1. If I could be anyone, it wouldn't be me.

“Hey!” I bellowed. But then I thought about it. “Never mind. We’re talking about girls. Two outta three is good enough.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

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If someone told me I’d have to die to be a hero, I’m not sure I would have taken the job.

Yeah, I’m only 17. Not even the popular kid, which makes this more awkward. I’m guessing most people will probably think this is just a tale of fiction. Some story of a bored teenager made up to get more attention in a world starving for attention. But you know what? They can think what they want. I can’t fix stupid.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“Oh, stop.”

“It hurts,” I growled back. Truth was, everything hurt. That’s what happens when you try to be the good guy. The bad guys in my social spheres are bigger, stronger, faster, outnumber me, and prevent my escape. Teens are mean. Cruel even. The guys are bad, but girls are even worse. Any kid outside the ‘popular’ circles in school knows this. If you can’t meet the current standard for fame, talent, beauty, or connections, you’re just raw meat for the peer grinder.

A sacrifice for sport and cruel entertainment among youth who think the public school system is ‘real life’.

Thick fingers worked over my wounds, probing the depth of each cut. So far, there wasn’t a need for stitches, which was…good. No stitches meant no ER or med center. The last thing I needed was more parental attention. At least the sun had graced us with its presence. With the clouds retreating and the wind dying down, you almost forgot it was October. I closed my eyes to the warmth and… “Ow!”

“Wuss.”

“Jerk.”

“Baby.”

“Bully.”

“Whiner.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled. “For putting me back together.”

“You’re lucky. You know that.”

I always felt lucky at the Matthews’ home. It was my home away from home. Especially since mom died. When I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to, the Matthews had been there with open arms, as my family cracked and fell apart. Three houses down from mine, the door was always open, day or night.

Great people.

“I got beat up and pushed down a ravine, Evan. And here I was thinking my life was improving.” I flinched away from the evil cotton swab darting towards my face. “Ow. Okay, we’re done.”

The back porch and pool area were a blind spot to the neighbors, overlooking a steep ravine that descended into miles of pine trees. I always joked that it was perfect for teens, up to no good. Evan had the first-aid kit spread out across the patio table. He’d angled the umbrella back to use the sunlight for inspecting my wounds.

“That Travis came to get me,” Evan said. He grabbed another cotton ball and doused it ruthlessly with rubbing alcohol. I think he got a kick out of helping me, so long as I experienced pain. He liked to remind me it was a natural consequence of my choices. Choices that too often seemed to suck. “No, you’re not done. Sit down — that cut on your cheek needs closing.” Strong fingers gripped my arm. “If he hadn’t, you might not have been found…and I mean it. Sit.”

“Someone would have shown up,” I argued.

Evan frowned at me.

“Eventually,” I added.

He lowered his hands and stared.

“Maybe,” I grumbled. Evan was probably right. He’d found me unconscious, along the bank of the stream. My bullies had dragged me away from the water, but I could have frozen through the night before anyone noticed I was gone. “But I am glad Travis came to you. Thanks for hauling my butt back here.”

Again the nod. “Always.”

I could count the friends I had on one hand. Evan was my best friend. Had been since we were little. Something about me and a Doberman Pincer during Halloween. I’m told I got between the attacking mutt and Evan, but all I remembered was trying to get to the candy first. My face got torn up, needed a bunch of stitches, and our parents became close friends over the event. Evan and I followed suit.

“I heard Jeffrey had his locker broken into during the flag football game today,” he said nonchalantly. He pinched the cut on my cheek shut, and dabbed it with some glue.“ Someone apparently tampered with his shampoo,” he said. Satisfied, he gave me a quick once-over, then cleaned up the first aid kit. 

“Is that so?” I said.

“Uh huh.” Squeezing the cotton-ball remains and wrappers into a clump, he tossed it at the tiny trash basket near his feet. It missed. Rolled between my feet instead. “Guys on the team were laughing about his shiny new dome. That, and losing his eyebrows.”

It was hard not to smile. Just the thought of the biggest jerk in school getting pranked that hard was enough the make this day worth it. “Does anyone know who did it?”