Battle Royale:

1st American Blitz

DISCLAIMER & STORY NOTE: First off, I don’t own Battle Royale or any material related to it. Sad, but ultimately true. As for the story itself, I know, I know…yet another American Battle Royale story. Becoming quite the overcrowded category, eh? But it’s been something that’s been rattling around in my head for a while so I decided to try my hand at it. Battle Royale: 1st American Blitz takes place in an alternate universe based on the movie where the events of Battle Royale II: Requiem/Revenge never take place. Instead of Shuya becoming an international terrorist three years after the conclusion of Battle Royale, I took a page from the manga’s ending where Shuya and Noriko head off to the United States at the end (New York City, to be exact) to start a new life. Even though the United States is portrayed as being somewhat ambiguous in relation to it’s role in world affairs, I’ve decided to keep it more like it is today – it has it’s share of problems, both internal and external, but is still the center of the free world.

As stated above, Battle Royale II never happened and Shuya and Noriko are blissfully living out their days in the Big Apple; totally unaware of the agreement made between the rogue elements of the American Government and the Nationalist Republic of Japan (since the movie didn’t really go into any other name and also didn’t use the book/manga name – Greater East Asia Republic – I decided to create my own, which I hope fits in with the country’s portrayal in the original Battle Royale). As stated in the first movie, the reason for Japan’s turn to totalitarianism has to do with some sort of disastrous event that took place near the turn of the century. While it’s unclear just what happened, I’m going to assume that it was both economic and social in nature.

Also, in order to give a decent amount of time for the Nationalist Republic of Japan to actually pass and enact such a law as the Millennial Education Reform Act, I’m going to set the timeframe somewhere in 2011. From the opening depicted in Battle Royale, it can be assumed that ‘the Program’ has been occurring for some time and that Japan itself has been a ‘police state’ since a little after the beginning of the new millennium. The trade embargos and sanctioning of the nation have made Japan rather poor, hence the reason for their contractual alliance with MERA Committee…

CHAPTER 1: Dramatis Personae I – What You Leave Behind

The Day Before

Sisters

Sadie Dechon looked over the piece of paper in her hand again. Her light brown eyes could hardly believe what the neatly printed lettering was saying. It was making her head swim dizzily. Which is why it was a good thing she was lying down on her bed; otherwise, she’d probably be passed out on the floor instead. Feelings of both anticipation and anger intermixed with one another.

Letting her arm drop back down to the bed loosely, Sadie tightened her fingers around the notice in vexing irritation. A class trip, she questioned dismally to herself. Out of all the times… Dammit! My only chance to take the PSAT is this freakin’ week! This is just great. A two week school trip to Paris or my only chance to ditch that idiotic community college for some place credible? Yeah right, like I even have a choice.

Releasing the paper held in her clenched hand, Sadie rolled over onto her stomach and grabbed hold of the worn-out, old teddy bear sitting near one of her pillows. Looking solemnly into its scratched plastic eyes for an answer, she muttered, “Why’s life so unfair?”

“Because you’re a prissy, know-it-all, schoolwork-a-holic who don’t know how to have any fun?”

It took Sadie a moment to realize that her teddy bear hadn’t mouthed out those rude words. That was a good thing. Because the only other explanation would be her going crazy. Something that could easily be caused by a nice-sized amount of very unhealthy stress. Probably like the kind she was experiencing right now.

Turning her head from the teddy bear and towards the open doorway to her room, Sadie didn’t really need to see the person standing there to know who it was. Her presence was only going to add to her stress. Returning her attention to the plush toy bear, Sadie closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

“Don’t you ever knock, JoAnne?”

The tall, dark-haired girl wearing a loose-fitting tank-top with no bra and tight, cut-off shorts just smiled down toward her younger sister and strode casually into the room without being invited in.

“Why should I,” she questioned merrily, making her way over to Sadie’s bed and plopping down hard on its edge. “I’m the oldest so it should be a given that I’m gonna come into your room whenever I pretty much feel like it.”

