sighed like he’d aged a year in one morning.

“I’m suspending both of you for the remainder of the week,” he said. “Effective immediately.”

Luka’s stomach dropped hard.

The remainder of the week. It was Monday. Yeah, his brothers were definitely going to notice when he didn’t go to school for four days.

Micah started to protest, of course he did, but the assistant principal cut him off with a look.

“Parsons, your history didn’t help you today,” he said. “You’ve been written up enough times that I’m surprised you’re still surprised by consequences.”

Micah’s face pinched. “My dad’s going to call.”

“I’m sure he will,” the assistant principal said, dry. “And I’ll tell him the same thing I’m telling you.”

Micah’s eyes burned on Luka, begging for fear.

Luka didn’t give him any.

The assistant principal turned to Luka. “And you. I’m not blind. I know what he does. I know why you did it. But you can’t put your hands on someone. You understand that.”

Luka nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the assistant principal said. “Now go home. We’ll see you back on Monday.”

Home tightened something behind Luka’s ribs.

Home meant Rico.

Rico, who’d finally let Luka have something like a normal life and still expected him to respect it. Rico, who didn’t do lectures softly. Rico, who would hear suspended and translate it into stupid and reckless and you could’ve gotten yourself hurt or hurt someone else.

Luka pressed his thumb to his split lip, felt it throb, and swallowed.

“Can I use my phone?” he asked.

The assistant principal gestured. “Go ahead.”

Luka stepped back into the waiting area and sat down again, his phone heavy in his hand. He stared at the screen like it might offer an escape route.

He hated that he still needed a ride. He had a car, technically, but it was in the backyard with the engine apart. He and Dante had been tackling repairs together. It’d actually been fun, mostly because cars were one of the few things Luka could teach Dante.

Now Luka’s options started racing.

He could call Rico. Get it over with. Rip the bandage off.

He could call Dante, but that felt worse. Dante would laugh first, then Rico would hear about it, and Luka would get both of them at once.

He could call Alex, but she’d probably call Rico before she even hit the parking lot.

He looked at the time.

Not even second period yet.

They were suspending him and sending him home before most kids had even finished complaining about first period.

Luka scrolled through his contacts, thumb hovering.

Andrea’s name sat there like a dare. He was still in town. Said he would be for the rest of the week.

Calling Andrea might buy him a few minutes. Andrea was lighter than Rico and Dante, less likely to go full lecture, but he was also still a little unpredictable in a way Luka didn’t completely understand. He still lived in a world they had all escaped.

Luka knew what he should do.

But what he wanted to do kept pushing back.