That cat girl Flicka still seemed to be avoiding him. Dylan hadn't had the nerve to approach her and explain what had actually happened when he'd blown out of Glenda's Christmas party. How could he? He'd have to tell her a half truth, which was just like a lie in his mind, for he certainly wasn't going to expose the parts to her about why he really, honestly, was so nervous about kissing her. Sure, he disliked her cheap style of walking and talking, but that was truthfully a smokescreen to hide his insecurities.

She'd think he was such a dummy, if he tried to tell her that kissing her had made him feel strange.

Dylan sighed at his own idiocy, feeling tired. Off and on, he'd not slept that well. The nightmares of being strapped on some cold slab in a white lab persisted, almost like a premonition. But fatigue was no excuse his mother bought to win him some slack, so Dylan had to continue with all his activities.

That included P.E.: the activity he disliked the most. But, as his concussion was long gone, Dylan had to resume attending.

Holding in a bad attitude, he pulled on a black T-shirt and sipped some water, slowly traveling from the locker room to the gymnasium. This was an intermixed P.E. class, therefore quite a few human and mobian girls were standing about, gossiping.

A flash of a puffy white and orange tail caught his eye and he turned toward it: Flicka, in black sports shorts and a charcoal tank top, hair piled high into a tight ponytail, shifting a little on her legs as she laughed with some other females.

Feeling awkward, Dylan lingered against the wall near the door and wished he was permanently exempt from this activity. Yes, he knew his attitude was odd to onlookers. After all, the stereotype was that any hedgehog must love running, therefore P.E. naturally had to be their most favorite thing ever.

During his first time participating, people had watched him bolt around the gym, baring blinking from surprise at his speed. Even still, he garnered quite a bit of attention per nature of what he was. So annoying.

His eyes drifted back to Flicka. She hadn't noticed him, what with her lively smiling, just being herself, with no hint of flirting or cheap attempts to snag male attention. From his position, she looked quite pretty and he really enjoyed observing her expressions change.

Then, the teacher entered and everyone had to gather around in the middle of the room.

Dylan joined the ensemble, sliding through to stand near the front of the crowd, as he was quite short.

A slightly buff bulldog was their instructor. He held a tablet and started taking attendance on it. Once done, he handed the tablet off to some student to put away and then he motioned to Dylan.

Oh, here it was again. Hiding a roll of his eyes, Dylan stepped forward and the coach snapped on a pair of speed limiter rings, quite similar to the style of the pair of inhibitors Shadow wore, but these were copper-toned. This supposedly ensured participation was fairer for everyone, an equalizing agent, and it also meant that the day's sweat fest would be racing with prizes for the winners. Dylan really disliked this particular activity because, well-

He heard the snickers behind him. Trying to ignore the sound, Dylan stepped back with the students.

The bulldog cleared his throat, "Everyone, take a piece of paper. Whoever has the same color as you is your opponent. Line up at the back wall. We'll be racing three laps in pairs of twos at a time. Each winner gets an organic, dark chocolate candy bar. The winner of the final round gets to skip P.E. tomorrow."

At that, everyone focused with interest on their coach. With a bit of shoving, the students hurried to grab a random white clipping of paper from the man's upside-down cap. For once, Dylan attempted to push in with the others and snatch a paper before being left to the last scrap. Quickly, he sunk back to inspect his new possession. A pale orange dot.

Students began shouting out their colors, waving their twisted and halves torn bits up in the air. The coach clapped from somewhere, alerting everyone to find their opponents in good haste so the racing could begin.

Dylan let some seconds elapse to clear the field, so to say, and with a few students left over comparing their papers one to the other, he jogged over and flashed his. A bit of a bulky, tall teenage boy with disheveled dark brown hair and eyes set a little far back in his skull smirked, showing a tooth not quite straight.

Great. His competitor was one of the bullies that hadn't yet picked on him personally, but had a reputation of harming others for his own pleasure.

Dylan almost took a step back on instinct. The boy had swept his eyes up and down his hedgehog frame in a half second and his eyes narrowed as his grin widened.

"I go up against a mobian shrimp? Life's not fair—for you!"

"Wait a-"

"What?" The boy slapped him rather roughly on the back and grabbed the front of his shirt to half drag Dylan over to the back where all the other students were waiting.

"Let go of me!" Dylan protested.

"Okay!" Wrenching him forward, the bully shoved Dylan so hard that he barely produced his hands in front of him in time to catch his impact on the wall.

Shaking his head, he turned and frowned deeply at the human. His anger humored the boy, who just shrugged and motioned for Dylan to come step next to him while they waited their turn. Wary, Dylan did position himself to the right of the human, hoping the boy would leave him alone.

