#TheFirstRival - 1

Ben the Boulder, Honey’s opponent, is a Pawn Rank 6. The highest Pawn Rank there was. One away from the notorious top 5.

Misha reels on her.

“Was this really necessary? For your phone of all things?”

He’s got this tone that sounds like a mother about to scold her problem child. With his arms folded and his flawless braid hung over one shoulder, like he’s about to give her the lecture of a lifetime.

Honey frowns.

Who was he to tell her what to do? She’s quite capable herself and what’s more to it than knocking out her opponent? No matter the size, how they fall doesn’t make a difference to Honey.

“Yes, of course,” Honey notices the paint peeling off one of her nails, “They also wouldn’t have left us alone otherwise.”

“You’re completely blind to the fact you’re at a severe disadvantage!”

She’s about to argue, but any words she had remain stuck on her tongue.

Misha’s hands are shaking.

It takes her a moment to realize he’s worried.

The only people that worry about her like this are her parents, and they don’t shake or turn quiet, they just tell her their concerns. Straightforward and blunt, something Honey doesn’t have to read to understand.

So it takes her a long moment.

And then there’s a different warmth in her stomach, one that’s not exactly dislikable, but completely foreign. It’s not her ever present rage boiling in acid or in her annoyance. Or her frustration.

It’s just warm.

She looks to Elias, who wears his heart on his sleeve, and Honey, usually oblivious to other people’s emotions, can easily read his expression.

Ugh, so it’s both of them.

Elias said this “game” had taken a lot from the two of them, especially Misha. She wonders what could be worse than taking away Elias’ chance of ever fighting again. Misha had no physical ailments, no visible scars, not even a strange hitch in his movements that hinted at what he’d lost.

So what exactly did Misha lose?

A shudder runs down her back, it’s none of her business anyways.

“Here, hold these,” Honey tosses her detachable skates to Misha who catches them effortlessly, “I’m not going to need them this time.”

Before they have a chance to stop her, Honey’s called into the ring and their voices are drowned out by the crowd.

Ben the Boulder, really looks like the title they gave him. Like his very facial features could have been some interesting rock formation found in a national park. Honey squints at it now in the harsh lights overhead.

The rings had minimally better lighting than the rest of the auditorium and she’s able to get a good look at him.

He’s wearing a grim expression, one with his brow casting shadows over his eyes and his blocky, square mouth forming a straight line.

How boring.

Honey makes her signature pose. A hand rested on her hip and a tilt of her head to make her shimmering curls cascade perfectly down her back. She basks in the spotlight, the irresistible center of attention.

But this is not a supportive, admirable type of attention.

It is ridicule.

“Who’s this dumb blonde?” An onlooker cackles, cigarette bouncing on his lip.

“This isn’t a beauty pageant sweetheart!” Another hoots beside him.

“Thought the Midnight Fights were for kings, not for clowns!” More shout.

One of them chuck an empty bottle directly at her face. She leans her head out of its path and it smashes on the ground behind her.

“Attention slut, get out of here!”

Also boring.

Honey’s heard worse.

She barely bats an eyelash extension at these sad attempts at trash talk and rolls up the sleeves of her jacket. These lowlives, who looked like they’d bend down and kiss her shoes if she so much as punched them, weren’t worth the effort of either a witty comeback or a good solid kick in the balls.

A teen with sunken ghostly eyes swings around a box of little black and white tags with numbers scrawled on them. He waves around the white tags and shouts:

“Who’s betting on the Boulder?”

Nearly everyone around the ring jumps to throw their money into the box.

A torrent of wrinkled bills and pocket change make their way into the betting pool. Whatever they could to make money off this almost certain win. A no rank against the highest pawn? Nobody wanted to miss their chance at a cash grab.

Even if the pool would be small, spread so thin amongst them.

The more they add, the more Honey thinks they’re doing this just to spite her. Mocking her, telling her to take it easy on Ben though they think she won’t even last a minute. Still laughing when she doesn’t give them a response.

Brainless insects she could easily squash under foot.

The boy passes out the white tags and takes note of every wager and tag number.

The box is full by the time he’s done.

“And who’s betting on blondie?” He calls again.

It goes silent.

Spectators laugh under their breaths and dare each other to put just a dollar in the box. Trying to make a fool out of her and her arrogance as if they could even put a dent in her self esteem.

The bet means nothing to her.

She’s satisfied with just being able to get her name changed from blondie to her Sinstagram account after she came out the unsuspected victor. It was a good opportunity to reel in the clout she’d been lacking for the past few weeks, people would surely be climbing over each other to know who this cute fighter girl was.

