"Oh — Maya!" Nana suddenly remembered. "You redirected the council funds. What happens to the original budget items? What about the spring sports festival?"
It was a fair concern. At the start of every semester, Maya gathered the council officers to plan the term's activities and allocate the budget. Every program — including the sports festival Nana was running — had already been assigned its funding. Changing that mid-semester wasn't something you did lightly.
President Maya remained utterly unruffled. "Nana, you're still too young. The events aren't canceled. Everything runs as planned."
"But — if we don't have enough money? Are we getting more sponsors?"
"I'm graduating, Nana. Fundraising is the next president's problem." Maya waved a hand. "And there's no shortage issue if you know where to trim. It's simple: swap the sports drinks for plain water. Replace the gold-plated medals with printed certificates. Change the spring field trip from the Captain America Patriot Memorial in Washington to Central Park in Manhattan."
Nana opened her mouth.
"And before anyone complains about Central Park being boring — move the talent show there and make it a public street performance. Set up an open-air stage in the park, with the whole city as your audience. Everyone gets to show off and people walking by get a free show. It's actually more fun, and it saves three separate budget line items in one move. Matthew's costs are covered."
Nana stared at her in silence for a long moment.
...No wonder you're the president.
It was nearly six o'clock. February's sky had gone dark early. Maya wasn't comfortable letting Nana walk home alone at this hour, so she walked her all the way to her door first. She also handed over the bag of chicken legs — Nana had been helping herself to pieces the whole way, and Maya, watching her work through half the bag, just gave her the rest.
After dropping Nana off, Maya walked home alone along the Hudson River, heading upstream toward her side of the neighborhood.
She was moving at a leisurely pace, coat collar pulled up around her chin — a February wind off the water had found the gap, and she tucked her chin down until only her reddened nose poked out.
Then her steps slowed.
Behind her, a figure slipped out of an alley. William Baker had been watching from the shadows. He confirmed what he needed — she was alone — then turned to the others.
"See that? She's by herself. There are several of us. Nothing to worry about. Tonight, we make her pay."
Five figures spread out ahead of her, closing the gap.
"Is — is this really happening?" A small, wiry kid — Max — shifted uncomfortably. "She's the student council president."
"Max." William's fist clenched. "You backing out?"
The look on his face made the answer obvious. Max went quiet and stayed quiet.
William turned to Morris, a blonde white kid. Morris bit his lip, looked around the group, and nodded. "We do it. Five of us — tonight we take her down."
The other two fell in line.
"Well, well." It wasn't William who spoke first — it was a blonde white guy stepping forward with a grin. "If it isn't our impressive student council president. Surprised to see us?"
"You made me repeat two grades, you little—" William shoved in beside him, voice cracking. "And today you docked me ten more conduct points just for smoking weed?! Are you serious?! Yeah, I know you can fight — but there are five of us tonight!"
One of the Black guys stepped up next. "Remember us, Maya Hansen? All I did was grab Martha's ass one time and you took five conduct points off me and broke my arm with a mop handle. Tonight it's your turn. Let's see how you feel." He mimed a grabbing motion with his right hand and let out a low, ugly laugh.
The smallest of the group — a slim Black kid named Max — hung back and said nothing.
The last one jumped in: "You confiscated and destroyed my entire stash, Hansen. Do you know what Mario from 39th Street almost did to me over that? If I hadn't gotten very creative with him, I'd be rotting at the bottom of this river right now."
William's confidence peaked. "You've got nowhere to run. Tonight — this moment — we get payback. PAYBACK!"
"WE ARE AVENRS!" the others shouted together.
"Avenrs."
President Maya, who had maintained composed silence through the harassment and the crude gestures, finally broke.
She laughed. The sound was clear and bright, completely genuine. "Are you losers here to tell jokes? Because congratulations — you nailed it! 'Avenrs'?! Oh my God — AVENRS—"
The five of them exchanged glances. Two of them looked so baffled they could have been memes.
William recovered first. Fury overtook embarrassment. "You little—" He roared and swung a fist straight at Maya's head — zero hesitation, zero mercy, and absolutely zero chance of ever finding a girlfriend.
Maya bent at the waist, left foot stepping forward. Her right elbow — trailing an invisible shimmer of gold chakra — drove into William's solar plexus.
William's eyes went perfectly round. He coughed up bile and dropped to his knees.
Before the others could move, Maya pushed off the ground, launching into a compact backflip. A hand that had been reaching for the back of her jacket caught nothing. In the air, she inverted — head down, feet up — and drove both heels into the reaching man's back with full force.
He flew forward and landed hard on top of William, and the two of them skidded a couple of meters across the pavement.
Maya came down cleanly, hands catching the ground at the end of the flip before she bounced back to standing. She dusted off her palms.
"Thanks for the warm-up," she said pleasantly.
The three still standing stared.
Maya took one sliding step forward and crossed four or five meters in an instant. Her palm pressed lightly against the blonde guy Morris's chest.
CRACK.
The sound was like a gunshot. Morris bent backward like a bow, heels dragging along the ground, and traveled seven or eight meters before slamming into a wall and sliding down it.
Maya pivoted, one smooth half-rotation, and struck a classic Wong Fei-hung pose — exaggerating the accent heavily: "Zhōngguó kung fu — velly good!"
"Bull—" The man who'd been making grabbing gestures started.
He heard something — he didn't understand the words, something about "Foshan shadowless kick" — and then his chest was hit several times in rapid succession. His body lifted. Then everything went black.
Maya turned to the last one standing — Max, the small kid who'd been backed against the wall the whole time, motionless.
"Alright, kid," she said. "You get to clean up the trash."
She patted her hands together, started humming something cheerfully to herself, and walked away with a light bounce in her step.