This story was uploaded before on this website, but for personal reasons, I have taken it down. After a burst of inspiration, I have decided to start rewriting it from the beginning, and though some things will be very similar to the original story, I have taken the liberty to make a couple of changes.

Shoutout to LumosMoonstone for being so amazing and listening to all my ideas!

Enjoy!

xoxo Valerie

QUINN GRAY'S POV:

The bathroom door shook under Dean's fist, the noise tensing every muscle in my body. Leaning over the sink, I glared at my reflection and turned on the tap.

"Quit it!" I hissed. "I'm coming – give it a break!"

The pounding stopped and Dean's footsteps disappeared down the corridor.

Leave it to my brother to be an ass, I thought.

Cupping my hands together, I sank my face into cold water. When I looked up in the mirror again, I grimaced. There were prominent dark circles under my eyes, circles that had accumulated over a long period of restless nights.

I shut off the tap and walked out of the bathroom.

Dean was waiting for me in the kitchen, putting a jug of milk back in the fridge. He grabbed the two bowls sitting on the counter and walked out to the living room.

"Can you grab the spoons?" he called out over his shoulder.

Reluctantly, I did.

He carefully lowered himself on the couch and handed me a bowl. I sat on the floor beside the coffee table and started eating almost mournfully.

"So, Quinnie—"

"Don't call me that."

Dean snickered. "You used to love it."

"It's been twelve years. Preferences do change, you know."

He fell silent for a while. I reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. Flipping through channels, I settled on watching the weather forecast for that week. As expected, there would be nothing but sunshine and more sunshine.

"Gotta love California weather," I muttered. "Don't know why the hell you ran away here out of all places."

Dean scoffed in reply. He continued eating, suddenly looking very interested in his cereal.

I had every right to be passive-aggressive. For twelve years, I'd heard nothing from him, not one phone-call, not one letter. And now, because of "the accident", I was sentenced to live with him until I turned eighteen. As if moving from the Oregon house I grew up in to the land of beaches and fame wasn't enough, I had to spend nine whole goddamn months with a brother who felt more like a stranger than family.

"So," I said, finishing up the last bit of milk, "I'm going to need to borrow your car."

"What for?" Dean asked, frowning.

"I want to go out. If I'm starting at West Valley High next week, I need to get started on the whole making friends thing."

He gave me a sly smile. "I already took care of that for you," he informed me.

My face fell. "What?"

"Yeah, I found a great place where you can make tons of friends."

Narrowing my eyes, I got up. "Dean," I began, fighting the urge to raise my voice. "Dean, don't get involved in my life, alright? I don't need your help. I've been doing just fine without you for the past—"

"Yeah, I know," he said, irritated. "You've reminded me over a hundred times since you got here. I get it – you're independent." He got up as well, and though I straightened my posture as much as I could, he towered over me. "But as long as I am your legal guardian, I'm also allowed to make choices for you."

The tension around us was so thick you could've cut it with a knife. It took every ounce of strength in my body to not reach out and slap him. Legal guardian, my ass.

"Get changed and meet me outside in fifteen minutes," Dean said. He grabbed my bowl and his and headed into the kitchen, unaware of the glares I was giving him.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean pulled out of the driveway in a red '73 Ford Thunderbird. For all it was worth, at least he had good taste in cars – although, I wouldn't admit that to his face even if it killed me.

He drove down the streets of Encino with the windows rolled down, while Bruce Springsteen sang softly on the radio. I glanced at Dean out of the corner of my eye, lips pursed tightly in dismay.

Though he was my brother, he looked almost nothing like me. He had relatively dark hair while mine was the colour of caramel, and his skin was wintry and pale while mine was sun-kissed like any other typical California girl's. The only aspect that was the same were his eyes – hazel with green flecks. On him, they looked good – mysterious, even. On me, not so much.

"Do I have something on my face?" he suddenly asked.

I snapped my gaze away, folding my arms across my chest. "Yeah, a dash of ugly. I think it's permanent."

"Ha. Very funny."

After what seemed like an eternity, he parked in front of a building with a giant cobra painted on the front. My eyes widened.

