Lol. This is more fun to write than any other story so far. Muahaha...

Chapter Three: The incident

Suddenly, the car stopped.

Dad rolled down the window, and leaned out. "Hey, you okay son?" he asked conversationally.

As he asked them that, I looked at the guy on the ground again, something about him seemed to warrant a second look. He was very cute, that's for sure, his red hair was long and shaggy, hanging over his eyes.

He was laying sprawled on the cement, with his head thrown back. His eyes were moaned softly.

"Hey, maybe we should get him some help." said my dad. "Get in. You two," he said, climbing out of the car and pointing at two strong looking guys.

"You two take his head. Ivy and I will take his feet." I froze. My dad did not just volunteer me to get out of the car in front of all these guys. I groaned softly. He was so going to pay for this when we got home. No home cooked meals for him. It was gonna be microwave dinners for weeks.

As I got out of the car, contemplating what I was going to do to punish my dad, the boy moaned again. He coughed weakly, and then threw up.

I ran towards him, already thinking about what to do first. "Turn him over," I said to the boys, who were staring wide-eyed at each other, motionless. "If you don't turn him over, he'll choke." I said, glaring at them, until they moved. I can't blame them for not moving very quickly. A 4'11" girl glaring, hands on her hips, at a 6'5" black guy isn't very imposing.

They turned him gently so he was on his stomach.

"Dad," I said, my voice calm and efficient. "get the bucket from the car." My dad smiled.

I glared at him. I hated having to take charge, and he knew it. It wasn't my fault that I was darn good at it.

I pointed to one of the skater boys, who was holding a water bottle. "Give me that." I said, not taking my eyes off the boy. He handed the water bottle to me wordlessly.

I pointed to another boy near me, who had one of those terrycloth wristbands on. "Do you have any more of those?" I asked, looking at him. "Yeah," he said, his voice shaking. He reached into his bag and pulled a couple of them out. "Perfect." I said, grinning at him. He looked at me for a second, and then grinned back with sudden energy. I took out my pocketknife, and sliced one of them so it was one long strip.

I looked defiantly at the owner, daring him to comment. My dad hurried back with the bucket, and ran to get more supplies. I propped up the boy so he was over the bucket.

"There there." I said softly. "Don't worry. We'll get you all fixed up." He moaned again, and threw up into the bucket. Once he was done, I tilted his head back to look at it.

A large, deep gash was stretching from his forehead to his ear. It was covered in dirt, and bled sluggishly. I wet the remnant of the wrist band, and dabbed at his head.

He hissed slightly at the sudden pain. His friends drew closer menacingly. I looked around me slowly, realizing that most of these guys could be bodybuilders or wrestlers.

Also, they were surrounding us, with my dad no where in sight. I looked at each of the boys defiantly.

"If you won't go to the hospital, as I suspect you won't, then you have to let me clean his wound. It will hurt, but it'll hurt a lot more if it gets infected." They looked at each other, and at the owner of the wristband. The afore mentioned nodded slowly, his brow creased. "Just be careful." he said, eyeing me slowly, and it made me feel like a kitten who walked up and said good morning in perfect English to a preacher, and then proceeded to spout medical advice.

I snorted. What else would I be but careful with all these scary-looking guys looming over me?

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