Sadie didn’t even bother to turn and look at JoAnne as she gave her reply.

“You’re only older by one year, Jo. That’s it. One. So, explain to me again how that makes you the boss of me?”

JoAnne’s smile never faltered.

“Experience, Sade. It’s all ‘bout experience. I got it and you don’t. Pretty damned simple, isn’t it?”

Pushing herself up from the blanket-covered mattress and turning over, Sadie moved further onto the bed until her back rested against the headboard. Regarding her nearly half-dressed sister with narrowed eyes, she just shook her head and grunted, “The kind of experience you have Jo, I don’t want or need.”

“You shouldn’t listen to the rumors at school, Sade,” she returned, all the merriness suddenly gone from her voice; tone now flat and edged with seriousness. “All they’ll do is mess your head up. No joke. So, who’s been spreading the bullshit ‘bout me this time, Sade? Which of those little bitches in our class’s been flapping their lips ‘bout me? Who was it? Huh? Brittany and that trash in her clique?! That tramp, Courtney?! Or was it that stuck up bitch Leslie Thurston?! She’s just been beggin’ for someone to pull that silver spoon outta her ass! Come on Sade, tell me!”

Eyes still narrowed, Sadie sniffed loudly as she wrapped her long arms around the teddy bear she had hugged to her small chest.

“Why does it even matter, Jo,” she asked with hardly any fight in her words, leaning her chin down onto the teddy bear’s soft, plushie head. “It won’t stop the rumors from spreading. It’s retarded to even try! Face it, with the way you dress and act, even I’m beginning to think what everyone’s saying about you is true!”

JoAnne Dechon rose up from the bed with a hard look stretched across her ovular face. Sadie was familiar with that look. That look usually ended with her flat on her stomach with an arm twisted up behind her like a pretzel. And when her sister did that, it was never to tease! There was always intent to hurt behind it when she did something like that – especially to her! Damn JoAnne and her sick infatuation with those stupid wrestling shows!

“Just ‘cause you’ve lived here with me and dad for a whole fucking year,” the taller girl began heatedly, arms akimbo. “Don’t mean you know everything ‘bout me, you stupid little know-it-all! You just started going to school here! What the hell do you know ‘bout anything that really matters?! Huh?!”

“Don’t start yelling at me, JoAnne! Don’t blame me for what everyone at school says about you behind your back! It’s not my fault! Why don’t you take a look in the mirror and see the reason they’re saying what they’re saying,” the short-haired girl returned roughly as she raised her head from its place atop her teddy bear. The fight returned to her tone as the younger girl cut her slitted eyes toward her sister’s menacing form. Normally, Sadie Dechon wasn’t the type of girl who let the smaller things bother her and therefore, she never lost her temper quite as much as her older sibling. But this wasn’t one of those occasions. And the recent events in her life was making all the more easier.

“Those other girls might be sluts, but you’re the one who looks the part!”

Without any kind of warning, JoAnne dropped both arms to her sides, took a few stalking steps toward the head of the bed, raised a hand and slapped Sadie as hard as she could across the face. The short-haired girl’s head jerked rudely to the left. Her arms, loosened by the shock and surprise of what her sister had done, released their hold on her teddy bear. It fell haphazardly off her lap and landed a few inches to her side. Furiously, Sadie pushed herself up to her knees and reared back with an open palm of her own. The sound of flesh impacting against flesh echoed through the room again. Only silence followed in its wake.

Both of the girls just remained in their spots, staring at one another with hard, anger-filled eyes – light brown meeting hazel. Their cheeks were beginning to redden noticeably. Their chests rose up and down in rapid succession, both from the adrenaline pumping through their system and the heavy, deep breaths they were taking. Neither said anything, but their eyes spoke a dozen different words. And none of them seemed to be too kind.

Finally, JoAnne turned away from Sadie and walked angrily to the open doorway. Grabbing hold of the knob, the dark-haired girl paused only long enough to say, “Stupid, know-it-all bitch,” before slamming the door hard behind her and stalking down the hallway to her own room.

