Broken Defender

Chapter Ten ~ An Unsettling Development

Math class was terribly boring today. I hardly listened; though I'm positive that imaginary numbers would have been boring regardless of whether or not I had paid attention. Plus it was still raining outside, which only seemed to make class even drearier. Mr. Jackson went on and on over the subject, yet all I could think about was the gossip I had heard in the ladies room earlier. What was all of this talk about Harry getting kicked out of military school? He had told me of his time in military school just yesterday, but it had not been a prime subject of discussion, merely a ground floor for a few of his stories.

"I hated it." He had said, brushing a curl out of his face in remembrance. "But ya know, they ordered you around... pushed us around like dogs." He had stated, shaking his head. He smiled at the memory, though it wasn't a happy one. "But I did it. Obviously ya know, cause my dad..." His words trailed off into silence as his thoughts wandered. He bit at the inside of his cheek, grinning back at me. "But I got really good at pushups and shit like that." He added, looking at the grim experience in a better light now. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, my own weakness repulsed by the idea of physical strain. "No, I mean they're not hard." He bragged, taking in my disdain. "We had to do em in the rain, snow, middle of the night." He enunciated in recollection. "How many?" I asked, suddenly intrigued by what exactly he was capable of. He looked strong, but not extremely muscular. He shrugged, shaking his head. "However many they wanted." He informed, not putting a number on my question. I bit my lip in intrigue, curious now. "How many can you do?" I then asked, making the question more pointed, staring back at him curiously. He nodded again, seeming unsure once more. "I don't know. Gimmie a number." He dared, staring back at me confidently, his arms crossed in front of his chest. I smirked in return. I wanted to give him a high number, but not something unreasonable for an army brat. "A hundred?" I asked, unsure of my choice. He spat out a laugh, amused by this choice as if it were the commonly assumed amount; the expected number. "I'll do my best." He said sarcastically, standing up and removing his jacket. He sat it down on the sidewalk bench beside me then quickly got in position on the hard cold concrete. Was he really going to do a hundred pushups right here in the middle of the world? I sat up in anticipation, watching as he began. He started much faster than I had anticipated, pushing up and down quickly and precisely as if he did thousands of these every day. He made it look easy. "I hope you're keeping count, because I'm not." I informed, looking back at his physic. His broadened shoulder muscles flexed under the thin of his white t-shirt. His frame was completely locked, yet he seemed comfortable. "Shouldn't you pace yourself?" I asked, unsure of his capability. He laughed again, tilting his head so as to look back at me. "I am." He argued, pumping up again. He was amazingly precise. Each pushup was identical to the last, unfaltering. The muscles of his arms flexed and relaxed, as if they were swelling with each expansion. His hair hung around his face. I wish I could do that... though I didn't know what good it would do someone like me. But something about it showed a sense of self-discipline, a sense of complete control over every inch of his body. I couldn't do that. I struggled to keep my balance when walking on the edge of a sidewalk, there was no way I could do that. "One hundred." He said out loud, pushing himself up once more. I looked back at him in shock, impressed. "How did you do it that fast?" I asked, furrowing my brow in curiosity. He stood opposite me, shrugging and shaking his head. "It's just a hundred." He said, playing down the feat once again... though it was obvious by his ability that he wasn't playing it down simply for the sake of impressing me. It really was that easy for him. "But yeah that's really all I got out of it." He said, grabbing his jacket up again. "Aside from waking up before dawn for months afterwards." He joked, changing the subject.

Part of me was inclined to believe it at first, to believe that he had been expelled from military school as he had talked of the experience so negatively after all, but I doubted the story now. The reason for my doubt pertained mostly to the conversation I had heard the kids behind me having. Everyone seemed to think they knew something about Harry. That was the small town curse; true or false, everyone had opinions about everyone... especially new comers. This specific party of gossipers referred to Harry solely as "The new guy." And according to their drawn out stories, he had also been involved in the mob. Bullshit. It was as if they were grasping at straws now, trying to one up and out do each other. They went on to discuss the possibility that he was a nark, and that was even dumber. I'd seen his parents after all, and though I could definitely see his dad doing under cover police work, his mother had seemed much too fragile to hold any career, let alone a police career. Plus why would Cariton High need a nark? Our biggest problem was Zayn, and he had never; to my knowledge, really done anything illegal. Then there were the obvious drug reasons, and I'd hardly heard of any drug activity in this school... though it's not like marijuana was that big of a deal anyway. I myself had never tried it, but I'd heard it wasn't as dangerous as the adults seemed to think it was. I'll admit though, that it wasn't an unbiased source that had educated me. I had gotten that information from a peer reviewed essay in my English class, written by Jason Beithman... everyone knew Jason was a burn out. Anyway, there was no way Harry was a nark, no way he was in the mob, and I was starting to think there was no way he had been kicked out of military school. They were just rumors. Harry was just a normal kid from Nebraska. My mind was shot suddenly back into reality at the piercing shrill of the bell. "Do the homework I handed out." Mr. Jackson enforced. "Actually do it, don't just skim it and guess." He added. His gaze washed over all of us judgmentally.