Disclaimer:
This series is merely a work of science fiction. The intent of this story is not to convert, but to inform. All characters and situations are purely fictional and are not based on true events, though they are inspired by accounts of real life exorcists. But where reality ends and the fantasy begins... that is for the reader to decide.
"Greater in battle than the man who would conquer a thousand-thousand men, is he who would conquer just one — himself."
The Buddha, Dhammapada, 103
PROLOGUE
Rob could feel the asuras nearby. Their presence was always signaled by a particular kind of sensation – like he was swimming in murky, shark-infested waters.
Like he was being hunted.
It was more than the dark, rainy night, or the fact that he was hanging out in a creepy, empty alleyway.
The presence of evil was like an ice cube on his spine – chilling, uncomfortable, and impossible to ignore.
He would never get used to it, no matter how many times he felt it. And he had been feeling it a lot more lately.
He searched the scene for the victims and it didn't take long before he spotted them. A middle-aged man loomed near the opening of the alley, peering at the entrance to the city gym.
To any passerby, the man would appear like any other, but with the help of his deva, Rob could see what others couldn't: darkness, blacker than the night's shadows, enveloped the man in a whirlpool.
The man was still in there somewhere, but the asura had wrapped itself onto his mind as if it were a tentacled beast from the ocean's trenches.
The darkness around the man became more energetic when a lone woman emerged from the gym – young, attractive, and unsuspecting. She walked in their direction.
The second victim, Rob thought. Well, not on my watch.
He reached out and put a strong hand on the man's shoulder.
The man jumped and whirled around.
"Excuse me, sir," Rob said. "Do you need some help?"
He tried to give his kindest smile, but he was sure that a muscular, dreadlocked black dude in his sweats was quite a surprise to find behind you in a dark alley
But the man didn't seem worried.
He scowled. "Whatever you're peddling, I don't want it."
The woman reached her car, very close to the alley, and paused to dig for her keys in her gym bag.
"What I have to offer you is free," Rob replied.
"Where are those dang keys?" the woman said, unaware of the danger just a few leaps away.
The man rubbed his temples. "I don't need a Lord and Savior," he grumbled. "Just leave me alone."
Rob's smile broadened and he said, "How about a Buddha?"
CLICK. CLICK.
Finally, the woman unlocked her car, got in, and closed the door.
Rob hid his expression, but he was pleased that he had saved at least one of the victims.
The asura was not so pleased.
The man – or the evil spirit inside him – roared with such a force that it sent Rob skidding backwards on the slick pavement.
"You idiot!" another voice bellowed from within the man. "I have existed for untold ages. I have orchestrated the destruction of countless vermin like you. I will tear you apart and feast on your flesh!"
The alley erupted in flames. The orange glow and oppressive heat surrounded them on all sides.
Rob could feel the intense hatred from the asura like a hard slap of water. It made him quiver, shake, and freeze all at once. But he could also sense the man – still inside his own mind, but trapped within a nightmare. Rob felt the man's panic as if it were his own. He didn't want to do what the asura was making him do.
And he didn't deserve what the asura was doing to him. No one did.
Rob started chanting a mantra:
"SABBE SATTE SUKHI HONTU."
May all beings be well and happy.
"I'll kill you!" the asura roared above the fire and the chanting. "Rodent! Worm! You cannot defeat me!"
"Maybe," Rob said, pausing his chant. "But I did bring a friend."
At that, Rob's skin glowed with a green light that indicated the presence and power of his deva.
Fire exploded from the man's mouth, shooting toward Rob. But Rob dodged. Swiping his hands through the air, Rob raised a wall of green celestial water. The asura's flames sizzled into vapor as they hit the aqueous wall.
Rob raised his hands in the air again and the water followed, rising into a curl that filled the alleyway. The man fell to his knees as the wave came crashing down on him.
Rob pressed his hand against the kneeling man's forehead and said, "May you be washed clean."
Immediately, with a piercing howl, an ominous cloud of malice and hatred rose out of the man's body. The man fell to the ground in a peaceful slumber.
But for Rob, the fight had only just begun.
The asura attacked, taking the form of a giant, fire-breathing lizard. It pounced from wall to wall, hitting Rob from different angles. Though spirit in substance, its attacks were real enough. Fire singed Rob's dreadlocks. Claws raked across his torso, leaving four parallel gashes.