In return, Sadie let her body fall back down to the bed as she tentively reached down and grabbed hold of her teddy bear. Staring at it briefly, she then turned her eyes to her closed door and scowled before muttering, “Skuzzy whore. I hope you oversleep and miss the bus tomorrow morning.”

-o-

Lowlifes

Rob McKean leaned against the dirty brick wall to the rear of the Bucky Seven convenience store as he took another drag from his cigarette. In front of him, two young boys were quickly rifling through his oversized bookbag; eyes wide and bright with mischievous thoughts about the DVD cases with naked women in various, sexually-explicit poses and positions. He took a moment to run a hand through his unkempt, shoulder-length, sand-colored hair then pulled it down to his mouth where he removed the cigarette. Flicking the ashes at its end to the ground in boredom, Rob stifled a yawn and coldly glared at the two boys with his deep, cerulean eyes.

“Hey you little shits,” he grunted sourly. “Could you make a decision sometime this fucking week? I got places to be.”

One of the boys just looked up at Rob with a crooked grin. On instinct, one of his hands lashed out and smacked the boy hard on the back of his head. Immediately, the boy raised his own hands to the spot where Rob had hit him, screaming, “OW! What the fuck did you do that for?!”

Rob ignored the boy he had hit and turned his attention to one still digging through his bookbag. Taking another long drag from the cigarette he had replaced and perched between his lips, the tall teenager dressed in boots, ripped blue jeans and a well-worn Black Sabbath t-shirt casually thumped the other boy in the back of his head with a cocked finger. The second preteen finally stopped looking through the bag and gave Rob a stony stare.

“Don’t eye me like that, kid,” the hard-faced teen returned in a crude voice. “You might just go and piss me off enough to kick both your asses today. Now, which fucking ones do you want? Come on, you pervs, I ain’t got all day.”

Both of the boys quickly moved away from Rob to discuss what they were planning in secret. The older teen just sighed loudly. This was why he hated dealing with little fucks like them. Too indecisive. Why was it so hard for them to make a choice? For fuck’s sake, pussy was pussy! Did it really matter what the bimbo looked like? Besides, it wasn’t like those two little fucks could even do anything while watching the DVDs anyway. What were they, like, twelve…? Eleven? Jeez, what was the world coming to when he could sell porno to kids their age?

“Alright,” one of the boys spoke out suddenly, snapping Rob back to what passed for his reality. “We know the one we want.”

Rob took one last drag from his dwindling cigarette and then casually tossed it aside as he made his way over to his bookbag.

“About fucking time,” he returned in an aggravated voice, kneeling on one knee next to the bag. “Now, which one do you little fuckers want?”

The boys took another look at each other, wide grins almost a match for each other. Almost in unison, they both announced – rather loudly and a little too joyously for Rob’s taste – their choice.

“We want that one,” they practically shouted, both of them pointing at a DVD near the top with the athletically built, tanned-almost-perfectly body on the homemade cover. “The blond girl with the big boobs!”

For some odd reason, the choice of the two boys didn’t surprise Rob one bit. Afterall, that girl was his most popular DVD. And small wonder why, considering just who the girl was. He found himself nearly laughing out loud. Sometimes, he loved being a lowlife. Plus, the money was good. A lot better than one would imagine. Especially when the girls in his home-produced porn didn’t want their illicit activities, or identities, sold to the highest – or lowest, in most cases – bidder. Buying that camcorder from the pawn shop was the best thing to ever happen to Rob McKean.

Smiling roguishly at the two boys, he reached into the bookbag and quickly grabbed hold of the DVD. Still grinning, he held up five extended fingers on his left hand and flashed them three times to both of the boys.

“Fifteen bucks,” he stated bluntly, and then added with no hesitation, “each.”

The merry look on the two boy’s faces faltered and then fell abruptly, melting from happiness to utter disbelief and shock. The smile on Rob’s face only grew wider.