The racing had begun. There were several pairs of students before them, so Dylan steeled himself, expecting more harassment from his opponent as they waited in line. For a couple minutes, nothing happened. Maybe nothing would. Maybe the boy would leave him alone.

He started to relax, and then he cried out in pain and grabbed at the spines on his back.

"Oh, those do hurt?" The bully gasped in mock surprise. "I thought those freaky spikes were just for decoration."

"You—you know they're not!" Dylan couldn't reach back at just the right spot to massage the pain, but he did step further away from the boy, trying not to show that the aching hurt quite a bit.

Right as he saw a hand extending toward him from his left peripheral vision, the coach called them both. Relieved, Dylan hurried forward and took his position at the starting line. As his foe stepped to the ready on his right, he passed Dylan yet another sneer of mischief.

"Ready, set, go!" The couch clapped once.

With just one step, Dylan tripped over a much larger shoe and hit his chin on the hard floor. The boy ran past him, laughing at his expense. How could the coach let him trip him and say nothing? Did no one care the idiot was cheating?

Almost growling, Dylan sprang up and burst into a run. Because he had to wear the speed limiter rings, his pace was only slightly faster than the boy; not to mention the boy was a bit thick and, though fast, didn't pace himself well and was already starting to huff from the exertion.

Dylan caught up to him and started to pass on his opponent's left. It was, perhaps, his mistake that he provoked the boy with a wave and a sarcastic smirk, and he usually wouldn't have acted so, but he was angrier than he'd realized. Weeks of being dealt low at school and pent up frustration from some nights of tossing and waking from horrible dreams seemed to be taking their toll.

This was him releasing some of that. It was rather immature, but he didn't care. Dylan only grew regretful and further irritated when the boy kicked him in the stomach and he dropped, gasping in pain from the cheap blow.

"As if a little furry freak could beat me! Worthless mobian swine!" The bully guffawed as he entered the second lap.

Oh, how Dylan couldn't stand that idiot's voice and his sneaky eyes and his disgusting belly rumbling about under his shirt! Gritting his teeth and struggling to stand, Dylan unsnapped the rings and tossed them aside. Though it was just a meager race, and he had nothing to prove per speed as a hedgehog, he really disliked that arrogant human. He couldn't let the boy win! But it was more than that. He was so tired of being looked down on and disliked because he wasn't a human. It hurt, and now he was going to make everyone understand they better leave him alone!

"Hey, Dylan, put those rings back on!" The coach yelled at him and even blew the warning whistle, but Dylan didn't care.

He pressed his feet to the ground and dashed off as nothing but a pale green streak. In a microsecond, he caught up to the boy, and as he passed, he grabbed the teenager's shirt, causing the entire tall form to whirl around in circles numerous times from the momentum.

Again, Dylan traversed the track, and again passed the boy, this time pushing him entirely off the outlined path. His speed forced the human to fly across the open space, land, sliding and burning his skin, and at last smash quite harshly against a set of exercise mats.

Guilty instantly, Dylan skidded to a stop, eyes widening at the still, supine figure of the boy. From the silence, he remembered he had an audience and turned to the crowd of shocked, dismayed, and disbelieving students. Even the coach's eyes were popping from his head.

"I—I didn't mean to-" Dylan stuttered.

His voice snapped the coach back to attention, he hurrying over to Dylan and grabbing him by the wrist, "Look here, kid, I know Jed was cheating—and I was gonna deal with him—but you acted completely wrong here! What do you mean pulverizing him like that? It's detention for you this afternoon!"

Dylan held back a response, though he did try to wring his wrist free. His coach's grip was solid and a hedgehog wasn't exactly the strongest type of mobian. So, he resigned to silence, feeling ashamed and embarrassed at what he'd done.

"Flicka, go get the school nurse. Tell her to bring a stretcher for Jed. Also, get Dylan's mother. She can escort him to the principal's office."

Utter, horrible humiliation! Chills ran all through his body. He wasn't sure which was worse: Flicka's piercing, disappointed eyes on him, or his mother's impending arrival.

Double the trouble was the result: both females entered the gym at the same time, followed by the nurse. Isolena didn't cast her eyes to her son once. Silently, she helped the nurse load Jed onto the stretcher. She remained, but Flicka exited with the nurse to take the boy to the medical ward. Jed hadn't awoken at all.

And then the moment of true self-disappointment arrived, as Isolena calmly approached the two, her eyes at last settling on Dylan, "Sorry about this, coach. I'll escort my son to the principal now for his detention slip. He'll finish his classes and then I'll take him to detention."

Usually, a teacher would walk the student to detention, but Isolena's hands-on reputation was well known across the school. She would show no favoritism to her son.

In expectation, she put her arm forward and the coach handed her son over to her. Dylan kept his eyes down, feeling her secret anger by how she clasped his hand a bit too tightly.

