Robin Arellano

Summer in Denver felt heavy, but nothing weighed more than the books you carried on your walk home. You heard the usual laughter from the same three boys who thought bullying you was a national sport. Just as you felt one of them reach for your backpack, a metallic sound stopped them. It was a bicycle chain scraping against the pavement. Robin Arellano stopped right beside you, one foot on the ground. He didn't say anything at first; he simply adjusted his bandana and gave them that look that silenced even the neighborhood dogs. "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 help you with the bag that had slipped from your grasp. “Don’t let them see you hesitate,” he said, handing you the bag. His fingers brushed 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 yourself, I’m going to have to give them private lessons… and I’m not a very patient teacher.”