“Hey,” he began, waving the DVD tauntingly in front of their stunned, wanting eyes. “Lose the looks dipshits.” Dropping the hand holding the video and giving an innocent shrug, Rob lowered his beaming smile into a knowing smirk. “I’m going to Paris tomorrow with a buddy of mine. And us guys gotta have a little spending cash, right?”

-o-

Winners

“I can’t say I understand what’s going on in that head of yours, Greer.”

Misty Greer, star player of the McHaven High School Varsity Volleyball Team, just kept her cool, light-blue eyes focused directly before her. It had become practiced ease to ignore her coach’s ranting. His tirades were always the same; overblown, boring and way too predictable to be taken seriously by her – or anyone else with brains, for that matter. And because of that, dealing with him was never a problem. 

Besides, what could he do to the team’s star player? Absolutely nothing, if he wanted to keep on winning.

“You don’t need to,” she stated evenly, no hint of anger or reproach in her voice. “All you need to understand is that we won because of me.” Misty’s face remained icy and steady as she finally turned her eyes to the older man dressed in a dingy warm-up suit leaning against the edge of the desk before her. “You do understand that, right Coach? We won the game. Because of me. Not Hailey. Not Jordan. Not even that varsity bitch, Rochelle. Me.”

Coach Butterman stared at the girl seated in front of him incredulously.

“Y-You can’t be serious,” he sputtered out in mild shock.

Misty ran her long fingers through her short, damp, undercut-styled blond hair indifferently.

“Completely serious, Coach.”

Butterman pushed himself away from the desk and folded his thick arms across an even thicker chest; giving the seemingly unconcerned girl the most serious expression he could muster. He threw in a scowl for good measure. But neither it nor his new, this-is-no-joke pose had any effect on Misty. “Do you realize that your little obsession with getting the ball and winning the game cost us one our best players? Walters is going to be out the entire season because of that idiotic stunt you pulled,” he exclaimed hotly.

Sighing visibly, Misty leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling in boredom. So that’s why he had me called away from the gym, she thought out suspiciously. Misty barely held back the frown she could already feel tensing her sweaty forehead. She could hardly believe it was all about that idiot girl again! He had cut her afternoon practice short because of this? Because of Becky Walters?! The stupid little bimbo who had almost lost them the game in the first place?! If she hadn’t busted her ass in the last two sets to clean up that slut’s mess, the varsity volleyball team wouldn’t be anywhere near the Tri-State Tournament this year! And this was the thanks that she got?! A goddamned lecture?! This had to be some sort of sick joke.

“So,” she uttered uncaringly, never removing her eyes from the office’s stucco ceiling, “what’s your point? She was hardly the best. And it’s not like it’s anything serious. I mean, it’s just a broken ankle. It’ll heal.”

The coach just shook his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, a broken ankle that you caused by not watching – or caring – where you were going! You knocked her down and then stepped on her ankle! Or did you forget that, too?! All to return a high pass that anyone on the court could have gotten! Did the spotlight mean that much to you, Greer?! Was it that important to knockback that pass?!”

Misty rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She was really getting sick of being lectured. Especially by some loser jackass who’s coaching ability was no better than that of a brain-dead mule.

“No Coach,” the short-haired girl replied in a gruff and annoyed voice, “it wasn’t the spotlight that mattered to me. The only thing that mattered to me was winning the damned game. Becky was useless that night. Hell, even a half-assed coach like you couldn’t miss how bad she was playing! She was dropping pass after pass, left and right. If I hadn’t done what I did, we’d have lost. So what if I broke her goddamned ankle! We won! I mean, wasn’t that the whole point of playing?! Winning?!” Misty only paused long enough to lift her head back into an upright position, directing an intense gaze at Coach Butterman. “Who cares if a few players get hurt along the way, especially useless ones like Becky Walters.”

The coach’s eyes narrowed at the tall, well-built girl sitting in front of him like she didn’t have a care in the world. Grunting in absolute disgust, he turned away from her and made his way to the other side of his desk. Seating himself in the rickety, old chair, Coach Butterman leaned forward onto the desk with his arms folded.

