Chapter 7

Thursday was an oddity for William. He had the distinct feeling of being watched but couldn't seem to locate a likely source aside from a female a few inches taller than he who never got closer than thirty feet to him even during lunch though she was in the same advanced placement classes as he. During his initial assessments, he'd classified her as a mouse and left it at that. At lunch, he'd passed Rosy the packet his mother'd sent along then he'd been surprised to see her talking with the mystery female while discreetly waving him off. With a mental shrug and promise to himself to ask Rosy about this after school, he quickly picked another table by the edge of the opening where he could keep a discreet eye on his minion/lieutenant.

A semi-tall teenager with brown hair moved up to William's table and sat down, radiating smug superiority. "Good afternoon William, I am Edison Truscott."

"And I care ... why?" William knew he shouldn't antagonize a potential new contact but the boy's smug arrogance was enough to raise his hackles.

"I understand you have a measure of influence over those testosterone driven Neanderthals."

If the boy's attitude hadn't marked him as a Nerd, then his vocabulary most certainly would, William thought to himself. "I have a certain degree of influence with the Jocks," he agreed after a moment.

"I would like you to exert that influence on my behalf."

"Oh?"

"Yes, those brainless buffoons have been assaulting my compatriots relentlessly for the last few days. I wish for you to use whatever power you have over them to cease their attacks."

King arched an eyebrow, "And why, pray tell, would I do so?"

"Do this for me and I shall allow you the honor and privilege of joining my followers."

Adding a snort to his eyebrow, William said, "If that's the best you've got to offer, walk away now. I'm nobody's follower. If you want my aid, I'm willing to offer it at a price."

The taller male sneered but could easily see it had no effect, especially as he'd come to William for aid, "Fine. What's your price?"

"A marker and an understanding. I'm willing to be an intermediary to establish an armistice but I am unwilling to exert sufficient pressure to ensure the harassment is discontinued without recompense to the Jocks."

"So you expect payment just for being a messenger?"

King didn't even try to contain the little smirk that suddenly adorned his lips, "You think you can negotiate a truce on your own?"

Truscott glared at the junior for several seconds before he seemed to deflate, "No, I can't."

"Then either muddle through on your own or accept the offer made."

"Fine, I'm willing to owe you a favor for getting those idiots to quit harassing my people."

William shook his head, "Listen to me," he says in a hard voice, "this is not a negotiation. All I'm offering is to be the messenger, middleman, and impartial arbiter if it becomes needed. I am not going to personally guarantee anything so quit trying to shape things to make me personally accountable for any outcome."

"Then what will you do?"

"I will serve as a messenger and do all within my power to negotiate a reasonable compromise, something mutually beneficial to both sides."

The head Nerd tried glaring at the smaller teen, but his attempt at intimidation fell resoundingly flat. "Oh alright, but you'd better be able to deliver." He started to stand up, but instantly reversed course as a voice cracked like a whip.

"Sit! Now," William said in a dangerously patient voice, "I'm not the one who is going to have to deliver. You are. You are going to have to make sure that whatever accommodation is reached, that you and yours both can and will make good on. Clear?"

The intensity in the junior's eyes was more frightening to the intellectual snob than the prospect of facing down the entire front line. "Y-y-yeah, I got it."

William gave a firm nod and then waved with the back of hand in dismissal.

The Faction Leader stood and walked away, alternately terrified at the monster he'd seen lurking in the other boy's eyes and furious at the blatant dismissal.

For his part, the young King sighed, he detested having to deal with faction leaders; they tended to have egos which, while perhaps reasonable for dealing with the locals, simply could not be justified in the league he had been trained to compete in. In the interim, class called.