My Secret Weapon

Chapter 1: The Greeting

You woke up to your alarm, as per usual, and began getting ready for school. After you walked downstairs you weren't surprised to be met with a note on the fridge that read...

"Hi sweetie! I'm sorry I'm at work again so if you don't see me when you get home, that means I have to work late again. This whole weekend is going to be busy at work so I may not see you much. I left my phone at home cause it was dead. But if you get home and I'm not there, there's money in the cabinet.

Love,
Dad."

'Just fucking fantastic.' you thought to yourself.
You walked your way to school and everything was fairly normal; getting those weird glares from random people on the street, but that was pretty much it. The school day went normal— as normal as it could have been, anyway. But then...
Something weird happened after school.

You were walking home from school as usual, and when about five minutes away from your house, you saw not seven feet away from you 'Brad The Football Star' shoving a kid with a yellow shirt and navy blue jeans.
You saw that Brad was about to take a swing at the kid until you immediately called out to the boy upon instinct.  "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" 
The boy looked at you with wide angry eyes and then Brad abruptly dropped the kid onto the pavement beneath them. After doing so, he proceeded to give you what you could only call a typical 'Popular Kid Royalty Look'.
Just then, Brad hissed his retaliation back at you.  "What was that?!"  Being the brave, brutally honest person you had been, you challenged him with your words without hesitation.  "You heard me! Unless you know, you're deaf AND stupid."
He walked up to you angrily and you hadn't even flinched at the motion. He shoved you with all his might so you'd fall to the ground, which led to your head being smacked off of the pavement.
Only when Brad began walking away did you, without hesitation, grab his arm so he'd turn to face you, and then you struck him in the face with your fist.
Unsurprisingly enough, this made the teen pissed, so when you found yourself being shoved you hadn't been all too fazed about it. Howbeit, once you'd felt the blow shake your core, you found yourself falling down again whilst he stormed away.

After he had walked away, you tried getting up but failed because you had become super dizzy all of the sudden.
Abruptly, the yellow shirted boy approached you, rushing to you with worry written upon every feature he'd acquired.  "Thank you so much but- but why'd you do that?!"  He sounded frantic. You just laid back down onto the pavement below your frame as you replied to the boy without making eye contact.  "Because people like him make me sick. Like- why the fuck should he get to act like he his all 'high and mighty' just because he is good for a high school football team? It doesn't make any sense."
You noticed the boy smiled at you when you had said that. So, obviously feeling weird about the smile, you added, "And it was pretty obvious that if I didn't step in, your ass would've been kicked."  You said, rolling your eyes.

The boy nodded with slight embarrassment written all over him, howbeit, he'd mostly just been grateful for the courageous act you'd done to help out a complete stranger.
After noticing his stalling, he finally held his hand out to help you up.  "No thanks. I can do it myself."  As you made your attempt at getting yourself up, you failed due to the severity of the pain and your unavoidable dizziness.
The other boy standing above you merely half scoffed at the obvious display of your ego. "Oh clearly. Just let me help you! I feel terrible!"  You eventually accepted his hand and help— albeit, grudgingly— and immediately after doing so, the scrawny kid had recognized and noticed the blood on the tarmac that had quickly been found out to be from your head.  "Oh god! You got hit bad! My- my grandpa he can help! Come on my house is right over there!"  The kid then proceeded to point his finger in the opposite direction about 30 feet away. 
"No! It's- it's okay! I don't need you or your grandpa's help uhh-"
"Morty!"  The boy responded as he caught onto your stuttering's implications.
"I don't need anyone's help, Morty."  You said while the world around you spun like a merry-go-round.  "Oh, come on! I've seen you walk around here before, which means you live fairly close and if you hate it, you can always leave! I just feel bad and my grandpa can get you fixed up in three minutes instead of three weeks."  Morty tried negotiating.
After deep contemplation— as deep as your concussed brain couldn't fathom— you groaned, but ultimately agreed. Suddenly, that same boy had taken your wrist and dragged you to the open garage of his house.