“I care, Greer,” he spoke out in a cold, even tone, “which is why you’re suspended, effective immediately. Clear out your locker and get the hell out of my sight.”

The confident, worriless expression that had been on Misty’s face since the beginning of Butterman’s tirade evaporated like rain water on hot pavement.

“Y-You…You can’t do that,” she stammered in astonishment. “If you suspend me, we’ll lose the Tri-State Tournament! Even you can’t be that stupid!”

The balding man pulled his arms away from the desk and leaned back irritably in the chair. “You should’ve of thought of that before you did what you did, now get out.”

Misty pushed herself up angrily from her own chair and glared daggers at Butterman.

“Don’t forget who my mom is, you stupid jackass,” she spat out, reaching down to grab her gym bag. “Once I tell her what you did, she’s going to have your ass up before the school board. I think it’s pretty safe to say that you won’t have this coaching job after that. And don’t forget that she knows people…important people. I guarantee that she’ll make sure that you won’t be able to get another coaching job anywhere in Pennsylvania if the board pulls your plug.”

Butterman just gave the leaving girl a level, stony expression; but inside he wasn’t nearly as confident. The fact that his left eye had begun twitching unconscionably only confirmed it. Of course, it wasn’t like Misty wasn’t aware of it. Afterall, she had played this particular game with Garret Butterman for much of her freshmen year. And it was a game that she was exceedingly good at winning.

“I’m going to be gone for two weeks,” Misty began with a dark smile emerging on her smooth, yet long face. “School trip to Paris. I’m sure you’ve heard about it. You’ve got that long to make the right choice about this stupid suspension idea. And you better make the right decision, Coach.” The tall girl dressed in an off-white track suit with highlights of red and black casually walked over to and opened up the door to Butterman’s office. She stopped in the doorway before leaving the dimly lit room and turned around to cast a crude look at the older man sitting behind the desk. The smile on her face never touched her eyes. “Otherwise, your job’ll be history when I get back.”

Flashing her coach one last, dirty look, Misty Greer resumed her steps through the open doorway and slammed it shut as hard as she could behind her.

-o-

Thugs

Derrick Thomas stared callously at himself in the convenience store restroom mirror. Sweat beaded across the brow of his dark face and their saltiness stung his hard, brown eyes; causing him to blink a little more frequently than he normally would. And, of course, that wasn’t making it any easier for him to see clearly. Everything around him was a blur and it made the reflection in the mirror before him hazier and cloudier than it should have been. Not that he could really do anything to help it.

His breath felt hot against his lips, flowing in and out of his mouth at a significantly reduced rate than about fifteen minutes earlier. He was still having a hard time believing that he still had it in himself to run like that. Afterall, it had been a long time since he was last forced to run away from something – or, more specifically, someone. And though he really didn’t miss those days all too much, Derrick had to admit that he did miss the exhilaration and adrenaline rush they had provided. But those days were long behind him now and he intended on keeping it that way. D-Low was dead and never coming back to fuck up his life again.

The sound of the water running into the dirty sink was almost calming to his ears. Much more calming than the police sirens he had heard earlier. That sound would never be calming to his ears. Hovering just above the warm water flowing out of the faucet, Derrick’s hands trembled lightly – more from the bruises and drying spots of blood on his knuckles than the feeling of excitement that was even now fading away. There was a mild, barely noticeable pain there, which sharpened every time he flexed his hands to any degree. The feeling almost made him laugh. Bruised knuckles. How long had it been since his hands were in that kind of condition?

Placing his hands under the running faucet, Derrick grimaced slightly as the warm liquid ran roughly over his scuffed knuckles. Slowly, the water that had been streaming into the sink began to go from clear to reddish-brown as the dried blood was washed off his still trembling hands. But it wasn’t his. Well, not all of it was. The majority of the desiccated substance belonged to some moronic dumbass who had seen fit to piss him off in the worst possible way. It had only taken a few words. That was it, just a few words. Four or five little words spoken in the wrong way about the wrong subject; that was all it took for Derrick to revert back to his old ways and habits. That was all it had taken to resurrect D-Low.