"Karate – strike like a Cobra Kai," I read aloud. A cold tingle slid down my spine. "Dean, you didn't."

He laughed. "I did. You're welcome."

He was out of the car before I could maim him. I had no choice but to follow him.

I mentally swore at Dean every way I knew how, even ways I didn't. It must've been almost two years since I'd stopped training, and that was because my old karate dojo back in Oregon got renovated into a hair salon before I could get my black belt. I'd lost interest in the sport afterwards; it was nothing spectacular if you weren't the best at it. Having only a purple belt didn't exactly give me bragging rights the way brown belts and black belts did.

"How did you know I did karate?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mom and Dad told me," Dean replied, opening the door for me. His words made my stomach sink. He'd talked to our parents since he'd left and he never once bothered to talk to me. That was even more reason to kick his ass.

I walked inside. The air conditioning was on at probably the lowest setting, but it still felt much better than the stuffy heat outside. I craned my head to get a better look of the place; there were photos on the wall of a man I assumed to be the sensei, including a life-size cut-out of him in a striking position. Well, he's arrogant, I thought. The plaque below a photo of him in an army uniform read Cpt. John Kreese.

Trophies decorated the foyer of the dojo, probably from the numerous competitions his students had participated in. At least his dojo had a good reputation.

But the main attraction were the sixteen teenage boys lined up in a perfect square, practicing tornado kicks in synchronization. A tall and well-built man in a black sleeveless gi patrolled around the boys with a glare that could rival mine. His sharp, cold eyes assessed them individually. When his gaze fell on Dean and me, it was like the blood in my veins stopped flowing.

Shit, I thought. I'm toast.

The boys all stopped abruptly, assuming their resting positions – arms slightly bent at the elbow in front of their abdomen – and waited for Kreese's instructions.

"Class, we have two visitors," the sensei said, his austere voice resounding throughout the dojo. "Fall in."

They all straightened themselves up and turned to face us; two boys in the front row traded places with two other boys behind them. They all seemed to stare at Dean and I like predators – the way a snake eyes its next meal. When I looked up at Dean, his face was emotionless and calm, and he betrayed no sign of having been intimidated. I hated how I was the only one affected by the tension in the room. He could've at least tried to sympathize with me.

"Hello, Kreese," Dean greeted.

"Gray," Sensei Kreese replied in the same uninterested voice. "Is this the little vermin?" he asked, inclining his head in my direction.

Vermin? What the hell—

"Yes," my brother answered, sliding over that comment. "She's a purple belt already."

I narrowed my eyes at him. If looks could kill, I'd be on death row already.

"What style?"

"Shotokan."

The corners of Kreese's mouth curled upwards. "Then she's not completely untrained."

I could tell he and I weren't going to ever get along. The amount of disrespect he had for his students – existent and potential – was sickening.

A boy from the front row snickered. He had light blonde hair and a black headband tied around his forehead, and in all honesty, he was the most attractive guy in the dojo. But he, too, had contracted Kreese's lack of respect, which made whatever physical attraction I might have felt for him meaningless. He gave the other boys beside him a look that said it all – what a loser.

"Mr. Lawrence!" Kreese called out. The blond boy with the headband straightened up.

"Yes, sensei!"

"Feel like matching Ms. Gray?"

"Yes, sensei!"

It was like someone had hit me upside the head with a baseball bat. "What? No – I can't fight now—"

"On the mat," Kreese ordered.

Panicked, I looked to Dean for help, but the bastard was too busy trying to fight back a smile to make any attempt at getting me out of sparring. Exhaling shakily, I took off my shoes and jacket, and stepped onto the soft white mat. The boys parted themselves, forming a rectangle around the fight zone.

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, I chanted. It didn't help at all.

"Go Johnny!" one of the blonde's friends yelled.

Johnny Lawrence. It would have been a cute name if it hadn't belonged to someone who looked like he could pulverize me in two seconds flat.

I knew the routine. Both Johnny and I bowed to Kreese and then turned and bowed to each other. I assumed a back stance, ready to block anything Johnny was about to throw at me. He looked confident, smirking with a murderous glint in his eye, while I was almost shaking with fear. Once upon a time, I used to be alright with handling pain. Now, even a paper cut managed to cripple me. I couldn't bear to imagine what a kick in the face from him would feel like.

