Then, unexpectedly, a girl with dark blond hair, Old Navy jeans, a bright blue t-shirt that displayed a “Top Gun” depiction, and ugly brown slippers, came up to me.
“Hey, Cinnamon!” Everyone who was “cool” called me Cinnamon, a funny saying of my real last name, Zimmerman.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“I want my ten bucks!”
“What ten bucks? The ten bucks I owe you for our bet on Jordan and Aurora?”
“Yeah, if you don’t give it to me, I’m gonna punch your face in!”
“Yeah, right, you wouldn’t even touch my face!”
“Oh yeah?” She swung out her fist, and déjà vu hit me hard…literally. My nose started bleeding, and all the students were watching, but I didn’t even care. I had my own life to think about. I swung out my own fist, impaling her cheek, probably breaking her jaw. My knuckles hurt like hell, but that was okay; I had won. She dropped down on the ground, whimpering like a little baby, trying to see if her jaw was okay.
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