It burned, but Rob refused to cry out in pain or even wince. He wouldn't give the asura the satisfaction of his reaction.
He flipped. He spun. He danced, moving his arms and legs so as to guide his deva's mystical waters.
Finally, the spirit was washed completely by the water and disappeared from the alleyway.
Immediately, a sense of peace flooded the scene. It was as if the evil had never existed. Rob looked at his torn shirt, soaked in rain, sweat, and blood.
"I'm getting too old for this," he grumbled.
"Old?" his deva asked, the disembodied voice speaking from some spot nearby. "But you are merely in your thirties."
"Old enough I should be asleep at this hour," Rob returned.
He complained, but he would never turn down a summons to vanquish an asura. No matter how tired he was.
The man – no longer in the thrall of an evil spirit – stirred with a groan.
"Hey, you feeling alright?" Rob asked, crouching down to help him.
"Yeah, I just..." the man trailed off, taking Rob in.
Rob wasn't sure if it was his dark skin, his sweats, his muscles, or the four violent slashes over his chest, but one of those things disturbed the guy.
He patted his pockets for his phone and wallet.
"You passed out," Rob explained, leaving out a few details. "You think you can get home alright or do you need me to call a cab?"
"No, I'm fine," the man said. His words made him think. "Actually, I feel great. Better than I have in a long time." He pointed at Rob's injury. "You should worry about yourself."
"I got this," Rob said with a smile. "Just take care of yourself. Okay?"
As the man walked out the alley, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
"Penny?" the man said. "I just needed to hear your voice. Yes, I'm on my way home. And I'll get the diapers on the way."
Rob felt his heartstrings pull. He had saved more than just two victims. He had saved their family members as well. It would have been awful for that kid to grow up without a father.
But his heart ached for another reason as well. Even though he knew his mission was important, a part of him felt jealous of the man's normal life with a loving family.
He sighed.
"You could have that, too," his deva told him. "Perhaps with that lovely Charlene?"
Rob barked a laugh. "Are you kidding?" he said. "No way I'm bringing anyone into this mess. I'd only be putting them in danger." He shook his head. "I may want that. But it's just another worldly attachment I need to let go of. Anyway, when would I even find the time to fall in love? It's certainly been busy lately. This makes – what? – five asuras this week? I'm swamped."
"Then perhaps it's time to seek help – time to train your apprentice."
Rob knew exactly who the spirit had in mind.
He shook his head. "Nah. The kid's just not ready yet."
CHAPTER 1: Just a Black Eye
SMACK!
Peter's punch hit its target with a satisfying slap.
Jeremy reeled backwards, stumbling and Peter felt the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk. Jeremy has been asking for it for years now, and Peter was so glad to be the one to mete out justice.
"Peter Hunter!" a voice barked.
Peter tensed.
Coach Hesse stood just a few yards away, hands on his hips and a glare on his face.
Peter surveyed his surroundings. His only witnesses were long gone, having fled the scene while he confronted Jeremy. And Jeremy was holding his eye, sniffling.
"Why?" Jeremy asked with a pleading voice. "What did I ever do to you?"
"What were you thinking?" Coach Hesse demanded, walking over to them.
Though Peter was sure Coach didn't actually expect an answer, he still tried.
"Uhhh... This isn't what it looks like?" he said.
Jeremy took his act to the next level and started crying.
Well, crud! Peter thought.
***
Peter sat outside the principal's office, tapping his toes impatiently. He studied the clock.
TICK...
TOCK
He looked at his dad sitting next to him. Sam Hunter's gray eyes were fixed on some imaginary spot in front of his thick glasses as he ran his fingers through his sandy hair. Peter usually appreciated his dad's calm nature, but now it only made him nervous.
He's furious, isn't he? Peter thought. I must be in so much trouble.
He focused on the freckles that dotted the backs of his hands. He had freckles scattered all over, just like his mom. Since he was a kid, his mother would concoct stories, matching each new freckle to an important event or personality trait.
If she were with them in the principal's office now, Peter imagined she would say, "Look at this new freckle. It must be a 'you're grounded forever' freckle."
But I didn't do anything wrong! Peter thought.
The principal's door opened and Jeremy Matthews emerged with an ice pack on his eye. Peter felt his facial muscles tighten into a scowl. Hamming it up, Jeremy winced and adjusted the ice pack.