Without any remark more, Isolena turned to leave, giving Dylan a tug for him to come along. Of course, he did. No matter how fast he could run, he'd never be able to escape her. It was nice in an odd manner—and in a way, what he'd always longed for—that she cared to punish him now, to enforce he'd travel down the straight and narrow path of a moral, upright lifestyle.

Yet—detention? He'd never been a bad student in that regard. Detention had felt as far away for him as a distant galaxy. And now he would go there and endure a tarnished reputation of having acquainted himself with those walls.

Isolena kept a quick, even pace to the principal's office and rapped a few times at the door, then waiting.

"Come in!" Came a cheery voice from the school administrator.

They entered and the young lady behind the desk blinked in surprise at who her visitors were. Isolena was as perfect and intimidating as a teacher could get, and Dylan was an excellent, low-drama student.

Before the peppy, blonde woman could ask why they'd come, Isolena informed, "Dylan will be staying for detention today. There was an accident in P.E. I'm sure you'll hear about it soon."

She grabbed the knob to leave.

"Wait! Is—is that all?" The woman was ruffled by Isolena's passive tone far more than her own blouse ruffles tickling her neck.

Isolena blinked at her, almost confused to be bothered more about this, "Of course. What else is there to say? My son made a problem and he'll be punished for it."

So matter-of-fact. Dylan put a hand on the administrator's desk and dropped his head a little. Isolena shut the door behind her and the room was quiet.

"Uh, what happened, Dylan?" The woman's rather naturally upper-pitched voice was soft and kind.

Dylan pushed himself back and up into a chair, hands clasped in his lap. "A student was picking on me. He tripped me, too, and was insulting me. I sort of snapped. I took off the speed limiter rings and I think I hurt him a lot," he mumbled.

After a pause, the woman sighed, "I've noticed the bullying. I'm sorry this happened. Honestly, I expected you to reach your end earlier."

"What?" He eyed her.

"Sure," she shrugged. "I do see how students treat each other. I know you get a bit of roughing up from human kids. I'm sorry about it, Dylan."

"It's okay," he responded softly, but inwardly felt strange and a bit lighter for some reason that this woman he only knew existed before had been so observant.

A tad sad, she tapped a button and motioned for Dylan to go into the connected office. Oh well. Nothing was as intimidating as his mother. Dylan slid off the chair and casually entered the principal's domain. The man was quite busy and he couldn't give his student more attention than to hand him a signed detention slip and motion for him to return to class.

On his way out, the administrator waved and smiled, enticing a kind look in return.

Dylan endured the rest of his classes, ever dreading the approaching detention. As minutes drifted by, he attempted to analyze why he felt so loathsome of the hour of time he'd be spending in a boring, stuffy class room with a set of delinquents. He wasn't afraid of troublemaking students, because he could outrun any onset of bullying. And he could use the time there to read or study.

His nerves came because of what detention symbolized: a fall from grace, personally disappointing both his mother and Flicka.

There was that cat again, in his mind! Why did he care what she thought of him? Infuriating!

And, yet, when school ended, Dylan didn't even wait for his mother. He ran through the halls, grateful that his speed kept students from being able to see his face as he blurred to his cell. At the door of the dungeon, he slapped his foot down to halt himself. These shoes Tails gave him really were a miracle! They still looked new and their traction was heavenly.

But his smile was short-lived, as Dylan opened the door and stepped inside to acquaint himself with the situation. There were six human teenagers and one mobian duck, all turning to him as the door clicked shut.

"New prey," one of the humans snickered.

"A total goody-two-shoes," another cracked his fingers.

"You guys should leave him alone," yet another human boy spoke, warning his colleagues.

Dylan kept his eyes hard on them all as he walked across the front of the room and took the farthest front left desk. Yet, as he sat, he turned his body about so he could see what all seven of them were scheming.

Their mixture of considering, plotting, sneering, or frowning expressions unsettled him so much that he tactfully warned, "Don't try anything or I'll use my speed on all of you."

That invoked a round of humored cackling and then a burst of rattling laughter from the entire group. But Dylan knew he wasn't bluffing. Not naturally inclined or desirous to be violent, he keenly felt his fur bristling in defense of his person. If they forced him, he absolutely would defend himself.

After a tall, older stick of a teacher entered and dropped a couple thick books on the desk, and then sat in a wooden chair behind said large piece of furniture , things seemed to settle. Dylan adamantly hoped nothing would happen. He kept to himself, cracking open a textbook of his own to work on the readings.

There were whispers and the sound of squeaking from wood behind him, but nothing else. And with the teacher there, nothing would happen, right? The man could see them all.

In a second, Dylan's face was bashed atop his desk. Laughter erupted just behind him.

