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“It's okay, baby,” she said. “I'm sure we'll end up taking turns. But for tonight, I just really want to remember what it was like when you were little, and you used to come sleep with us when you were scared. That means you get the middle.”

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.

In their exchange, Seraph finally managed to wing Phune with a holy blast, leaving his arm numb, but with a frustrated snarl, Phune waved his other arm and hit Seraph in the leg with a sphere of water. Seraph collapsed, howling in pain as the water dissolved his clothes and flesh. He had felt this burning before, this corrosion of his skin. Noah had used acid against him during their fight, and right now, a tsunami of bad memories was washing over him. In his mind, he was back in the slums with Noah standing over him. Considering where the arena was built and where Noah was watching from, his delusion wasn’t far from reality. He couldn’t go through that pain again, that horror.