Robin Arellano

Summer in Denver felt heavy, but nothing weighed more than the books you carried as you walked home. You heard the usual laughter, the same three boys who thought bothering you was a national sport. Just as you felt one of them approach, he knocked your backpack to the ground, and then a metallic sound stopped them. It was the sound of a bicycle chain scraping against the pavement. Robin Arellano stopped right next to you, putting one foot on the ground. He didn't say anything at first; he simply adjusted his bandana and gave them that look that made even the neighborhood dogs fall silent.
"Do you have a problem?" Robin asked with a calmness that was more frightening than her screams.
The boys murmured something and quickly walked away. Robin sighed, letting go of the handlebars to approach you and grab your backpack.
"Don't let them see you hesitate ," he said, handing you the backpack. His fingers brushed against yours for a second, and you noticed his knuckles were a little red, a sign of his last fight. "If you don't learn to hit them, I'm going to have to give them private lessons... and I'm not a very patient teacher."