CHAPTER 2

"This shitbag benched me," Zacks snarled. His name, apparently, was Anaga. I found that odd, but since I was stuck in the middle of this crap, I just kept my mouth fucking shut.

"And you will be, Flinn, if you, Seth, and Carlos don't get back out onto that field," the ref shouted to the man who had spoken to Zacks. He did this quickly, and naturally, he didn't hang around. The ref whistled, then came back towards the game. The two guys behind Flinn yelled "bullshit." Zacks obviously felt the same, but he didn't argue when he stormed off the field. He shot past me, but I saw that he looked my way before he did.

I wanted to say sorry for… well, I really didn't know what I did. He didn't have to go to bat for me, and I definitely hadn't asked him.

Rather, I stood there with my camera watching as he broke his gaze from me. He shook his head as he made his way towards the track and was forced to fight through our fans in the stands to do it. Some of them booed as he did so, the crowd energized.

"You believe that your crap doesn't stink, Zacks! Why the devil would you be so disrespecting the ref and shame Sonny Tenz," one of them cried before he threw a bottle in his direction. It collided with Anaga's helmet, the glass crunching, and Anaga immediately glared in that direction.

My breathing halted, everything halted, and even quite a bit of shouting within the crowd. As though time halted for that split moment, that forever, infinite moment.

I had hoped that it would last longer.

For after that time rushed along, Anaga heaving his helmet.

Anaga vanishing into the stands.

The man ascended the bleachers, climbed them literally, and my heart ceased to function when the crowd screamed as a boy the size of a lion pounced on the man who had tossed a bottle at him.

Not a lion… a wolf.

Nothing but cold unadulterated rage could be referred to as Anaga as he lifted the guy up and drove his fist down so hard the man's head snapped back. A woman in the stands screamed, the stands exploding, and Anaga's teammates (who had returned to the field) doubled back. Flinn, Carlos, and Seth ran towards the stands. They ran to Anaga who was timing that guy who had attacked him over and over.

Oh my God.

It was as if I was frozen, ice covering both my body and arms. Anaga's other three players climbed into the seats as well, and one managed to get Anaga under his arms. The Flinn on his back, he picked him up while Carlos and Seth tried to hold off the fans. With the three boys stepping in and halting Anaga, I thought it was over. It should have been over.

It might have been prevented if somebody hadn't punched Flinn.

The fan, a guy, had appeared out of nowhere and punched Flinn squarely in the arm. It was the lone punch the guy threw before Flinn let Anaga go and started pounding the guy who had punched him. Flinn punched the guy repeatedly, and unfettered, Anaga continued to wail on the guy who had hurled the bottle. That one man was not moving, clearly passed out but the blind rage sent flying Anaga's fists. He never stopped, and Carlos and Seth were in a similar fight. Fans were throwing themselves at them, and my hair flapped in my face as orange and navy uniforms zipped past me.

The boys' teammates.

They arrived… in hordes—all of them. The whole Johnson Carb squad had abandoned the field to support their teammates, and once they did, that was permission for our guys. Our team's red and black jersey whizzed past me as well, and the ice bath struck again. Literally, chaos occurred before my eyes.

The damn bleachers, the world, exploded in what must have been a matter of seconds, minutes. There were players fighting players, players fighting fans, and my camera hung gracefully from my fingers. I nearly dropped the most important thing in my entire goddamn life. My dad's camera was one-of-a-kind, the most important thing in my world.

I knew that, so I picked it up, nutting the fuck up. This wasn't the story I'd come for, but it was here and…

My shutter snapped fast, anger and rage before my lens. I didn't have any difficulty taking the fight, or the center focus of the story. I had my eye on Anaga Zacks.

And I didn't release.

"I have to say, Ms. Lanka, I'm very pleased with what I've seen and heard from you today. You have a very good chance at this internship. A real good chance."

Sitting across from Queens Arrows, Queens Arrows for the New York Times, I had to say, I felt what he said. The interview had gone well, and I'd done my best for him today.

Despite that, I played it cool, sitting professionally before him. "Thank you, Mr. Arrows."

"Queens," he countered, before cracking open my portfolio. He smiled. "Pretty impressive portfolio of work for someone so young. In fact, it's like you've lived a thousand lives in one summer."

He was referring to what I'd brought to him today, of course. I'd spent my last summer of high school traveling around the country. My camera and a bus ticket had taken me to some of the poorest neighborhoods in the country, most of which were behind and forgotten. I wanted to show their stories, show the people, and most of my focus had been on those who couldn't even claim those neighborhoods as home. They were the ones who lived off the grid and struggled from shelter to shelter. Before I knew it, I was caught up in their stories, my camera the mirror to those who literally were passed over. They too had a story, and it was told in my work.

I tucked my fingers in. "Thank you, Queens."

No, thanks. It's incredible to see," he said, closing the portfolio that I had submitted. I had to reply that I was stunned by this meeting. I mean, I was confident in my work but never believed that I would have the opportunity for an internship in photojournalism this soon. Much less my first year of college.

And my dream internship at that.