Some stars popped around him. Dylan pressed a hand to where a bump would probably form, and sprang out from behind his desk to face his new harassers. The teacher was observing the nasty bunch, but said nothing, returning to reading whatever it was he was so interested in.

Wasn't he supposed to stop this type of thing from happening?

"Leave me alone!" Dylan yelled.

Another delinquent in the group, some short stubby excuse of a boy, waved his hand dismissively, "Oh, please. What's speed matter? One of us will get you! The room's pretty small."

They all began to converge on him like one microorganism. Dylan stepped away until his back bumped the wall near the door. In disbelief, he darted a second of a disturbed look again at the teacher. Absolutely nothing. How could that guy even be employed at the school?

He warned them again, "You guys just leave me alone! I don't want any trouble!"

"You're gonna get some," Stubby responded.

They came ever closer, and when they were reaching out, Dylan started to slide down the wall to dodge. They all took on the forms of black, looming shadows with claws that glistened. No longer were they humans, but something demonic. No—no they weren't! His mind was twisting up his reality because of the baggage he was still carrying around.

Dylan knew this, but he could only shut his eyes to try to clear his vision. With even the slightest touch to his arm from one of them, he curled up into as tight of a ball as he could, his spines and quills jaggedly protruding everywhere.

"What the heck?" Stubby shouted and groaned. "That little freak cut me!"

"That's the oldest hedgehog trick in existence," the thin one huffed. "There's always ways to get around it. Give me a sec."

Dylan listened. There was some sort of sliding sound—wood? Steps. A clacking of something. Then the steps returned with a series of low chuckles and someone sniffling. He felt a poke at his spiny shell and tried to tighten up further. One hour of this hell? One minute was too long and—

He almost yelped against a rubbing pain of something suddenly jammed into wherever the bullies thought his side was, and they succeeded. Whatever the object was, it was long and thin and they forced it in-between where his legs and arms were, ripping fur and harshly, most likely accidentally, stabbing him in the chest with it.

Against his desire, Dylan unrolled on his back, clutching at his middle. Instantly, Thin snatched him off the ground and threw him on his back atop a desk.

"Try that trick again, you little feral idiot, and you'll get a worse beating than this!"

Four of them at once began laying on punches, clawing and ripping at him, pulling various parts of his body. Dylan tried to cover his face, but as they were larger and stronger, one of them grabbed his arms and another his legs, forcing him flat on the wooden surface.

He could only tighten himself against their blows for a few seconds. He way laying on something hard and flat, almost like a dissection table, and Dylan's grappling mind sent him into another round of stress-induced panic. Anger and a sense to survive mixed in his chest. He yelled and lashed out by bristling his quills outward so that they cut into the desk, shocking his abusers.

With a half second of time his, Dylan rolled and fell from the table, springing up and running across the room for a set of cabinets. He breathed almost in a pant from something worse than fear keeping him acting at a frenzied pace. Shoving items around in the cabinet frantically, he found a long ball of thick, beige cord.

This was the very last time anyone—mobian or human—would dare treat him like dirt. Biting at his lip, Dylan spun on his heels and blurred back to his oppressors. He was reacting so fast, the miserable lot of them had barely moved from his escape at the desk.

Reaching out, Dylan grabbed them in succession, slamming all their bodies together, then running around and around them, spiraling the cord again and again until he'd used up every bit of it. Tying it tight, he skidded to a stop at the front of the room, slowed, and turned to review the unfolding drama.

There was a fantastic pause from the seven of them, as their brains tried to catch up from Dylan being on the desk, to them all suddenly attached to each other via the cord.

Stubby yelled, "You freak! Untie us at once!"

"Why should I?" Dylan spat. "I'm getting really tired of dealing with thugs like you all! I just want to come to school and go to my classes in peace, but people like you keep hurting mobians! Is it because we're smaller? Is it because you hate us all or something?"

"Yeah," one of the other boys responded rather calmly. "You mobians are usually smaller, so you're easy prey. Ducky here's okay, though."

The mobian duck didn't look pleased at all. If anything, sad at his predicament being allied with a set of idiotic humans.

That was just incredibly petty. Dylan felt exasperated by all this. He slowly walked over to one of the desks farthest away from the cluster tied together.

As he sat down, he reached over to grab his books again, "You all obviously made a mistake. I'm shorter than you guys, sure, but I can defend myself. If you all try to touch me again, it'll be worse. I'm not gonna be beat up by anyone anymore."

They, of course, began new rounds of cursing him out and making empty threats. Dylan funneled them out the best he could. There was still forty minutes remaining of sitting to do. He'd made one mistake and would no doubt still get a lecture from his mother for it. He wasn't going to make another. Trying to focus, Dylan recommenced his class readings. For the remainder of the entire time, the bullies tried to untie themselves. They failed. And when he exited, Dylan left that nasty, apathetic teacher to deal with them.