He couldn’t say for certain exactly when he realized that he had tackled the other boy down to the pavement or when he had mounted him and began to strike him repeatedly in the face with his fists. By the time Derrick was pulled away from him, the other boy’s face was the consistency of raw meat – and his fists were stained with his blood. At first, he couldn’t bring himself to care about what he done to the idiot. Afterall, he had it coming. But then he realized something…something that terrified him. It was something that shook him to his very core.

He had enjoyed it.

The rush of beating down someone; whether they deserved it or not. That feeling of absolute power associated with being in total control. The undeniable belief that you held someone else’s life – their very existence – in your hands. That nearly irresistible urge to go further than you knew you should. All of that had come back to him within those fleeting few minutes. Everything that he had once reveled in without conscience or remorse. Everything that he now utterly reviled and hated about his past self. All of it had once again dragged him back to that dark place he had fought so long and hard to separate himself from.

Grimacing crudely at his opaque reflection in the grimy mirror, Derrick scowled disgustedly at the image that stared back at him. So, he thought out roughly, was it worth it, you stupid fuck?! Ready to go back to juvie that goddamned quick, huh? Was all that shit really fucking worth being caught by the fucking cops again and hauled away?! And what about your promise to Mama? Gonna break her heart again?! Dammit! Gotta learn to think with something other than your fucking fists, asshole! You ain’t fucking D-Low any more! You’re motherfucking better than that! Taking his eyes away from muddled reflection, Derrick turned them instead on his battered hands. Rubbing them against each other listlessly, he tried to cleanse away the remaining traces of his guilt.

How could he go and do something that stupid? Did he even have a brain? And how could he just forget about his mother? He had made a promise to her on the very day he had returned from the Shuman Juvenile Detention Center to resume his new life of responsibility. It was a promise to her that he would never take his freedom for granted again and that he would strive to lead a life that his deceased father would have been proud of. It was a promise that he would never go back to what he was before his incarceration; a violent street thug.

And at only three weeks out, he had already broken it.

Hands finally clean; Derrick reached up and turned off the faucet. It squeaked loudly as the rush of water halted into an annoying drip. Taking a moment to inspect them, he quickly scanned over his two hands to make sure that no trace of his earlier lapse in judgment remained to incriminate him when he finally got home. He didn’t think that he could take seeing the hurt in his mother’s face if she found out that he had already broken his word. As street tough as he was, even that sight would moisten his eyes.

Standing up straight, Derrick took a deep, heavy breath and reached for the outdated paper towel dispenser. Everything would be alright. He just had to take control of his life again. Keep a clear and level head about things. Not let every small, stupid thing get to him. Control his anger and not let it control him. That was how he ended up in juvie hall in the first place. What he needed was a break from school and, more importantly, the streets which nearly destroyed him. The school trip to Paris couldn’t have come at a better time. It was just what he needed. Someplace far away from that darkness he never wanted to return to. A place where he and Rob could just kick back and have some fun.

Allowing his lips to curve into a weak smile, Derrick retrieved his backpack from the tank of the toilet where he had sat it. Slipping it over his right arm, he turned for the restroom door. Gripping the grungy knob, he twisted it sharply and pulled the door open. From that moment on, Derrick would keep the promise he made to his mother. He would never again go back to the way he was. The violence, hate, bloodshed and tears that had come to define his former life would not taint this new one.

As far as Derrick Thomas was concerned, that rage-filled fool, D-Low, was dead and buried out somewhere under the streets that he loved so much. And he intended to keep it that way.