Besides being a bully, a liar, and a faker, Jeremy was pretty weird-looking, too. He looked like one of those artist sketches where a human is drawn in simple shapes: he was all rectangles. Even his too-small-for-his-face nose was a rectangle.
"I expect you to clear this up soon," Mrs. Matthews threatened.
She scowled at Peter before raising her own small rectangular nose in the air and ushering Jeremy out. As they passed, Jeremy flashed a smirk that made Peter's hands tighten into fists.
Mr. Sullivan, the principal, took a deep rumbling breath as he massaged his forehead. "Alright, Mr. Hunters." He sighed. "It's your turn."
Samuel Hunter gave a gentle, nonthreatening smile before walking into the office. Peter trudged after him and plopped into a chair with his back slouched and arms folded.
Can't they all see who Jeremy is?
"Mr. Hunter, are you aware of your son's actions today?" Mr. Sullivan asked as he settled into his own seat behind the desk.
This is what I get for defending someone?
Mr. Hunter studied his son. "Only the cursory explanation I've heard so far," he responded calmly. "Perhaps Peter can enlighten us."
I should be getting praise for what I did! Peter thought. But nooo. Jeremy is an innocent little victim!
Then Peter realized that both men were eyeing him expectantly.
He rolled his eyes.
Oh, so I finally get to tell my side of the story?
"He was throwing rocks at Stacey," he told them.
"Stacey Sanders?" Mr. Sullivan asked. He had the start of a condescending smile. "And do you, by any chance, have your eye on Ms. Sanders?"
Peter looked at him like he was crazy. Sure, Stacey was pretty, but she spent too much time giggling about boys, makeup, and gossip. Peter found most girls his age boring or annoying.
"Do I have to have a crush to not want someone to throw rocks at her?" he asked.
Mr. Hunter let a miniscule smile curl the very edge of his lip.
"No, I suppose not," Mr. Sullivan replied. "Regardless, your actions were inappropriate. Jeremy will most likely have a black eye."
Again, Peter looked at him like he was crazy. He had had plenty of bruises and scrapes over the years. Black eyes healed.
They heal cleaner than an injury from a rock. And anyway, not like I was going full out.
"But it was his right eye," Peter pointed out.
"Yes..." Mr. Sullivan said carefully. "You struck him on his right eye. What does that...?"
"That means I used my left."
When Mr. Sullivan still looked confused, Peter took in a frustrated breath.
"I'm right-handed," he said, holding up the appendage. "So I used my non-dominant hand. And I used a front jab," Peter demonstrated, "not a reverse punch. And I aimed for his cheek, not his temple or his jugular. If I didn't just want to stop him, I could have used a million other techniques that would've stopped him for good."
Mr. Sullivan's eyes grew wide and Peter's dad grimaced. Apparently his explanation hadn't helped much.
"He was throwing rocks at a girl!" Peter repeated.
"What disturbs me," Mr. Sullivan cleared his throat, "is that Jeremy was hurt while you sustained no obvious injuries."
"So I'm stronger than Jeremy," Peter said. "That disturbs you?"
Now Mr. Hunter closed his eyes in a wince. In retrospect, Peter saw that his words could be viewed as disrespectful. If only he could learn to think before he spoke.
"This is your first offense," Mr. Sullivan explained sternly. "Even so, you're lucky to be getting only one week of at-home suspension."
Peter's jaw tightened.
I shouldn't be getting punished at all!
"This is your freshman year, Peter," Mr. Sullivan said. "Your actions have lasting consequences now. You need to refrain from using violence on school grounds. And you'll be lucky if the Matthews don't press charges."
Peter's grip on the chair hardened.
I bet Jeremy got off scot-free!
"And I strongly suggest that you consider switching hobbies," Mr. Sullivan added.
Peter's head jerked to attention.
"Perhaps martial arts is too dangerous for someone with Peter's... personality."
Peter cast wide, offended eyes at Mr. Sullivan, then his dad, then Mr. Sullivan again.
Mr. Hunter nodded with a pensive expression. "We'll consider it," he promised.
Peter's jaw dropped.
You can't be serious!
"And we can promise you that he won't use violence on a classmate again."
As they left, Mr. Hunter and Mr. Sullivan exchanged a few pleasantries while Peter seethed, barely hearing their words.
Oh, sure. Jeremy throws rocks at people for fun, but I'm the dangerous one.
