Super Fat Friend - Vol. 4
The Ally
Not caught up yet? Read Vol. 1-3 here.
Sabrina hovered over the bathroom sink and dotted a thick layer of foundation between her ear and jawline with a sponge. It had been two days since her first scuffle as the pink Zamojo (Look, it’s just a placeholder title, okay?), and the bruise was starting to deepen. For the most part, she sustained very little damage, and the elbow to the face was on Jason for not taking the time to look before striking. But perhaps she deserved it, the lone wolf made for a very awkward collaborator—and she did break his nose after all.
Sabrina tilted her head at various angles in the light.
Not bad. This Korean cushion stuff really is that girl.
She was startled by Lazor’s shadowy mound in the hall as she dipped out of the bathroom.
With a reverberating purr, he slinked in figure-8s around her ankles, and she remembered he hadn’t been fed yet.
“Yes, yes... I get it.”
Sabrina filled his bowls, packed up for work, and grabbed her gym bag to train with Ricardo later. Her mask was resting atop the dresser, and after dialoging internally with her alter ego, she stuffed it into the bag.
Just in case.
★★★★★
Though she considered taking a sabbatical, Heather decided to return to work for the last few weeks of school. All the faculty and staff honored her wish not to have her incident openly acknowledged and gave her space to focus on catching up with her students.
When she walked into the library to join Sabrina for lunch, she looked as breezy and stylish as ever, with any trace of outer wounds completely faded. But looking past the complimentary smile, there was an obvious vacancy in her eyes—an empty, gray room with every door locked.
Sebastián turned from his position of being folded over the circulation counter as soon as Heather walked in. Sabrina likewise sprang from her chair.
“I see you two are right where I left you,” Heather teased.
Sebastián straightened up and reached out toward her. At first, he went in for a hug, but then felt Heather unconsciously shrink back from him. So he held out his hand instead, and she gladly shook it.
“Welcome back, Cha,” he said.
“Good to see your faces. Are you joining us for lunch, Padilla?”
“Unfortunately, no. I have an emergency parent meeting. A cheating situation, so pray for me.”
“Oof, good luck with that.”
Sebastián looked over at Sabrina. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before she said in a sing-songy tone, “See you for your 6th hour!”
“See you then.” He put his hands in his pockets and swaggered his lanky form through the glass doors into the midday brightness.
Heather crossed her arms and smirked at Sabrina, but it took her several seconds to notice.
“Wow, I thought you were just blushing hard, but it looks like you got hit in the face!” said Heather. “Are you okay?”
“I-I’m not blushing. I just…a book fell from the top shelf while cataloguing. Big ass War and Peace kind of thing. It’s nothing.
“Surrreee…”
Sabrina chuckled. It was nice to see Heather being playful again, and she wouldn’t argue with her, not today. Her phone jolted her back to the moment as it buzzed on the countertop.
“Looks like our food is almost here!”
Sabrina walked around the circulation desk and waved to her coworker across the library. She stood beside Heather with her eyes fixed on the phone screen as the courier inched closer on the map.
“That must be him,” Heather pointed out.
Sabrina hadn’t looked up yet, and by the time she did, she was staring at a swollen nose held tightly by a splint over the bridge. She recognized the kind gaze and jet black hair and immediately let out a squeal of shock. Her phone went flying behind her and slid across the marble flooring.
“I’m so sorry,” Heather said to the courier. “She’s a basket case, what can we say?”
Jason watched Sabrina crawl on the floor toward where her phone landed under the book drop. He put his hand over his mouth to prevent laughter, but more importantly, he had to rein in his eyes from staring as her golden curls fell forward and exposed the top of her back—soft and lightly freckled against the curved lining of her sundress.
“No worries,” he said to Heather. “Enjoy!
Heather took the bag of food and walked over to Sabrina. “Spazz much? Are you sure you’re okay?”
Sabrina was actually red now from the strain of Operation: Phone Retrieval. “I’m fine. Let’s eat outside. If I have to stay in here another minute, I’ll lose my damn mind.”
They rolled out their spread on one of the picnic tables, shaded by a tree decked with colossal white Magnolia blooms. After a lifetime in Chicago, Sabrina constantly felt spoiled by the temperate, welcoming air of Los Angeles, but it was also one of the city’s greatest deceptions. How could a place with such beautiful weather, surrounding mountains, incredible biodiversity, and a shimmering ocean hold so much corruption and violence?
