Facing the future apparently meant getting up like normal the next morning.

“Come on, move it,” Mom said with forced cheer. “It’s a new day, and we’re both going to make it awesome.”

Then she pelted Archie with balled-up pieces of paper from his desk until he got out of bed, said good morning, and promised to be awesome. Even pretending he wasn’t emotionally ravaged helped him feel a bit better. Enough to be functional, anyway. Enough to get ready and catch the school bus on time.

He was also beginning to see how the fantasies had made him feel so powerful. So fearless. Only when he lost that power—even though it hadn’t been real—did Archie realize how little he could actually help his family.

As soon as he stepped off the bus, Zig caught up with him. “Hey, bro.”

Archie gathering meager scraps of energy and prepared to channel them into being cheerful. He faced Zig with a big smile.

Zig stopped short. “Whoa. Dude, are you okay?” His eyes went wide as saucers. “Is your gran—?”

Archie laughed. Of all his friends, only Zig could see through him so easily.

“Rough night,” Archie said as they walked through the front doors of Blue Sun Academy. “I’ll probably be kinda off today.”

“Well, whatever you need, just say the word.”

“Thanks, man.”

On the way to his locker, he happened to walk past Desta, who gave him a small, strained smile but didn’t say hi. Oh, right—he’d messed up badly with her too. With everything that had happened over the weekend, he’d almost forgotten about Friday’s conversation. Another thing he didn’t know how to fix.

Archie hoped his homeroom would be quiet. Maybe he could grab a quick nap before the day started in earnest.

Instead he was confronted with the sight of Spencer Harrington perched atop a desk, regaling his classmates with the tale of his latest athletic triumph, which had singlehandedly won the baseball game last night. Apparently, there were no other players involved, or even on the team.

“. . . they had no idea what hit ’em . . . I ran like lightning, they couldn’t touch me . . . I tagged like twenty guys out . . .”

Archie plopped into his seat, working to ignore the flood of me-me-me’s pouring from Spencer’s mouth. He pulled out a textbook, realized it was the wrong one, and leaned over to dig in his bag.

“Gotta be all the weights I’m lifting. Seriously, I could, like, lift a truck. Who wants to arm wrestle me?”

Archie went still, waiting for someone to accept the challenge. Hoping one of his classmates would step up. Spencer wasn’t the only jock in their homeroom, after all.

But all was quiet. Archie abandoned his bag and sat upright. Spencer’s circle of admirers glanced sheepishly at each other, while Spencer sat above them with a superior smirk.

He flexed. “Come on, no one’s got the guts?”

Archie wondered the same thing. Even if someone lost, just accepting the challenge would be a win. It would show Spencer that not everyone was intimidated by him.

Grandpa always said, Words are cheap. Actions are gold.

And Spencer loved his words. Someday, though, they wouldn’t be enough to get him what he wanted. Someday, someone would shove them back in his face.

Someday . . .

Someone . . .

Spencer laughed. “Still the king.”

Before Archie knew what was happening, he had stood and walked to the edge of Spencer’s circle.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

Spencer scoffed. “’Scuse me?”

Archie bristled. He might not be the athlete Spencer was, but he had always been strong. And he’d had enough of Spencer’s bragging.

“You heard me,” Archie said.

Spencer shook his head. “Dude, be serious. I’ll destroy you.”

“Maybe,” Archie said.

“So sit back down.”

A fire ignited inside Archie. “Why? You scared?”

A chorus of ooooohs went up from the other students. Spencer’s sarcasm melted. He stared hard at Archie. A moment later, they were facing each other across Spencer’s desk, arms up and hands locked together.

Why are you doing this? He brushed the thought away. Spencer had been given every advantage his whole life. He was even planning a future where he would take credit for other people’s hard work. Let’s see his parents’ money get him out of this one.

Another jock—a football player, Archie, thought—wrapped his hands around Archie’s and Spencer’s.