He was stiff all the way to the car.
Why doesn't anyone believe me? he thought as they drove off. Not even my own dad.
Then the car slowed to a stop in front of an ice cream shop.
Peter turned to look at his dad. "What are we...?"
His dad smiled as he pulled the key out of the ignition and said, "It only seems right that you get a reward for defending a classmate."
Mr. Hunter let Peter vent his anger while they ate their ice cream.
"And the worst part was when this other girl, Hazel, told Stacey that Jeremy probably likes her. As if that made it all okay! You like a girl so you throw rocks at her? Is it the same when you get married? Do you throw things at Mom because you like her? That's crazy, right? Right?"
"Yes, it's crazy," Mr. Hunter agreed calmly.
"And then I get in trouble for defending her? You know I talked to him first and I only threw that punch after he threw the first three. But he couldn't even touch me."
"I can imagine."
"And the punch I threw was barely a tap. I'll be surprised if he even has a black eye. And the nerve of Mr. Sullivan saying I should stop karate! If I didn't have the training I had, I could have really hurt him!"
"'...aimed for his cheek, not his jugular,'" Mr. Hunter repeated Peter's words, chuckling. "You certainly inherited your mother's mouth."
"I would never hurt someone unless it was in defense!"
"I know, son. I know. And you won't be stopping karate classes unless you want to."
"Then why didn't you yell like Jeremy's mom did?"
Peter's dad thought a while, taking a few bites. He was always slow and careful to respond. Sometimes it drove Peter crazy.
Finally, he spoke.
"There are some fights you fight," he said. "Like when someone is throwing rocks. And then there are some fights it's better to concede."
"Shouldn't you always fight for what's right?" Peter challenged.
"In most cases," he said pensively. "But maybe I should say that there are other ways to fight. People tend to think that whoever is loudest wins the argument. But I think whoever is most controlled is the true winner."
Peter didn't really get it, but it was nice to have at least one person on his side.
***
Later that evening, Peter came out of his bedroom, lured to the kitchen by the smell of chocolate chip cookies and found his mother transferring a fresh batch from the cookie sheet to a plate.
He snuck into the room, making sure his footsteps slid across the floor like a noiseless ninja. Hiding behind her back, he snatched a cookie while she was turned. Then he spun around and came into her line of sight on the other side.
"Hey, Mom," he greeted.
She let out a startled shriek and jumped, sending the cookie which had been delicately balanced on the spatula, flying into the air.
With the reflexes of his favorite kung fu movie stars, he snatched the cookie mid-fall and took a bite.
"Why do you always..." she blurted, catching her breath and smoothing her brown bob behind her ears.
He couldn't hide his smirk. He loved scaring his mom. She was such an easy target.
"What're the cookies for?" he asked with his mouth full.
She met his eyes and told him in a storyteller's voice, "This, my son, is a thank you from underdogs, the downtrodden, and persecuted girls everywhere."
He chuckled and took another bite. "Thanks, mom."
She let out a startled gasp and fixed her eyes on his forehead. Running around the counter, she smoothed his hair back with both hands while she studied the skin just beneath his hairline.
"What?" Peter asked. "What is it?"
"New freckle," she breathed.
He groaned and tried to move away, but she held him in place, both hands squeezing his head in her grasp.
"But hey, this is a special one," she said, tilting his head for a better view. "You only get something like this for acts of extreme valor."
"Mo-om!" he complained, batting her hands away. "I'm fourteen. I'm too old for the freckle thing. I'm not a kid anymore, you know."
She stepped back and assessed him. "No, you're not. You've grown up in one short day. Today, you are a man, my son."
He rolled his eyes.
Mom can be so weird.
***
DING!
The chimes rang as Peter opened the door of a small karate studio nestled in a strip mall. Parents and their children were leaving as he entered for his private class.
Peter took his place on the mats and started stretching.
"Heard you put some kid in the hospital," Sensei Rob teased.
Rob, the owner of the karate dojo, studied Peter with his arms folded with a disapproving look on his face.
He was a charismatic teacher and a powerful black belt. He had dark skin and black hair gathered in dreadlocks with bleached tips. He had a huge smile with successive dimples and bright white teeth.
Peter huffed. "Jeremy? I didn't put him in the hospital!"
"Right." Sensei Rob wagged his finger. "You broke his legs."
