Billy Carter and a couple of other boys closed in on him at once.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve, throwing hands!”
Billy roared and swung a punch at Dean.
Dean sidestepped faster than anyone would have expected.
He didn’t back away, instead he charged straight at Billy with no particular form or technique.
Just a reckless, don’t-care-if-I-die viciousness, and strength that far outstripped anyone his age.
He fought like a cornered animal driven mad, fists and feet flying, withstanding the pile-on from several boys at once, refusing to go down.
One boy grabbed him around the waist from the side—Dean slammed an elbow into his back.
Another tried to kick the back of his knee—Dean caught his ankle backhanded and yanked hard, sending him crashing to the ground.
Billy’s fist grazed Dean’s cheekbone, leaving behind a burning sting, but Dean seemed not to feel it at all.
He swung back and cracked his fist into the bridge of Billy’s nose.
Blood came pouring out instantly.
The scene dissolved into chaos.
The students around them stood frozen, letting out shocked gasps.
Dean, alone against several, took a few hits himself, but that same reckless ferocity, combined with his sheer physical strength, meant none of them managed to get the better of him.
He didn’t care about the pain.
He didn’t care about the consequences.
Dean understood one thing with total clarity: if you don’t throw a punch back against people who bully you, all they do is get worse.
“Stop it!
Stop it, all of you!”
The PE teacher, Mr.
Johnson’s voice rang out.
His tall body pushed through the crowd, and he hauled the tangled knot of fighting boys apart, gripping them by the scruff of the neck like a farmer scattering baby chicks.
Johnson’s strong arm clamped down on Dean’s shoulder.
Dean stood there breathing hard, his eyes swept fiercely over Billy, who was clutching his nose, and Mark and the others sprawled on the ground.
There was such menace in that look that the students who’d gathered to watch instinctively looked away.
“Dean!
You again!” Mr.
Johnson looked at the handful of bruised and bleeding students and said sternly, “Come with me to the office!
The rest of you, clear off!”
Johnson took Dean to the PE staff office.
He didn’t take anyone else.
Enforcing school discipline wasn’t his job, he was just a PE teacher.
Dean stayed silent.
Johnson studied the boy in front of him.
“Dean.
How many times is this now, this term?”
Dean said nothing.
“I know some of these lads have mouths on them.” Johnson stepped closer.
“But violence doesn’t solve anything.
It just brings more trouble.”
Dean stayed silent.
Mr.
Johnson let out a sigh.
“Setting all that trouble aside—Dean, I’ve been watching you for a while now.”
He paused as a hint of genuine admiration crept into his voice.
“Your physical ability is the best I’ve seen in all my years at this school.
Explosive power, endurance, coordination…
you’re a natural-born athlete.
Your endurance especially.
Last time we tested distance running in PE, you lapped the second-place kid by a full lap, and finished like it hadn’t cost you a thing.
Have you ever thought about training properly, in some kind of structured way?”
Johnson looked at Dean and laid out a few suggestions.
“Track and field?
Distance running?
Or…
rugby?
With your build and your speed, you could absolutely place in the county, maybe go further than that.
Sport’s a good path forward—it’d keep you out of trouble on the streets, and it could also…”
He chose his next words carefully.
“…give you somewhere to put all that.
An outlet.”
Hearing that, Dean frowned slightly.
‘An outlet?’
So, it still all came back to something being wrong with him?
“No.” He turned it down, reaching for a reason.
“I don’t like sport.”
Johnson blinked, clearly not expecting such a flat, almost hostile refusal.
“Dean, I mean this seriously.
You have talent—”
“I don’t need it.
Thank you for the thought.” Dean’s patience was wearing thin.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll head off.
I’ve got class.”
Johnson spread his hands.
“Nothing to discuss, then?”
Dean shook his head.
He turned, pulled the door open, and walked out with long steps.
The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy, dull echo.
Johnson’s frown deepened.
He felt a flash of irritation toward Dean, felt somehow insulted.
“God, if it weren’t for Kenny, I’d have the school expel you myself!”
Johnson shook his head.
Dean was lucky, he thought, to have Kenny willing to speak up for him.
In the end, though.
Johnson still felt a certain regret on Dean’s behalf.