-o-

Friends

Sitting in his favorite booth at Slingshot’s, Nick Lang casually turned to the next page in his book. A small paperback, The Requiem was an intriguing, though incredibly over-bloated, tale of a national terrorist and one foreign country’s nearly insane efforts to murder him – which included conscription of their nation’s youths to invade his desert headquarters, missile strikes and bombing raids when that failed and then asking aid from the one country that they viewed as an enemy when none of their original plans succeeded. It was over-bloated and somewhat heavy-handed, in his honest opinion. But still, while it wasn’t the best novel Nick had ever read, it was a great way to kill time. Especially when that time would have forced him to share space with the majority of the football team; something that he had not been too particularly keen on. All of them were supposed to be throwing some sort of pre-Paris bash in a hotel room that the coach had rented for them. And of course, him being the star running back for the McHaven High Lions, he had been invited.

It wasn’t like Nick had anything against the jocks at McHaven High. Afterall he could technically be classified as one himself. It was just that they seemed to operate on a completely different level than he did. In their own words, partying and pussy were all that mattered to them. And as much as it was expected of him by his erstwhile teammates, Nick just couldn’t say the same. Not that he wasn’t into having fun and girls. With his amazing smile, dazzling emerald eyes, dark hair neatly cut in a Caesar style, athletic build and his skills out on the football field or the basketball court; Nick Lang was in the top five of nearly all the McHaven High School girls’ ‘most dateable guys’ list. The basic truth was that he could have any girl in the school if he wanted her. Unfortunately for the female students of McHaven High, Nick didn’t want any of them. It had become his greatest estimation that girls – especially high school girls – were way too high maintenance for someone as casual as he was.

And that was one of the main reasons why Nick was dreading the school trip to Paris.

Sighing mildly, he slowly reached down onto the table and picked up his rather plain-looking bookmark. Placing it at the center of the open book, he closed it and sat it down gently. The world outside the large window suddenly became much more interesting to him. In a daze, he stared out of it in unhidden concern; his mind lost in deep thought. As much as he might have liked to think that he was too casual to date most of the girls at McHaven High, they apparently didn’t. Nick was already aware of at least three girls, going on the class trip, who had him set squarely in their sights. Unfortunately for him, they were the kind who didn’t like to take ‘no’ for an answer. This basically trapped him in an annoying situation that seemed nothing but inescapable. Was it really too much to ask just to be left alone for the next two weeks? What the hell did he have to do to escape from those sex-starved bimbos? Kill them?!

“You know something Nick,” a light-hearted, female voice suddenly called out from in front of him; breaking him away from his thoughts, “all that worry is really gonna give you an ulcer some day. Come on, cheer up! Don’t you know were going to Paris tomorrow?! How can you even look that depressed knowing that?!”

Turning his head from the large window, Nick focused his eyes and attention directly in front of him. Not that he really needed to see the face that had spoken those humor-laced words to know who it was. There was only one person that he knew who could be that happy about something that was making him absolutely miserable.

“Has anyone ever told you, Vikki,” Nick began as he calmly looked up at a chubby girl with long, flaxen hair and rosy cheeks, “that being this happy often hides some sort of deep-seated, childhood trauma that leads to the person going nuts and murdering all of her closest friends?”

Vikki Shaw folded her arms across her rather sizeable chest and smiled down mischievously at Nick.

“Is that right?”

Nick leaned back in his booth and nodded his head sagely.

“Yeah, and it usually happens after they can’t open a jar of peanut butter or something. You know; something simple.”

Vikki just laughed out loud.

“Really,” she asked afterward, extending out a hand to the back of the booth on the opposite side of the table to steady herself as she slowly took a seat directly across from Nick. “Then it’s really gonna suck for you ‘cause there’s this jar of peanut butter at home that I can’t open and it’s been making me pretty twitchy. A real shame that I consider you my best friend. I’d really hate to kill you.”

Nick couldn’t help but smile. Vikki Shaw was his oldest friend, though it was hard for a lot of people to imagine why. She was the exact opposite of everything he was; unpopular, overweight, horrible at sports, a social zero and picked on by just about everyone that he knew. And oddly enough, she represented everything that Nick wished he could be. “Same here, Vikki. I’d really hate for the last thing I see before I die is that stupid smile of your’s.”

