Diamond City Trilogy

Chapter 4: Hero

"Hey, hero, watch where you're going!" Justin punched Fresco in the arm, hard. Fresco winced a little, but Justin was grinning his nasty grin, knowing he hit his mark better than usual.

Justin used his cast.

Fresco brought himself up abruptly in the dull yellow hall outside English. His fellow students milled past, heading for their lockers and the freedom of home.

He did his best to avoid everyone all weekend and continued the trend his first day back to school. He hated the stares, the unspoken questions. Worst of all, he knew his friend had some retaliation planned for the supposed slight of leaving Justin in the truck alone.

Fresco rubbed the sore spot, knowing it was time to own up and see what kind of punishment the bigger guy planned.

"We have ourselves here a genuine hero, my friends." Justin spoke to their crowd who gathered for the show. Everyone laughed. There was a time when Fresco would have taken it as a joke, even been in on it. He was finally seeing Justin might not be who he thought he was. He fought down his harsh reaction and tried for normal.

"I'm not a hero." Fresco knew what Justin expected of him. He decided to play along and let him have his fun. Let Justin do his worst so he'd let it go. Fresco just wanted to move on.

Justin wasn't in the mood to be friends. "Yeah, a real hero." His brown eyes brimmed over with something Fresco refused to recognize. "Bailed on his best buddy, left him, ran when things got tough. And what did I get out of it?" Justin held up his right hand. "A busted arm, no more football, and so long scholarship for next year. Thanks a lot, Fres. Great friend."

He resisted the urge to punch Justin in the face. He wanted to yell at him, tell him if he hadn't been texting, was paying attention and not driving like a maniac, none of it would have happened. Forget about convincing Justin he was wrong. It was a losing battle on its way downhill to nowhere in a hurry. His friend's selfishness didn't surprise him as much as it should have.

In an instant of clarity, Fresco acknowledged Justin as he really was. Gone was the charming, handsome guy half the girls in school sighed over, the friend he knew and hung out with his whole life. Instead, Fresco saw the cruel, angry bully he was, who couldn't stand the fact he made a huge mistake and was the only one to pay for it, at least in his own eyes. Justin would have felt better if his friend died in the accident. At least then Justin would be the center of attention.

The truth hit Fresco so hard his anger roared to life. The headache surged, more powerful than he remembered it. His veins flooded with fire. An image of Justin slamming into a locker with blood running from his broken nose and fear in his eyes, begging for mercy, flashed through Fresco's mind so quickly he almost thought it never happened. Except he knew it did. The force of the compulsion shocked him and smothered the flames before he was able to do anything about it. He and Justin were friends forever. There was a rivalry between them, but as far as Fresco knew, it was a healthy one. Now he absorbed the obvious truth.

Fresco was bombarded with the truth as though recognizing it opened some kind of floodgate. He took a step back away from Justin, overwhelmed by the bitterness and resentment. Fresco stared at his friend in shock, unable to speak.

"What?" Justin snapped at him. The image of who Justin was floated, superimposed over him, the distortion adding flare to the headache. Their friends were all staring at him, as much as he was now staring at them. He tried to keep himself together as he scanned from face to face, seeing the same dual vision on each and every one of them as he did with Justin. Heart pounding, he absorbed the lies they lived, the masks they wore, his own inner horror growing and growing as he saw the truth about the friends he cared about.

None of them were who they seemed to be, and they all resented him.

"Fres!" Justin's cast-laden fist impacted his chest hard enough to make Fresco stagger. "WTF? You going to tell me what the hell happened or not?"

Fresco made a monumental effort and pulled himself together. He understood somehow through the panic he had to find a way to excuse his behavior and managed to fake enough calm to reply.

"I gotta go." It was all he could manage. The need to escape was so potent it hurt. He pushed past the friends he thought he knew and hurried on.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, hero," Justin called after him, laughter echoing the malice chasing him.

Fresco made it to his locker. He fought with his lock and his temper, lost in his own bubble of confusion and rage as the students around him went on with their happy lives. His headache deepened, settling into his shoulders, forcing flames through his pounding head. He fumbled blindly, unable to focus enough past the pain to get the lock open. The headache wouldn't ease, wouldn't let him go, and it made him furious. In a flash of rage and a rush of heat leaving him dizzy, he focused his anger on the small lock.

It shattered.

Small pieces of hot metal struck his face as the padlock disintegrated. Fresco batted in panic at the tiny points of pain. His fury drained completely as shock took over and fear-fueled adrenaline replaced it. Fresco staggered back. His heart raced as his mind tried to absorb the destruction he knew in his heart he caused.

Engulfed in a cold sweat, Fresco gingerly reached for the broken lock. He touched it, jerked away from the heat still in it, noticing a thin line of smoke rose from the twisted thing. Panic building, Fresco used the corner of his binder to lever the useless chunk of metal out of the slot. It clattered to the floor at his feet, leaving a scorch mark on the faded paint.

Fresco kicked the thing away from him before hurriedly emptying the contents of his locker into his kit bag. He felt a nudge against his sneaker and looked down. Another student inadvertently returned the damaged goods to its maker.

The melted dial stared up at him, accusing him of its destruction.

Unable to contain his distress any longer, Fresco fled.

***