He’d watched him fight—the kid genuinely had physical gifts.
So, he’d have to find some way to talk Dean into it—some structured athletic training.
Maybe there was a path through sport after all.
Fighting really did come in useful at school, more often than not.
At the very least, it let you sidestep certain kinds of trouble.
After Dean took down those boys that morning, no one came looking for trouble with him again, for the time being.
In the afternoon, the bell rang for the end of second period.
The corridor was loud beyond belief.
Dean had just stepped out of his classroom door when he spotted a familiar figure.
Marina stood by the railing, wearing a neatly pressed knit cardigan, no smile on her face, her brow was low and drawn.
She was one of Grandma Mason’s close friends from prayer group.
Marina had had her own share of hard luck too.
According to what Grandma Mason had told him, Marina had had breast cancer some years back, and had needed a mastectomy as part of her treatment.
She was gentle with people.
A lot of Dean’s school-related matters had been sorted out through Marina, on Grandma Mason’s behalf.
The moment Dean saw her; a flash of unease rose up in him.
The instant Marina spotted Dean, she hurried over, her voice was low.
“Dean.
Come with me.
Your grandmother’s in hospital.”
That single short sentence left Dean stunned.
All at once the noise around him felt dreadfully far away.
“I’ve already arranged leave for you and Ethan.
The car’s waiting at the school gate.
I’ll take you both to the hospital.”
Dean didn’t ask anything further.
He nodded.
Together they went to find Ethan.
Ethan was just as stunned when he heard the news.
Ten minutes later, the car pulled up outside the hospital.
The hospital lobby was full of people coming and going, the smell of disinfectant was sharp and overpowering.
Marina led the two boys straight to the emergency department.
The corridor lights were a sickly white.
The doors to the resuscitation room stood shut.
Two people stood outside: a uniformed local police officer, and a middle-aged employee in a bank uniform.
“How is she?” Marina walked up and asked.
The officer shook his head.
Then Marina turned to Dean.
“Mason collapsed at the bank.”
The bank employee spoke up on his own.
“I’m the one who brought her in.
She came to the counter this morning to check her account.
I told her there wasn’t a single penny left in it.
After we confirmed it several times over, she just collapsed right there.
We called an ambulance immediately, and reported it to the police at the same time.”
Dean felt like he already knew the answer, but he asked anyway.
“What happened to her account?”
The officer standing nearby picked up the thread.
“It’s a classic community pension investment scam.
The person responsible is a man called Anderson—he’s been going round several communities in West Derby recently, pushing a fake pension fund, specifically targeting elderly people who live alone.
Mrs.
Mason put in her entire savings—around thirty thousand pounds in total and the account balance is now zero.”
Dean’s pupils contracted sharply.
Thirty thousand pounds.
That was the family’s entire foundation, the only savings this household had, the thing Grandma had said with her own mouth would carry him and Ethan through university, the thing propping up the family’s whole future.
The officer went on.
“Anderson’s gone dark—phone’s switched off, the flat he was renting is cleared out and empty.
Our initial assessment is that this was planned in advance, that he ran the moment he had the money.
We’ve opened a case, we’ll coordinate with local units to trace him, and we’ll do everything we can to recover the funds, but it’s likely to take a long time, and we can’t guarantee the outcome.”
No safety net.
No certainty.
Nothing but an investigation with no end in sight.
He added, “The emergency treatment and the advance hospital deposit—this lady here covered them for the time being.
I imagine you’ll need to start thinking about the medical costs now too.”
Marina shook her head.
“Dean, don’t worry about the medical bills right now.
Let’s just focus on her first.
I’ve already told Kenny—he’ll be coming down in a bit too.
Don’t worry.
There’s a way through all of this.”
Ethan stood beside them, lost, at a complete loss for what to do.
As though he still hadn’t managed to take in everything that had just happened.
Dean looked toward the shut doors of the resuscitation room, and said nothing.
Football had destroyed Grandma’s past.
This con had just destroyed the family’s future.
Dean’s hands hung clenched at his sides, gripped so tight it hurt.
For the first time, he felt, with total clarity, the full weight of an entire family pressing down, all at once, onto a boy’s thin shoulders.