The fair-haired girl just rolled her light-blue eyes playfully.

“You’re just saying that because you know it turns you on, big boy. Ain’t that right?”

Nick played along with her, flashing the sexiest wink he could muster.

“You know it, Vikki. How could any guy not be turned into a jibbering wreck when they see your pearly whites?”

Vikki just laughed again, then flashed a bright smile before replying, “Damn straight! These babies are Colgate-clean every morning! Never skip a day! Seriously Nick, these sucker’s are so bright, all I have to do is smile to find my way in the dark!”

Nick found himself laughing so hard at his friend’s comment that he couldn’t respond. But then, that was another thing about Vikki Shaw that people didn’t understand. Her sense of humor. The girl could shrug off the most horrible of remarks, the most hurtful of statements with a few funny words and a laugh – usually at her own expense. It made Nick sometimes wonder how Vikki really dealt with the daily criticism she faced.

“Okay,” she said suddenly, jovial voice carrying an odd tone of seriousness, “all joking aside, Nick, what’s up?”

His laughter trailing off, the dark-haired boy found himself momentarily blindsided his friend’s words.

“H-Huh? What are…what are you talking about?”

The portly teen just shook her head knowingly, big eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh don’t play stupid with me, emo-boy,” she returned, jabbing a thick finger in his direction. “You’re so damn glum, I’m surprised it hasn’t started raining in here yet. So tell me, what’s the story morning-glory?”

Nick pulled his gaze away from Vikki, resuming his original stare out the eatery’s large-paned window. His face lost the brief happiness that had been brought on by his friend’s joking and playing around. The expression on it now was a mixture of annoyance and worry.

“Paris,” he uttered with a sigh. “That’s what the story is, this stupid trip that we’re taking to Paris tomorrow.”

The look on Vikki’s pudgy face became quizzical.

“Wait, you’re telling me that all this doom-and-gloom that I’ve been trying to laugh out of you is because we’re going to Paris!?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? I mean, what’s the deal?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Nick sighed again and reluctantly returned his eyes back to Vikki.

“Fine,” he stated in a defeated tone. “The reason I don’t want to go is because of Bethany, Alice and Brenda. There, I said it. You happy?”

Vikki’s eyes widened and then a small scowl quickly developed after they narrowed.

“The Backseat Bimbos,” she questioned to him rudely even though her voice was practically dripping with an urge to laugh. “You’re worried about them? Jeez Nick! That’s all you were worried about?!”

The short-haired boy’s expression became stony and then hardened even more when Vikki began to giggle uncontrollably. “What’s so damned funny?!”

The fat girl in front of him stopped giggling for a moment, regarded him with mirth-filled eyes and then broke out into a hard, loud bout of laughter. Worse still, it was beginning to attract the attention of some of the other people in the diner near their booth. Nick’s jaw nearly dropped down to the table when he realized that more than a few of them were also from William McHaven High. His normally calm face reddened with a mortified look.

“Goddammit Vikki,” he cursed quietly, trying not to look every direction at once, “stop fucking laughing! Come on, quit it! It’s not that damned funny and I have my reasons! Did you hear me?! Stop laughing!!”

But that was the last thing that Vikki Shaw did. Instead, she began to laugh even harder; going so far as to slapping her hand down palm-first on the table a few times. Nick could feel a nervous sweat begin to form on his brow as he cut his eyes toward the bar of the diner. Behind it, the waitress and the manager were casting very hard eyes at him and his friend.

Oh great, he thought out as he gave them a half-cocked grin and pointed at Vikki while shaking his head. First the school trip from Hell and now laughing girl here won’t shutup! Man, how much worse can things get for me?!

In the next chapter of

BATTLE ROYALE

1st American Blitz

Our Dramatis Personae continues as the luckless students of William McHaven High arrive for their bus trip to the airport. But when things don’t go quite as planned, how will they react to a new situation that places them faraway from home…and any shred of sanity.