“Anyway,” Sabrina began as they unwrapped their sandwiches, “I’m the one who should be asking if you’re okay.”
“I’m great,” Heather replied flatly. “Calculus, geometry, algebra. I’ve never been happier to see a coordinate graph in my life.”
She took a forceful bite of food as Sabrina watched her every microexpression.
After a few minutes of eating without words, Heather admitted, “I’m going to leave Los Angeles after the last day of school.”
Sabrina’s heart sank—not only for the loss of her friend but also for Heather's losses. She loved this city where she was born and raised within its sunny, chaotic streets. She always said there was no point going elsewhere because everything was already here. She had an infallible routine and was always the life of every party. But the city she had loved betrayed her. It had allowed monsters to parade and devour.
“But…where will you go?” was all Sabrina could muster.
“I’m not sure…”
“What if…what if things got better?”
“This isn’t just about what happened to me. I told you about how my dad got attacked and robbed in our family store a few years ago. It took him months to recover from the head trauma. There are needles, trash, and human excrement all over our streets. No one takes care of anything anymore, businesses are closing up… It just feels like we’re on a sinking ship, and I don’t want to be still on it when it goes down.”
Heather crinkled the corner of her sandwich wrapper repeatedly. Sabrina wanted to say so much more; her head was swimming. Yet, by listening to what her friend was not saying, she knew now was not the time for more words, so she only sighed, “I understand.”
★★★★★
After clearing out the final cart of book returns, Sabrina vigorously washed her hands in the break room sink. In general, people are all too eager to abuse things that are not theirs and often treat library books like coasters and doorstops, but add teenagers to the mix, and they become petri dishes, too. She unconsciously gazed out the sliding doors leading to the staff patio when she noticed a man in a black jacket mounted on his motorbike like a cowboy, scrolling through his phone. She cursed under her breath as she dried her hands and stormed out.
Jason caught a glimpse of the furious, flowery woman bounding toward him and put his phone back in his pocket.
“Go away!” She demanded.
“Hello to you, too.”
He couldn’t help but smile seeing this version of her and relished that fate had brought them together so freely and vigorously against their will.
“I’m serious,” she continued. “This is a school. There are kids here.”
“Hey, you made the order.”
“Have you been sitting out here the whole time?”
“Of course not. I did a few more orders and came back.”
“Why the hell are you delivering food, anyway? Shouldn’t you be off polishing bo staffs or something?
Pfft! He burst into laughter.
Sabrina crossed her arms. There were few things she hated more in this world—few things that sparked her inner fighter more—than being laughed at. “What the hell is so funny?”
“Just…you. Talk about Clark Kent.”
“If that’s the case, you wouldn’t have recognized me.” She closed in on him.
“Please, a mask doesn’t do anything. That’s all comic book bullshit. All a guy’s gotta do is take a good look-”
“Oh, my God.”
“I meant…theoretically!”
Sabrina towered over him as he sank into the leather seat. She grabbed his helmet, which he instinctively swiped to steal back, unsuccessfully. She pressed it on either side with her palms, and for a second, Jason thought she might actually crush it.
“I agreed to work with you and to be contacted by your methods, but don’t ever come to this school again. If someone orders something, ping it over to the next driver. This school doesn’t exist to you or anyone else in our world. Have I made myself clear?”
As much as her overbearing stance annoyed him, Jason retreated. He could see in her the same devotion he felt the day he was handed his father’s tags. To protect is to become a beast.
“Understood.” He held out his hand to receive his helmet.
“Also, not a good idea to be lingering around a school, people might start thinking you’re a pervert. Hmm…maybe you are.”
“Fine. Enough.”
Sabrina gripped the helmet like a basketball and gestured a fakeout throw toward his face, almost sending him backward off his bike. She cackled joyously as she walked away, tossing the helmet blindly over her head. Jason had to push the limits of his reach to catch it.
“Michin yeoja,” he muttered as he strapped the helmet on and fled the staff parking lot.
★★★★★
The breath whistled between her teeth. Her feet squeaked and shuffled across the mat.
BAM! BAM! POP! Her pink gloves met Ricardo’s exposed torso.
“Dammit!” he cursed.
Sabrina broke away from their spar and grabbed the nearest towel to dab her head and neck.