"I just punched him," Peter complained. "One tiny little jab and the school goes crazy!"
"I'm just teasing," Rob assured him. "Even though you should avoid violence at all costs, you had good intentions."
"Still got in trouble for it," Peter grumbled. "It doesn't make sense. I defend a girl with no thought of reward and I get in trouble."
Sensei Rob studied Peter for a few moments. "Let me show you something," he said. "Hit me. Go full out. Try to hurt me."
With no more hesitation than a shrug, Peter channeled all his pent up frustration into a punch at Sensei Rob's gut. Although it felt like Peter might as well have punched a wall, Sensei didn't react.
"Again," Rob ordered.
Peter used his most powerful kick, straight to Rob's ribs. Again, Sensei Rob let it hit him without displaying a reaction. Peter felt his jaw tighten.
"Now," Sensei said, "do you feel big and powerful?"
"No. I feel weak and frustrated," Peter confessed. "Thanks a lot by the way. I appreciate you trying to cheer me up."
Rob smiled. "Where do you think a bully gets his power?"
"I don't know. From rocks?"
Rob laughed. "No, from your reaction. I'll be honest with you, kid. You hurt me, but if I had let you know that, you would've felt powerful. When I didn't react, I took your power away. Imagine an angry guy throwing rocks at a river. Does the river care? Do the rocks change anything about the water?"
Peter thought a moment. "Are you telling me to take a punch?"
"You could handle it," Sensei Rob said. "But all I'm saying is that you don't have to react. Can you imagine how this kid would've felt if he yelled at you and you just smiled pleasantly? Or if you dodged while he got red in the face trying to hit you?"
Peter could feel a smirk forming at the thought. "Hm. You know, that's actually fun to think about."
After a cathartic class, venting all his anger on the punching bag, Peter was exhausting by the time his mom's car pulled up.
He heaved his bag to his shoulder and headed for the door. He stopped in his tracks, however, when he heard a rattling noise. He noticed a small Buddha figurine on a shelf above the front desk. It was shaking.
In a flash, the statue flew off the shelf with such a force that it slammed into the opposite wall.
Peter looked at it, then back at the shelf. Nothing else had fallen or even shaken.
He felt the air in the dojo chill and grow thick, as if some invisible force were pressing him in from all sides.
When he turned back to ask Sensei Rob about it, he paused again. Sensei's stance was stiff and his eyes were wide in an expression that sent chills over Peter like a gust of cold wind.
"See ya," Sensei said as he pushed Peter toward the door.
"Hold up. How'd that fall?" Peter asked.
"Don't worry about it. Your mom's waiting. Bye."
Sensei shoved Peter through the door into the chilly autumn night. Before Peter could protest, he heard the click of the lock. He gave Sensei Rob a confused look through the glass and Sensei simply waved back.
"Good lesson?" Mrs. Hunter asked when Peter got in the car.
"Yeah..."
His eyes fell on the windows of the dojo. The lights flickered wildly and, in a flash of light, Peter swore he saw a dark shadowy figure looming over Sensei Rob. In the next flash, it was gone, though the lights continued to blink even as they turned out of the parking lot.
Must've been a weird optical illusion, he decided.
Strange stuff was always happening around Sensei Rob, but Peter knew he was the best karate teacher in town. Besides that, he was the type of teacher who went above and beyond, like he had earlier when he had helped Peter with his Jeremy problems.
Then a thought hit him.
"Hey, wait a sec," he said to his mom. "Did you tell Sensei Rob about my fight with Jeremy?"
His mom shook her head. "No. I just dropped you off, remember? When would I have talked to him?"
Peter felt another rush of chills.
Then how did he know?
***
On the Monday following his suspension, Peter was chaining his bike in front of the school when he heard:
"Hey, Hunter!"
Knowing it was Jeremy, Peter simply rolled his eyes and started walking toward the entrance. He wouldn't give Jeremy the power of a reaction.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Jeremy reached out from behind to grab Peter's shoulder, but Peter knew it was coming. He could almost feel the air shift in reaction to Jeremy's movements. It was like he had the sixth sense skill of the superhero, the Arachnid Kid.
Anticipating Jeremy's movements, Peter stepped to the side just in time. As Jeremy stumbled forward with a confused expression on his rectangular face, Peter fought to keep his smirk at bay.