Giving them her Sinstagram account would be the least she could do for these soon-to-be broke idiots. It’d be like some consolation prize that’s worth more than what they put in that stupid box.

Still a part of her wants the boy to stop calling her name to a crowd that doesn’t appreciate it.

She taps her foot impatiently.

“$20 on blondie,”

Honey whips around.

It’s Misha. Of course it’s Misha.

“It’s this week’s grocery money, don’t lose it,” He tells her as he tosses the neatly folded twenty into the betting box without a second thought. Misha takes a black tag.

Honey can only stare back.

Elias accidentally elbows Misha as he rummages around in his wallet, looking frantic as he sifts through the pockets.

He doesn’t have any bills so he messily writes a check. Honey doesn’t think she’s ever seen a high schooler with a checkbook before.

He throws it into the box.

“$1,500 on Honey!”

Silence takes over the auditorium again. For a different reason.

This is one of the largest single bets ever placed on a fight and it evens out all the cash compiled towards the Boulder and then some. The other spectators look stunned, suddenly questioning their gamble.

Misha gives Elias a defeated look as the redhead, now brunette with the wig collects the second black tag. Elias wears a grin too smug for his freckles.

They turn to her. Black tags raised.

Honey doesn’t need them or their bets, she thinks, but the smile on her face betrays her. Try as she might, her mouth refuses to turn back into its former scowl.

Damn weirdos.

Just then, Ben the Boulder emerges from the crowd like a mountain breaking through the dissipating fog, taking his place across the painted ring while Honey takes hers.

She pales in comparison to his size, but her ego is probably twice his size. If not more.

“All bets are closed, let the fight begin!”

Cheers and hollers ring out around them.

Honey expects a big opponent like Ben to come at her first.

He could probably tank any of her attacks without breaking a sweat, so it would be in his best interest to knock Honey out fast and get the fight over with. Not that Honey’s going to go down that easily.

She waits for him to come rushing at her with the same energy of a rampaging bull.

And she waits.

And waits.

Someone coughs in the crowd.

The hulking giant of a student doesn’t move. He’s not waiting for her to attack either since he’s fidgeting like a preschooler on their first day at school.

Honey’s annoyance festers.

Ben’s wasting her time the more he twiddles his thumbs and pretends he’s not in the middle of an illegal fighting club. If it wasn’t one thing with these people, it was another. Either these Midnight Fight obsessed freaks were too weak, like the vulture kid, or too hesitant, like Ben here.

She’s sick of this already, waiting for Godforsaken students to follow her on Sinstagram, waiting to get Misha to open up to her, waiting to get her hands on Charlotte’s pretty little reputation and wring it dry for all it was worth.

If he won’t start, she will.

Like Honey does with almost every attack she’s ever made, she lets anger get the best of her. Her restless nerves itching to move.

Taking off from her spot on the opposite end of the ring, Honey pounces. He should be able to move out of the way or tackle her with how reckless and predictable her offensive tactic is, but Ben just stands there.

Alright, she’ll bite.

Honey veers to his left and draws her leg as far back as it goes, twisting her body to deliver a powerful knee to his side. Just like she did that vulture jerk. She can hear the boy wince from the crowd.

It’s a perfect hit, landing right where she wants it.

But, Ben is as solid as rock. He doesn’t even sway from the impact.

So much for an easy win.

Although Honey’s right in front of him, with no guard or a single defensive strategy on her, Ben the Boulder makes no move to attack or do much of anything really except keep his eyes trained on the ground. Looking everywhere, but Honey.

Even the crowd’s previous shouts of excitement devolve into mutters of confusion.

Honey’s patience is pulled dangerously taut.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Ben backs away from her, the first movement he’s made beyond shifting his feet and playing with his fingers, but it’s not to attack. No, instead he leans down to the vulture kid beside him and makes a motion to whisper something.

Like schoolgirls talking gossip. Honey wants to make it so that they can never whisper like that again. 

The look on the vulture's face quickly melts into anger.

“What?!” He exclaims, seething at Ben with exaggerated disappointment. And frustration. 

Ben the Boulder almost looks scared.

The smaller boy slaps a hand so hard over his face that it looks like it hurts, the life draining out of him in mere seconds while Ben plays childishly with the hem of his shirt.

Honey grits her teeth, “Well?”

Hand still covering his eyes, the boy heaves an exasperated breath.

“Ben says he can’t hit girls.”