“Something is different,” Ricardo managed between breaths. “You’re different.”
“No, you’re just slow.” She whipped the towel toward him with a crack, which made him flinch.
He sat on one of the stools in the corner of the ring. “I don’t think I can train you anymore, amiga.”
Sabrina squatted over the other stool, her knees folded high toward her chin from such a short chair height. “Why not?”
“I… I can’t believe I’m saying it… You’re getting to be too good for me.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sabrina leaned in, cupping her ear with her hand.
“I said-” he caught her sardonic humor. “Aye. You little shit.”
They both laughed as they continued to catch their breath and let the sweat evaporate.
“I can’t afford to go anywhere else. You’re the only gym that offers boxing to people who don’t live on a Beverly Hills budget.”
Ricardo stood again and signaled his employee at the front desk. The nervous El Salvadoran teen immediately ran over to his boss.
The two began to dialogue in Spanish, which Sabrina could only make out in parts.
“…Is he still at the auto shop?”
“I think so…”
“Then go get him. What do I pay you for?”
Ricardo then looked at Sabrina again. “Wait on the bench over there. I have someone for you to meet.”
Sabrina did as she was told and reclined on the bolted wooden plank, stretching to pass the minutes. She bent at the waist, grasping her foot for a deep hamstring stretch, when a massive shadow overcame her, and two hands, like bear paws, pushed her down further. Though not overly harsh, it was still unexpectedly painful.
“Hey!” she snapped.
“Good,” a voice replied. It sounded almost like a vocal scrambler from True Crime television specials, deep and slightly garbled, with a light Mexican accent. “You’re in decent shape, especially for your weight class.”
She was ready to turn and show him just how good of shape she was in, but as she beheld the man’s massive form and familiar presence, she slid off the bench and caught herself on the dirty foam mats with her shoulder blades.
“Holy shit…” she gasped.
Ricardo appeared next to him and said in Spanish, “I promise she’s not normally this embarrassing.”
“You’re… you’re…” Sabrina stuttered over every syllable.
“So, you know him?” asked Ricardo.
Sabrina collected herself and stood with her mouth gaping. “Ziggy Casteneda, aka “Ziggy Stardust” aka one of the greatest luchadores to ever hit the mat…at least that’s what my brother always said.”
He was older and less colorful than his days in the ring, but it was him. After years of watching YouTube videos, she’d recognize that stance anywhere.
“You may call me, Senor Casteneda, senorita.” He presented her with a toothy grin, and a few of his teeth glimmered with gold. “Ricardo says you’d like to take your training to the next level.”
“Yes, gladly, but I’m a boxer.”
“I can see that,” he teased. “And I am a former professional wrestler, boxer, and third-degree black belt in both judo and karate.”
“Right…”
Ziggy held up one of his hands. “Hit me.”
Sabrina’s eyes darted to Ricardo and then back to Ziggy. “Like, right now?”
Ziggy pointed with his other index finger to his open palm.
“Okay,” Sabrina agreed.
She threw an uncommitted punch with almost no velocity. The only smack! she heard was when Ricardo’s hand met his face with a groan.
“No. HIT ME.”
“Lame!” she suddenly heard her brother heckling. “Hit like it’s Kimberly Zalinsky’s face!”
How pathetic that she had to conjure up a dead brother and long-lost elementary school bully to feel something, but it worked. Sabrina let out a roar and gave Ziggy what he asked for. His meaty palm absorbed the impact well, but his shoulder rocked backward and discombobulated his otherwise immovable balance. She knew it was Grade-A when she saw those golden teeth reappear in the curvature of his mouth.
“We will train Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from 7 to 9 PM. If you are five minutes late, I’m out. If you miss more than two days, you’re out.”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded.
He wagged his finger with a tsk-tsk of his tongue. “No. Si, Señor.”
Sabrina held up her fist. “Si, Señor.”
And a fist bump sealed the deal.
★★★★★
Clop. Clop. Clop—went Baek Ha-joon’s Dolce & Gabbana derbys. The shoes, like him, were crisp, shiny, and out of place against the filthy flooring in the hallway of the old high school. Hiding in plain sight, Ha-joon’s father had purchased the school in the 1990s as part of the aftermath of the Koreatown riots. At a glance, it’s merely shipping and receiving for Korean and Chinese goods sold at local shops or eaten in restaurants. Lucrative, safe, and inconspicuous. But if you go to the abandoned third floor, the abandoned computer labs reveal a different sort of business is thriving.
