It was stupid to be looking at the dagger on school grounds. Mal ran his hands over the tapered edge of the blade, the smooth leather hilt, and the coiled snake pommel. It glimmered the same way as it did a few years ago, when Dale gave it to him on his 13th birthday.

“The snake and the lion,” Dale had said then, as he’d unveiled his own dagger, identical but for a lion pommel. Dale always gave gifts he wanted himself, but this time it was OK — these were the twin daggers from their favorite show, Kizuna.

But the lion wasn’t supposed to betray the snake.

“Mal,” Connor’s voice broke the reverie as he flicked his bangs to the side and lit a Marlboro. “We’ll hide the dagger in your bag the whole day — and boom — last period we’ll plant it in Dale’s locker and tip off the principal.”

Mal stepped out from under the shade. Across the yard, he spotted Dale laughing at the packed lunch table.

“He told them about us, Mal. They’re laughing at us.”

Mal nodded solemnly, running his thumb along the pommel.