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I didn’t have any breath to answer him. Any minute I was sure he was going to begin breathing fire at me or maybe at the bar I was holding, which would make it so hot I wouldn’t be able to hold on anymore. Either way you looked at it, I need to get down—fast.

But how, when the rope was behind me and Juan was blocking my path?

Desperate, I called on the only magic I could do without a lot of time, trouble, and ingredients. I called on my magic needle.

There was nothing to embroider, of course, but I concentrated instead on making a long, thin, but very strong rope that was tied around the metal bar I was hanging onto for dear life.

As I moved towards the end of the bar, pulling myself hand-over-hand, I saw it in my mind, weaving itself around the metal crosspiece and descending to the ground like Rapunzel’s hair.

Doing magic while you’re stressed out isn’t easy—doing magic while your very life is at stake is even harder.

But my magic needle has never let me down and it didn’t this time either.

As I moved down the pipe with Juan growling and snarling and hot on my heels (literally!) I saw the rope I had imagined beginning to grow.

It was made of black and red threads, twisted and braided together.

To be honest, they looked like embroidery floss.

But extremely strong embroidery floss I told myself firmly, trying to reinforce the magic.

Floss so strong it wouldn’t break, even when I put my whole weight on it.

Just as I reached for it and swung down from the beam to hold onto the magic rope, I felt burning heat.

Looking up, I saw a gout of fire going over my head.

Goddess, Juan really did want to kill me if he was breathing fire at me!

Also, he was an even stronger Drake than I’d imagined if he could manage a partial shift and breathe fire when his dragon wasn’t completely out.

I hadn’t thought that anyone but Ari could do that!

“Little shit!” I heard him growling behind me in his Drake’s voice. “I’m coming for you, faggot, and when I catch you, you’re going to burn!”

Okay, there was no time left to dilly-dally as my Mom would have said.

I would have liked to lower myself slowly down the strong but extremely slender rope my magic needle had made for me.

But Juan was after me and up here, he definitely had the advantage.

I needed to get down to the floor of the gymnasium where I could hopefully outrun him and his Drake bully buddies.

I thought—not for the first time—what a shame it was that most magic took so long to do.

It would have been great to lay a freeze spell on all of them or make it so everything they sat down on felt like red-hot iron or cause them to spit toads and snakes out of their mouths whenever they said something homophobic—the possibilities would be endless if only it didn’t require gathering all the ingredients and implements together and calling the corners before I could cast a spell.

For now, I just needed to get away before Juan blasted my magic rope with his fire. I honestly wasn’t sure which would win—could the rope my magic needle had made withstand an angry Drake’s flame?

Best not to find out.

Taking a deep breath, I started sliding down.

I could feel the thin rope—seriously, it was no thicker than my pinky—slipping through my palms faster and faster as the floor got closer and closer.

This rapid descent resulted in a burning pain—I could feel the thin rope cutting into my palms—but what else could I do?

Better a few rope burns on my palms than being burned to death by an angry, homophobic Drake or my brains splattered on the flagstones below.

In short order I reached the floor with burning palms but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. The moment my sneakered feet touched the stones, the remaining Drakes moved to surround me.

“Lookit the Sister,” Sergio Nunez jeered. “Did you use your girly magic to get down, faggot?”

“He was afraid Juan was going to fry his ass,” said another Drake, which was accompanied by a burst of trollish laughter.

“Yes, I did use my magic,” I snapped. “Did you figure that out all by yourself, Nunez? How terribly clever of you—keep on like that and you’ll get all the way to the top of the remedial class.”

It maybe wasn’t the nicest thing to say—or the smartest—but by then I’d had quite enough of being bullied by Drakes that were all so much bigger than me, thank you very much.

Sergio Nunez knitted his thick black brows together but before he could think of a comeback—(he really wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, though he definitely was a tool)—I lowered my head and pushed past him.

My intention was to get through the ring of Drakes that was forming around me and exit the gymnasium as quickly as possible. Screw the rest of gym class—I was out of there.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking where I was going and I ran head-long into Coach. Vazquez who—though she had conveniently disappeared when my life was on the line—was definitely here for me trying to leave her class early.

“And just where do you think you’re going, Mr. Connor?” she snapped, glaring at me.

“Out,” I said, glaring right back. “If you can’t be bothered to stay with your students long enough to be sure they don’t kill each other, I’m afraid I can’t be bothered to stay in your shitty little gym class.”

I knew the moment the words left my mouth that I had gone too far.

But the adrenaline coursing through my body put my mouth into overdrive.

Sometimes, living in a world that hates me, it feels like sarcasm is the only weapon I have at my disposal and I’m often guilty of using it when I really shouldn’t.