Ha-joon let out a sigh before opening the door to his surveillance headquarters. He was already annoyed and knew that one wrong word or sideways glance might end in violence today. He massaged his temples and cracked his neck. The last thing his organization needed was to attract more eyes and ears with emotional instability and scandal.
There will be blood another day.
He pushed the door open, announcing his arrival by clapping his hands together loudly. A small gathering of his men snapped to attention. Most of them dressed like an off-brand version of himself, others in baggy jeans and t-shirts with more tattoos than open skin.
“Hyungnim,” all the men seemed to say in unison. All except for the elder system operator and one cocky thug whose lips curled in delight while he scrolled through the photos of a half-naked bot—er, um… “woman”— who convinced him through DMs that she was interested.
The older man at the helm of the wall of security camera monitors cleared his throat and eventually Mr. Cocky stopped scrolling and acknowledged Ha-joon.
“Brothers,” Ha-joon began, “It would seem we’ve had yet another interruption and risk of exposure at one of our sanctuaries. This is becoming a habit that we need to break, immediately.”
Ha-joon walked over to his operator, the stout, reliable employee who had served his father. He placed his hand on his shoulder and pressed his weight on the back of the chair. “Hyun-woo, tell me what happened…”
Hyun-woo released an audible gulp as he swiveled the chair and pulled up the footage. Ha-joon leaned in, blinking a few times as what he saw was not even close to what he anticipated.
“This is from our Chinatown sanctuary,” said Hyun-woo.
In the footage, a group of three of Ha-joon’s men sat with three very drunk women. As one of the men fumbled through removing one of the young women’s dresses, she tried to fight him off, but was unsuccessful in her weakened state.
Suddenly, the men stopped and listened. Their attention turned toward the door of the luxurious space. With their eyes on the door, a figure kicked his foot through the vent in the ceiling above and slithered his way out. He landed on the floor abruptly, causing all the women to scramble away in a frenzy.
Ha-joon’s thugs flipped their attention back to the center of the living room. The figure from the vent tucked and rolled past them with acrobatic grace. He tugged on the door handle and opened it. Another figure entered, and Ha-joon’s nose was practically glued to the screen. Completely ignoring the unconscious guard in the hallway behind her, he was transfixed on the giant, pink woman who burst through the door. She and the man from the vent stood side by side while the trio of suited goons attempted to overpower them.
The vent man elbowed the pink woman in the face, presumably by accident, and the two argued for a moment before continuing the bigger fight. The vent man moved fluidly and precisely, with training and dedication, while the woman was a wrecking ball, a brute force who could hold her own, even against the bigger of the three. The two strangers overcame the three thugs, and the pink woman ensured the other women got out safely, even removing the jackets from the men to keep them covered and warm.
“Stop,” Ha-joon directed Hyun-woo.
“I can’t believe Steven and Junho got their ass kicked by this fat bitch,” laughed the cocky boy from the corner.
No blood. No blood. No blood, Ha-joon recited to himself like a mantra. He then stomped over to the tattooed miscreant and grabbed him by the wrist.
“Oww! Hey man, what the fuck?” he whined.
Ha-joon twisted a little harder until he felt the joint delightfully…pop!
“Ahhh! Shit!”
The young man’s phone dropped into Ha-joon’s hand. He then set the phone on one of the desks, lifted a chair, and repeatedly smashed it into infinite pieces of glass and digital framework.
“You broke my wrist! Fuck!” the young man continued to yell.
“Get him out of here,” ordered Ha-joon to two of his men. He doesn’t work for us anymore. Make sure he remembers it, too.”
They obediently removed the young man from the room, kicking and screaming down the hallway until the distance muted him.
Back at the helm, Ha-joon focused on the paused frame. The rest of his men took about three steps away from him as they saw him redden like a thermometer about to burst.
His eyes darkened, and he zeroed in on the woman. Was it admiration or disdain? His feelings made his logic fuzzy.
“Sir?” Hyun-woo inquired, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. “I think the young man is-”
“I know who he is,” Ha-joon snapped. “He’s none of your concern.”
But Ha-joon remained entranced, rolling his fingers over the cursor as he zoomed in and only asked one question…
“Who are you, pink little pig?”
