Slowly but surely, Benedict stepped away. His eyes darted into the small ring of students.
"Fight, fight, fight!" They cheered. Ambrose cracked her knuckles defiantly, ready to engage the large lumbering Benedict Ardere. He nodded grimly.
Ambrose looked into his beady eyes, looked into his mind, and knew exactly how to win without throwing a single punch. That was her special skill.
Ambrose quickly poked Benedict's hand. It was a mental tick, a trick to distract an opponent, Suddenly, Benedict screamed. He dropped to the ground, curled in a ball, crying. "Please don't kill my mom!" he wailed, covering his face.
Ambrose tapped her shoe against his head. "Then stop bullying Jordan," she demanded.
Benedict cowered in fear. "Just don't hurt my mom," he pleaded. His voice shook. "I'll do anything."
Ambrose smiled smugly. "Would you stop dating Emma?"
"Are you crazy?" Benedict yelled. Ambrose shuffled through more of his memories, exploiting another weak link, and he came to his senses. "Is that all you want?" Benedict asked.
"I was just kidding," Ambrose claimed. The crowd laughed, though they didn't understand what was truly going down. "Leave me and Jordan alone, and I won't hurt your mom – and I'll let you keep Emma."
He started to get up off the warm black asphalt. "I promise to leave you and your friend, Jordan Kasha, alone." He shook as he tried to walk away, but the crowd pushed him back in.
"Alright," Ambrose smiled, walking into the crowd. Her classmates let her through. "If you break your promise, Emma's gone." She snapped her fingers, and paused to let that to sink in. "And so is your mother."
Ambrose walked out to the entrance of her high school, her forest camouflage cloak flowing behind her. Jordan Kasha was sitting on the bench out front. "How'd it go?" she asked.
"Perfectly," Ambrose replied. "Benedict Ardere was easy. He loves his mother too much for his own good."
Mark Ellington walked up to the two girls. He was one of the people in the crowd watching the epic failure of Benedict. "How did you do that? Are you magical, Miss Hoverdan?"
"No. Your bus is here," Ambrose diverted smoothly. "Number 14, right?" Mark nodded and left.
Jordan also nodded. "What exactly did you do–"
"Emma's going to dump him anytime between tomorrow and Friday." Ambrose answered, reading her friend's mind.
"Wow," Jordan sighed. "I'm not going to ask where you got that information."
"Yeah, but it's not a surprise, really," Ambrose smiled.
Together, the girls walked home. When they got to the Cornwallis Complex, they both went into the hover-elevator and left at their respective floors.
Just before reaching her apartment, one of Ambrose's neighbors spotted her. "Hey Ambrose, how're doing today?" Jessica Riemer greeted, walking out of her door.
"All good. Do you have work today?" Ambrose asked, gesturing to the open door.
"Yeah," Jessica said. "Did you get in any, trouble, today?" she asked, winking.
"I dealt with him," Ambrose said, smiling. Jessica had similar abilities as Ambrose.
"Well anyway, nice seeing you," Jessica said. "Be careful."
"I will. Nice seeing you, too, Jessie," Ambrose replied. Jessica was a year older than Ambrose was, and she was always working at the seemingly endless number of part time jobs she got.
Giving Jessica a high five as she left, Ambrose advanced on the red door to her apartment and opened it.
"How was school?" Ambrose's mom called as Ambrose walked in the door.
"Great," she replied, walking to her room and shoving her backpack under her desk.
Her mom eyed her suspiciously. "I got another call from your principal. Try to be good while your father's not home, Ambrose. You know what people already say about you."
Ambrose ignored her concerns. "The dry-cleaning is ready a day early and black hair dye is 50% off."
"Well, I bought the hair dye already," Ambrose's mom announced, carrying the laundry basket. "But I didn't know about the dry-cleaning."
"I'm going to look awesome with black hair," Ambrose said.
Her mom sighed, putting down the laundry to grab the dye. "I think you look beautiful with your ash blond hair. I guess black will match that camouflage cloak of yours." Ambrose's mom handed her the box. "You're 14 now. I trust you can do this by yourself."
"Yes mom," she answered as she closed the bathroom door behind her. 710Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKbOiM5R3g1