Coach Vasquez’s eyes grew dark and an ugly sneer that made her look much older than she probably was spread over her stern features.

“Oh, I think you’ll be staying a little bit longer, Connor,” she said. “At least until the end of my ‘shitty little gym class.’ Back in line and climb that rope.”

And she put both hands on my chest and shoved.

Now, if I was a manly macho man, I’d say there was no way a woman should have been able to shove me like that.

But as I said, I’m only 5’6 and even though I’m in good shape, Coach Vasquez is a Drake and she’s built like one.

Which is to say, if she went up against a tank, I wouldn’t place my bet on the tank.

So her shove was no small thing. It sent me tumbling backwards into the crowd of Drakes gathered behind me. There was a dull rumble of delighted laughter and then I felt big, meaty hands grabbing me.

“We’ll make sure he climbs the rope, Coach!” Sergio Nunez snarled. “We’ll make sure the little fag goes all the way to the top…and then all the way back down again.”

“Whatever.” There was a malevolent gleam in her dark eyes as she turned her back and headed away. “I’ll be in my office with the door shut—I doubt I’ll hear a thing.”

I gaped at her as she actually did go back to her office and shut the door—then drew the shade for good measure. Was she serious? Did she really intend to leave me in the hands of my enemies and let them do anything they wanted to me?

What do you mean “is she going to?” She already did! shouted the voice of self-preservation in my head. And if you don’t get away from them fast, you’re going to be dead!

As this realization hit me, I started to struggle. But the big, meaty hands holding me only tightened their grip.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, mariposa,” Nunez hissed in my ear. “Not until we settle our score with you. And oh look—here comes Gonzales right now to settle it.”

Sure enough, Juan Gonzales was stalking towards me.

Presumably it had taken him all this time to climb down the rope but now he was here and he looked pissed .

I suppose it irritated him to have to chase me around the gym in order to beat me up and now he was more than ready to take that irritation out on me.

“There you are, you little fag,” he snarled.

At least he had reverted back to his human form, so there should be no more fire-breathing in my general direction.

However, Juan was huge— I was well aware that he didn’t need his Drake’s fire to mess me up— badly .

“Made me chase you all around the fuckin’ gym,” he snapped at me, when he got close enough to loom over me like a malevolent tree with a rotten heart from a Tolkien tale.

“Yes, I tend to run when a bully is chasing me with the express purpose of beating me up,” I snapped. “I’m funny like that.”

“Oh, you’re funny all right. I’m gonna break that funny faggot mouth of yours, mariposa.” He glared down at me. “Maybe once I punch your teeth out, you won’t be so fuckin’ mouthy.”

I would have given him yet another witty retort—no matter what kind of trouble I’m in, my mouth never knows when to quit—but at that moment he punched me right in the face. So whatever witticisms were about to spout from my lips were lost when his fist connected with my right cheek and eye socket.

My ears were ringing and there was a hot trickle that I was fairly sure was blood down the side of my face. I hadn’t had time to duck—hadn’t even had time to try .

I might die here, I thought, feeling sick to my stomach. They’ll make it look like an accident—like I climbed to the top of the rope and fell head first to the floor. Nobody will know the difference but me. I’m going to ? —

And then Juan drew back his arm to hit me again.

“Here’s another, just for you, you little faggot,” he snarled. “Hope you enjoy it!”

I might die, I decided, but I wasn’t going to die while the big bully shouted homophobic slurs in my face.

Magic needle! I thought and imagined a long, sharp, silver needle poking him in the face. Suddenly, it was there—threading through his thick lips, sewing them shut with bright red thread.

Juan howled—a rather muffled howl since his mouth was already halfway sewn shut—and clutched at his lips.

He fumbled with the thread, trying to break it but when he tried, it pulled on his pierced lips and made him scream in pain.

He tried to catch my magic needle, but he couldn’t do that either—it’s really fast and it was zipping up and down, in and out, sewing his lips shut before he could stop it.

“There,” I said, though my ears were still ringing and I felt distinctly dizzy. “Let’s see you call me ‘faggot’ or ‘mariposa’ now, you big asshole!”

Unfortunately, though my magic needle did an excellent job shutting Juan’s mouth, it couldn’t do much about his fists. He pulled back and punched me again, knocking my head back so that I saw stars dancing in front of my eyes.

The Drakes who were holding me tightened their grip as Juan pulled back his fist a third time.

He’ll keep it up, screamed that voice in my head. He’ll punch and punch and hit and kick until you’re dead. He doesn’t care anymore—he’s so angry he just wants to kill you! He ? —

And then the door to the gym banged open and a deafening roar echoed through the room.