Knife in hand, Maya didn't hesitate. She glanced around, strode straight to a small tree about seven or eight meters tall, and—completely ignoring the sign that read "Iron Birch—Endangered Species"—picked a forking branch and brought the blade down.
Crack.
The branch of the supposedly hardest wood on Earth snapped like a dry cracker.
Ignoring the gasps from the crowd, Madam President worked the knife in a blur, and within ten-odd seconds had whittled eight or nine slender wooden needles.
"Andrew! Andrew, can you hear me?"
Maya patted Andrew's face—dark skin gone deathly pale—and called out sharply.
Well, credit where it's due. The kid was built to be a sprint champion. That athletic constitution pulled through, and Andrew's eyes flickered open in moments.
Seeing his gaze clear, Madam President spoke rapidly. "Andrew, move your hands away. Now."
Andrew blinked at her in confusion. His bloodless face flushed faintly, and he squirmed. "I-I mean... it got... most of it got cut off. But if it's you asking, Madam President... I guess you can look."
He clenched his jaw, endured the searing pain of scabs tearing loose, and slowly pulled his hands aside.
For fuck's sake, who wants to see your little friend? Your HALF a little friend? Your bloody, filthy half a little friend?
Wild as the internal roasting was, Maya had no time to entertain Andrew's delusions. She couldn't afford to be squeamish, either. She extended her sensory perception, focused hard, ran through every acupoint she'd committed to memory from her medical studies, and drove the wooden needles into several acupoints around Andrew's groin with rapid, sure movements of her right hand.
To the bystanders, it looked like this: the strange little girl waited for the unfortunate boy to move his hands, brushed her fingers lightly across... the area... and when they blinked and looked again, several white toothpick-like sticks were poking out of the skin around the injury.
More astonishing still—the bleeding at the wound had stopped completely.
"Oh my God, what just happened?" a tourist yelped.
"I know what that is! It's Chinese acupuncture—I had no idea it worked that well!"
So Americans weren't entirely clueless after all. Case in point: someone in the crowd actually knew their stuff.
"That little girl is incredible—she even knows mystical acupuncture!" a companion marveled.
Just then, a student council officer jogged over. Without stopping to marvel at the strange scene, he went straight to Maya. "Madam President, the ambulance is still 10 minutes out. Well, actually, it should be about eight minutes now."
Maya frowned. "Why so slow? This is the middle of Manhattan—roads everywhere, no reason for traffic jams."
"They said this is standard response time. Unless... unless we call for an expedited ambulance," the student replied.
Maya understood instantly. She smiled bitterly and nodded to show she got it.
It wasn't just an American thing, really. Back in the Celestial Empire it was the same deal—expedited ambulances were faster, sure, but the price tag was enough to make your eyes water.
Ms. Hannah didn't think this through. In fairness, an expedited call would've been fine. Lucius had been on a hot streak lately—seemed like losing his wife had turned his luck around, and his album was selling out everywhere. Er, well, his wife Cookie hadn't actually died, but a decades-long prison sentence wasn't much different.
Fortunately, Maya had been studying biomedical knowledge obsessively ever since she'd developed her sensory abilities, with traditional Chinese acupoint theory as a particular focus. She was smart enough to know how to maximize her own advantages.
Now that Andrew's life was out of immediate danger, Maya relaxed a little and turned back to him. "So what exactly happened? Why would Liz cut your... well. She looks pretty badly shaken herself."
Andrew glanced over at Liz, who was still curled up and crying—"hnn... hnn... hnn..."—and said blankly, "I don't even know what happened. Liz and I finished our dance and wanted to find somewhere private to... talk."
Talk. Sure. Talk. And you "talked" your way right out of your clothes?
Oblivious to Madam President's silent evisceration, Andrew continued: "We just kept talking, and things got more and more... into it, and... feelings took over, and we couldn't exactly stop at propriety anymore. Right when things were getting intense, Nana suddenly barged into the bushes. Liz must've been startled—she screamed, and I just felt this... snap... like something got... sheared off. And then... then it really was..." His voice cracked. "It really was gone!"
By the end, the dazed look on Andrew's face had curdled into something raw and wretched.
"Maya, can you do me a favor?" he begged.
One look at his expression and Madam President knew exactly what he was about to ask. The refusal was right there on the tip of her tongue—but it got stuck halfway.
Forget it. Andrew really has had the worst day imaginable. They'd known each other for over a decade. She could at least help him find the other half.
"Fine. You don't have to say it out loud. I'll look."
Having to search for that thing was humiliating enough. If she made Andrew actually announce it in front of everyone, Madam President might die of secondhand embarrassment.
She extended her perception and scanned the area carefully.
After a moment, Madam President's expression turned distinctly strange. Her gaze drifted toward the little whimper-monster herself, Liz Black, huddled in the corner with her arms wrapped around her head.
As previously mentioned, the cheerleaders had dressed up for the dance. Even Madam President had worn a pretty white dress with a red floral print. Cheer captain Liz was a green-eyed brunette beauty in her own right, and today she'd gone all-out in a green knit chiffon dress with a plunging V-neckline, oversized shoulder pads, and a metallic-tone wide belt. In Madam President's private opinion, Liz looked like an old-fashioned relic, but everyone else thought she looked elegantly glamorous with just the right touch of youthful charm.
Now, though, that green dress was shredded—sliced open in clean lines, as if someone had taken scissors to it. Clearly not the result of rough handling; the cuts were far too smooth, nothing like the ragged tears you'd get from fabric being pulled apart.
And the larger severed portion of Andrew's anatomy? Still inside Liz. The cut on it was surgically clean, as if sliced through by an adamantium blade.
Even with Madam President's cool, unflappable composure, she couldn't help the flush that bloomed across her face. The sight left all the boys staring. None of them could have imagined that the fierce, commanding President could look so... soft.
But Madam President was nothing if not extraordinary. Her mental discipline had been deepening by the day, and within moments her eyes had already cooled back to their usual calm, still-water expression.
"Go find me a clean glass jar. And bring an unopened bottle of purified water."
After dispatching a few of her subordinates, Maya picked up a tree branch and slowly extended it toward Liz...
Two meters away. No reaction.
A meter and a half. Nothing.
One meter. Still nothing.
Half a meter. Not a twitch.
The branch pressed right against Liz's arm. No reaction.
Madam President jabbed Liz a few times with some force and called out, "Liz! Liz, stop crying. Can you hear me?"
Liz flinched as if struck by lightning, flailing her arms wildly and screaming, "No—stay away! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Hnn... hnn..."
As Liz knocked the branch flying, Maya's expression grew serious.
She'd finally spotted the anomaly. And she finally understood exactly why Andrew had lost his little friend.