The day is but an eerie fog,
the night is veiled with woe.
I am sorely terrified
but he won't let me go.

– Adriana Calloway

Still feeling perturbed and confused, Kyle wandered into the small lunch room provided for the all-purpose school. Generally the classes were segregated, but some of the younger children ate with their idols or older siblings. Of course Freshmen girls hobnobbed with Senior boys, as is the natural order. In nearly the exact center of the expansive dining area, sat a single unassuming bench-table occupied by the Football team, and in illustrative ripples, each caste radiated from that epicenter to the far-flung dregs of popularity inhabited only by social rejects and the tragically un-hip.

Kyle's new friends sat somewhere above the middle of this social construct, mere Freshmen, yet respected in their own right. Jason Manney, for instance, wore the questionable title of "Mom Joke King" proudly, never failing to transform even the most inane or harmless comment into an opportunity to lambast someone's unfortunate mother. It wasn't exactly the attention, nor did he thrive on displaying his prowess; he simply found utter glee in the chase and final destruction of his prey. Some people hunted animals for sport, Jason hunted moms, forgoing subtlety in favor of sheer abundance.

To his right sat Sam "Zerb" Zerbinski. Zerb wasn't fat, short, tall, or exceptional in any measurable or expected fashion, yet he stood out like a tap-dancing dachshund covered in marmalade. Nobody quite understood this unique skill, but it made Zerb's life much easier, for the poor boy had a terrible memory. More often than not, friends or random students passed him in the hall and shouted, "Hey Zerb!" to which he would reply with a nod or a high-five. There seemed a strict limit to the number of names Zerb could recall at any moment, and that number was eight. He wasn't stupid, but names at least, slipped his mind as if composed of quicksilver. Maybe that very defining trait made him so memorable. He was friendly toward Kyle, but Kyle unfortunately still hadn't burned his name into Zerb's memory, leaving him an eternally anonymous familiar face.

Others sat at this table, but when Kyle entered the lunchroom with a tray bearing salisbury steak and a bright yellow heap of potatoes, he diverted immediately to this colorful duo, slapping down his tray with conviction. "Hey Zerb! Hey Manny!" he burst, with a smile.

"Yo, Kyle. How many yeas ya doin'?" Manny asked, doing his best impression of a 20's gangster.

"Scott free," he said, "says he's glad I'm finally active or something."

The table groaned as a group, hoping to revel in Kyle's suffering, or at least the injustice of his punishment. Not in trouble? Boring! Sensing an opportunity, Zerb launched the next attack. "So, why was you in there so long?"

Kyle really had no answer for this. Should he mention the quest he was assigned, the nonsensical story of Old Town and the likely ruined, burned hulks that few people knew existed? "He said he wants me to... be more active in class," he said, lamely.

Another groan. Everyone knew he was obviously hiding something, but saying so was an insult, besides Kyle wasn't in trouble, and so the real story was irrelevant. Manny rolled his eyes and slapped Zerb's shoulder with the back of his hand. "So, Zerb. You hear back from your brudda?" Manny still hadn't dropped the gangster accent, deciding long ago to adopt it for the duration of the day.

"My brother? He's in hell, man. I dunno where that guy is from," here, he gestures toward Kyle, "but dat place is hell. Says he lives like a sardine. Says if you peel away the wall of his apartment building, five hundred people would just plop out and flop around on the sidewalk." Zerb flails his arms, trying his best to imitate fish rudely removed from the ocean and hurled onto a hot New York sidewalk.

"He... uh. He mostly says he hates bein' dirty. Ya know? The city isn't dirty, but a guy's gotta shower. He says..." Zerb can't suppress a chuckle, "he says his shower is shit. Says he could pee harder." His chuckle degrades into an outright laugh. His poor brother reduced to the recipient of a golden-shower was too much for him. "I... I... I always knew he liked being peed on!" he managed to exclaim before speech eluded his choked guffaws.

Kyle groaned. "Zerb, I didn't exactly need that visual." He tried and failed to block the image of the elder Zerbinski cringing beneath a faintly yellow trickle dribbling from a rusty showerhead. He'd had his own share of lively city experiences, living in an apartment in Detroit for a short while, to know Zerb's brother didn't exaggerate. Kyle often fantasized a tiny army of lazy gnomes lived behind his walls, their only job, to heave upon an ancient pump and expel water, little more than a weak drip, from his own shower. The clanking squeal the pipes emitted during any water usage only confirmed this rather contrived theory. To him, Zerb's story was too real to ignore, and he mimed a gagging motion.

"Zerb, I'm never going to your house again," Kyle said with mock finality.

Jason raised his eyebrows and leaned in, already readying an attack on Kyle's impromptu withdrawl. "Shame, kid. I hea it wuz yo turn wit his ma, tonight." Score. One point for Jason "Mom Joke" Manny.

Kyle wasn't ready to admit defeat. He shook his head and twisted his lips, as if disappointed in Jason's pathetic attempt at mockery. "Jason," he said, "if you keep that up, your mom will get jealous."

Silence.

Kyle's comeback carried several inferred nuances, far more than he probably intended: Jason slept with his own mother; Jason's mother was jealous of other teenagers taking liberties with other moms across town, ad infinitum. It was a mom joke that rendered lesser jokes moot, an unlikely trump-card in an equally outlandish game. Zerb stared in shock. Jason stared in awe. The remainder of the table transferred their gazes between Kyle and Jason, wondering who would finally break the awkward silence.

Jason laughed. This was not a pleasant sound, for Jason's laugh was a grainy bark, deep, resonant, and infinitely irritating. Usually he always wore a smirk, or chuckled mostly to himself. Usually, he won his little challenges. He reeled backwards and slapped the table, turning red and coughing occasionally, sometimes attempting to regain his composure, each time, failing and degenerating into that hound-like braying laugh. Nobody could believe this sight. Such a thing was patently impossible. Manny never laughed like that in public, and certainly never at a joke someone else told. Jaws dropped with an almost audible clang and a large portion of the lunchroom turned to witness the commotion.

Finally, he stopped laughing long enough to look directly into Kyle's eye, and wink! Wink?! Impossible! But what came next set dozens of people to stare at both Kyle and Jason in wonder. "You got me, man. You win. From now on, your mom is safe."

Pandemonium. Even the Seniors gaped at the scene unfolding a mere two rows away. Just as everyone recognized and knew Zerb, the entire school resigned itself in acceptance that no mother was safe in Manny's presence. Whether or not he intended to honor his word didn't enter the equation, that he even uttered the phrase launched a shockwave of disbelief that tainted conversations and possibly caused earthquakes in China. In that very moment, Kyle converted Jason into a lifelong friend, and began his own legend, as the only person to ever gain Jason Manny's respect.