Triste threw herself to the floor of her bedroom and rolled under her bed, nursing a fresh bruise. "I got away lucky that time," she muttered to herself, wincing as a spring jabbed the bruise.

  Triste quieted as her bedroom door banged open and she saw the huge boots that belonged to her giant father, Stuart.

  "Come out now," he growled as he stood beside her bed.

  Triste scrunched against the wall. "No! I won't!"

  Stuart lay on the floor on his stomach and reached a huge arm under the bed. "Come now!"

  Triste shrieked as he grabbed her arm. She tugged, struggled, and fought as he dragged her out. "No! Dad! Let go! Let me go!"

 Triste's mother ran into the room. "Stuart! Stop! Don't touch her!"

  "Serena, stay out of this," Stuart warned as he raised a large fist to hit his daughter.

  A tall figure leapt through the open window of the bedroom. Briskly, it pulled Triste out of her father's grasp and set her upright. She recognized it immediately.

  "Jack!" Triste cried. "It's you!"

  Stuart wobbled to his feet. "You-know her? You-saved her? Admit it!"

  Jack bowed. "With pride." He walked to the window and talked to the trio. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." He backflipped out the window.

  "Showoff," Stuart muttered as he clumped out of the room, beating his daughter one of the last off his worries now.

  Triste sighed with relief." Good! He's gone!"

  Thyra, Triste's twin, came in. "Don't make me guess. Dad had another attitude issue?"

   Triste dusted herself off. "Your guess couldn't have been any better, Thyra. Isn't that always the trouble with him?"

  "Girls, you'd better get going to school," Serena interrupted. "You don't want to be late on your first day. Here's your lunch money. She pushed some bills into their hands. "Your schoolbooks are in the entryway. Hurry, beofre your father decides he wants to beat up one of you!"

  The twins ran downstairs, grabbed their books, and went out the door. The bus arrived after a few minutes, and they climbed on and seated themselves.

  Triste had just settled into an empty seat when a tap on the shoulder made her jump. Turning her head she saw a tall, skinny boy, who was wearing ripped jeans, a black t-shirt, and a cap turned backwards on his head.

  "Hey kid, pay up," he said roughly.

  "Pay what?" Triste asked suspiciously.

  "The bus fee," he answered.

  "There is no bus fee, and i'm gonna clobber you if yu say there is," Triste threatened.

  Not scared-at least not outwardly-the boy said, "How can a skinny bag of bones clobber me, Joe Franklin?" He settled back. "See ya at recess. We'll sette your debt then."

  "Nice goin," commented a girl near the front of the bus. "I've never seen him being beaten up before. Why would you do it?"

  Triste glared at her. "Because I live with it every day." She muttered to Thyra, "There goes eighth grade."

  Thyra nodded in agreement.

  After surviving math, science, and English that morning, the twins had lunch, which consisted of pizza, carrot sticks, and apple juice, after which they went out for recess.

  Triste saw Joe and a bunch of cohorts beating up a younger student. "I'm going over to get this over with," she muttered to Thyra.

  Thyra, who had never been the fighting type, chewed her lip nervously as she watched her sister walk off.

  The sixth grader broke away from the bullies and ran toward Triste, who winced at seeing her bloody face.

  "Take me to the nurse, please!" she begged. "I feel sick."

  Triste pointed to Thyra. "Go to my sister. I'm sure she'll take you to the nurse."

  "Thank you!" said the girl gratefully, hurrying off.

  With a hairband she always had handy, Triste put up her hair in a ponytail and walked slowly toward Joe, her heart beating fast.