“All right, you two, I want a clean match,” he said with a referee’s tone. “No poking each other in the eye, or however they cheat in arm wrestling. Cool?”

They both nodded.

“Cool,” the football player said. “Try not to break his arm, Spencer.”

“No promises,” Spencer said, his eyes locked onto Archie.

Archie kept his expression neutral. Inside, though, he felt a wave of anxiety. Why choose today, of all days, to do this? Because he wanted to add humiliation to the list of reasons this week was the worst?

No. Because, eventually, someone has to face the dragon.

Latching on to that thought, using it to focus, Archie flexed his hand and regripped it around Spencer’s. After getting a rock-solid hold, he squeezed.

A flash of shock registered on Spencer’s face.

The football player released. “GO!”

Archie tensed his arm and the rest of his body. Spencer shoved against Archie’s arm with staggering force. Not just trying to win, but trying to humiliate him by winning as quickly and powerfully as he could.

Here came the embarrassing end Archie had feared. He would just have to take comfort in having challenged the dragon at all.

Except . . . Archie’s arm wasn’t moving.

His anxiety turned to elation. While Spencer trembled with effort, Archie held them both in place. It was actually kind of easy.

Spencer was starting to look panicked. It was clear what was going to happen. Archie was going to win. Easily.

Letting himself smile just a little, Archie moved his arm forward one inch. Then two. Then three. With each advancement, he watched Spencer’s hope diminish. The roar of the onlookers barely registered in his ears. There was only the battle.

Who’s the king now, Spencer?

Everything inside Archie screeched to a halt. That thought wasn’t like him. Why would he say something like that, even in his own head?

Again, he made himself ask the question: Why was he doing this, and why today?

Staring across the desk at Spencer, Archie finally understood. Because, after yesterday, he had never felt more powerless in his life.

Grandpa was slowly leaving him—in more ways than one now. There was nothing he could do about it, and there never had been. So he’d seized this chance for a real battle. A way to vent all his frustrations on the world.

Archie saw true fear in his opponent’s eyes. To his utter disbelief, Spencer’s bottom lip trembled. Did the thought of losing actually put him on the verge of tears?

Spencer Harrington came into focus now, and Archie saw him for what he really was. Not a villain, certainly not a dragon, but a boy with a paper-thin ego desperately clinging to a shred of glory like it was all he had.

In a flash, this no longer mattered.

You’ve already won, he told himself. You know it, and he knows it. Anything more would be just to humiliate him.

Is that the kind of person you want to be?

The Archie of a few months ago, even a few days ago, would have raged against that. Didn’t someone like Spencer deserve to be humbled? But the Archie of today—who was trying to be the kind of person that Grandpa had worked so hard to teach him to be—knew better.

It didn’t matter if he won. It mattered how he won, and winning this way would only feed his own ego with the wrong kind of pride. The kind that was really poison.

So, steeling himself, Archie leaned forward and whispered so that only Spencer could hear under the cheers of their audience.

“It’s a tie,” he said.

Spencer frowned, disbelieving. “What?”

“We’re stuck.” Archie flicked his eyes significantly at their hands. “You can’t move, and neither can I.”

Spencer stared at him. “But you’re . . .” he began, then trailed off without saying what they both knew.

“I’m serious,” Archie said. “You with me?”

Spencer considered, and then nodded.

“Okay,” Archie said. “Three. Two. One.”

Archie and Spencer released their grips. The cheering gave way to a collective gasp.

“What was that?” their referee demanded.

Eyes still locked with Spencer’s, Archie shook his arm as if getting the tension out. “Tie game,” he said.

For a moment, Spencer didn’t respond, and another spike of anxiety hit Archie. Had he just condemned himself to . . .?

“Yeah, we’re dead even,” Spencer said. “He got me a little bit, though.” Then he stood, offering his hand. “Good match, bro.”

As if in a dream, Archie rose and accepted Spencer’s hand. A significant look passed between them. One that said they both understood what had happened here and that even held a hint of respect.

“Yeah,” he said. “You too.”