"Begin!" Kreese shouted.

The reckless part of my brain told me to strike first.

So I did.

And he dodged it.

Except Johnny didn't just dodge it. He grabbed my arm and snuck in a roundhouse kick, hitting me straight in the chest. I landed on the floor, gasping for air. Tears swam in my eyes, threatening to stain my cheeks and humiliate me even further. Boys snickered left and right, making my face burn with anger. Gritting my teeth, I kipped-up and got back into my stance.

"C'mon, Johnny!" another boy shouted.

Johnny didn't look pleased. Obviously, he'd planned for his kick to be final; I wasn't supposed to get up. He lunged towards me and threw a punch. In the second it took for me to block it, he let his guard down.

I didn't waste that second. I punched him in the chest, making him wince and coil back. He rubbed the spot where I'd hit him, never breaking eye contact. He tensed like an animal about to strike. For a second, I'd been so damn proud of myself for landing a blow on him, but really, all that did was piss him off even more.

Great, I thought. I'm gonna get it now.

I saw him spin into a tornado kick, and I saw his foot coming towards my face, but by the time I'd registered that I was about to get hit, it was too late. The only thing I could think of as I landed face first on the mat was how pretty his eyes were – a bright blue the colour of the sea.

My left cheek stung so badly that my vision turned white. A pathetic whimper escaped me; it took everything I had to not cry.

Forget the pain, I told myself. Make Johnny feel it instead.

"Are you done?" Johnny taunted. "Or do you want more?"

He made the mistake of stepping too close to me. I swung out my legs and kicked his from under him. Before he could react, I crawled over him and punched him as hard as I could in the jaw. As I tried to get another hit in, he threw me off him.

His friends were no longer laughing. It was my turn to smile.

Though my moment of victory didn't last long. As soon as we were both back up on our feet, Johnny attacked again, and like before, I wasn't able to react fast enough to dodge his fist. My nose burned, and I felt a warm liquid dripping down onto my lips. I wiped at it with my hand.

Don't give up, I thought. Don't let him see you cry.

It was bad form to kick someone when they're down, but Johnny didn't seem to mind. He got me right in the stomach, flipping me over on my back.

Why wasn't Kreese calling the fight off already? Surely, we'd broken so many rules in this sparring match. Was he that sadistic? Or was he just waiting for me to give up?

But I couldn't do that. I'd never do that.

As I stumbled onto my feet, Johnny spun around into the worst kick yet. I hit the mat on my back, trying to remember how breathing worked.

Please, stop the match.

Suddenly, I began to cough violently, and with every muscle contraction in my abdomen, a new wave of pain spread through my body. I made the mistake of looking up at Dean – his eyes were wide in what looked like concern. Must've been a better actor than I thought. He was probably horrified at the thought of the medical bill that would follow if Johnny did any real damage. Bastard.

After a few more seconds, I mustered up the strength to stand up and get back in my stance. The blood from my nose dripped into my mouth and down my chin, staining the white mat. Johnny wasn't smiling anymore. Neither were his friends. Instead, he glanced at his sensei, and a sinister smile spread across Kreese's face as he rested his hands on his karate belt.

"You're an incessant little vermin, ain't ya?" he asked. "I like that." He straightened up and his smile vanished. "Tomorrow morning at eight a.m., I expect to see you here for your first lesson."

It was like heaven was looking down on me. I let out a shaky breath in relief.

"So she can get her ass kicked again?" one of Johnny's friends whispered. They began to snicker but Kreese shot them a cold look that made them stop like at the flick of a switch.

I reluctantly bowed at Johnny and then at Kreese. Kreese turned to Dean and they began talking, probably about the cost of each lesson. I tried to stand up straight – and stopped immediately when my back and chest ached in complaint.

Painfully, I put my shoes back on and grabbed my jacket. When I looked at Johnny one more time, I noticed his smirk was back. He stood beside his four friends who had laughed hard on my part only a few seconds ago.

I huffed quietly and left while my brother was preoccupied with Kreese, trying to put as much distance between myself and the dojo before Dean realized I was gone.