"Hey, Jeremy," he greeted pleasantly. "Sorry about last week. I just don't know my own strength. You feeling alright?"
Jeremy cracked his knuckles. "I'm about to feel a lot better."
He threw a punch, but Peter dodged effortlessly. A few onlookers let out oohs of approval.
"Get that stupid smirk off your face," Jeremy threatened.
Peter couldn't help it. His smirk only grew.
Jeremy threw another punch. Peter dodged again and watched as Jeremy's fist swiped the air in front of his chin, just missing the mark. Jeremy let out a growl and threw both hands toward Peter's collar. Peter ducked under the grab and got behind Jeremy, forcing him to turn around.
"Stay still!" Jeremy howled.
Peter simply smiled again. Jeremy threw a punch straight to Peter's gut. This time, Peter took it, but he tensed his muscles. The blow stung, but not as much as it apparently did for Jeremy. He winced and shook his hand.
"Hah, look at that," a bystander said with a laugh. "He punched Peter, but he got hurt."
"I'm not hurt!" Jeremy yelled. "Fight me, Hunter," he demanded through gritted teeth.
Peter shook his head regretfully. "I just don't know. I'd hate to hurt you again."
The onlookers sniggered.
"So go ahead, hit me as much as you need to," Peter offered. "I can take it."
Jeremy's face was an angry red rectangle as he threw a punch at Peter's ear.
BAM!
The blow vibrated through his entire head, initiating a piercing ringing noise, but he held in his reaction and gave Jeremy a simple smile.
"Jeremy Matthews!" a teacher's voice startled them both.
They turned simultaneously to see the imposing figure of their homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sommers, watching them from the school steps.
"You have a lot of explaining to do," Mrs. Sommers barked.
Beside her stood one of Stacey's friends, Alicia Lisowski. She wore a self-righteous smile while she told Mrs. Sommers, "I saw the whole thing, Miss. Peter did nothing wrong."
"Thank you, Miss Lisowski," Mrs. Sommers said to Alicia. "And you, young man," she addressed Jeremy. "You are coming with me to the principal's office. Now!" Then she softened her tone. "Miss Lisowski, can I trust you to take Mr. Hunter to the nurse?"
Alicia nodded, causing her blond hair to bounce on her shoulders.
"You'll regret this," Jeremy threatened as he passed Alicia.
Alicia hmphed and turned her nose in the air. Then she glided down the stairs and Peter noted the way her hair sparkled in the sun. He couldn't be sure, but the clouds might have just parted.
He shook his head.
Maybe that hit was harder than I thought.
"You didn't have to do that," Peter told her. "I could've handled it."
She narrowed her eyes. "I think what you meant to say was, 'Thanks, Alicia. You are so amazing.'"
"Thanks, Alicia," he repeated robotically. "You are so amazing."
She grinned.
Peter could see why a lot of guys talked about her. When she smiled, it was like the sun got brighter.
"You're a fast learner," she told him. She wrinkled her nose slightly and smiled again. "That's points in your favor."
"Oh, yeah?" Peter looked at her with a sideways glance. "What kind of points are we talking about exactly?"
She didn't answer his question. "Anyway, I couldn't just walk by without doing something. I would never abandon an innocent victim like that."
"Victim?" he said. "I'd hardly say—"
"No," she held up a hand to stop him, "Don't thank me. I'm just selfless like that. And heroic."
He laughed.
She turned more serious when she said, "Stacey told me what happened. Everyone knows Jeremy's had it coming for years. We're all grateful that someone is standing up to that bully. So consider this a thank you."
Peter didn't know what to say, so he just smiled at her.
"Come on," she ordered. "I promised I'd walk you to the nurse's office."
"Nah, I don't really need to go."
The ringing in his ears had already stopped.
Alicia rolled her eyes. "Peter Hunter, do I have to teach you everything?" she complained. "A pretty girl just saved your life—"
"I don't know about saved—" he contradicted.
"—and offered to walk you to the nurse's office. The correct response is, 'Gee, I must be the luckiest boy in the whole school.' Now, say it with me. 'Gee...'"
Peter smirked. "You're funny, Alicia."
"'Gee, I must be...'" she persisted.
"The luckiest boy in the school," he obeyed, laughing.
"Good." She gave him a nod of approval. "You pass."
As they walked to the nurse's office laughing, Peter started thinking that maybe not all girls were boring and annoying.
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