Daniel LaRusso’s little sister wasn’t trying to start anything. But the cafeteria at West Valley High was loud, tense, and crawling with the kind of testosterone that smelled like cheap cologne and insecurity. She just wanted to get through lunch without someone being stupid. No such luck.
As she moved through the line, tray in hand, a voice cut through the noise—loud, smug, and just annoying enough to stop her in her tracks. “Yo, looks like LaRusso’s family just keeps multiplying. What’d they do, bus you in straight from the barrio?”
Bobby Brown. Denim jacket stiff with ego. Smirk like he thought he was clever. His boys—Johnny, Tommy, Dutch, and Jimmy—were flanking him like backup singers for a bad punk band.
She didn’t even blink. “Didn’t know trailer parks had export programs. You come here on a bike with no seat, or did your mom drive you between shifts?”
Tommy let out a howl. “Damn! She got you, bro!”
Dutch scowled. “Don’t get cocky, chica. Last time I saw that much attitude, it was running from a belt.”
She turned her head slowly, locking eyes with him. “Last time I saw someone like you, he was begging for change and blaming immigrants for stealing his job. News flash—your IQ’s not high enough to blame anyone but yourself.”
Johnny raised a brow. “She talks big. Thinks she’s tough ‘cause she grew up in Newark.” She smiled coldly. “I’m tough ‘cause I survived Newark. You flinch when your hair gets wet.” Jimmy laughed, then tried to play it off. Bobby wasn’t laughing. He stepped forward, now right up in her space, eyes narrowed.
“You keep flappin’ that mouth, you’re gonna get a real West Valley welcome. This isn’t your little Jersey hood.”
She raised her chin, dead calm. “No, it’s worse. Back home, punks like you get handled quick. Out here, you walk around like you’re top dog ‘cause you can throw a kick without tripping over your own ego. You wanna welcome me? Try it. I’ll send you limping back to your dojo with your balls in a sling and your pride taped to your forehead.”
Bobby’s face hardened. Dutch muttered under his breath, “I’d hit her if she wasn’t LaRusso’s sister.”
She shot a look at him sharp enough to cut. “Please. You couldn’t hit a light switch in a dark room.”
Roxy, now seated at the table nearby with the rest of the crew, laughed so loud heads turned. “¡Dios mío! You boys need aloe for that burn or nah?”
Flash popped her gum and twirled her nail file. “That was brutal. Almost felt bad for ‘em. Almost.”
Drea just sipped her soda, unfazed. “Okinawa got sharper blades than Cobra Kai. She fits.” Katya flicked her cigarette ash into her empty milk carton. “I like her. She cuts deep and doesn’t miss.”
Nessa leaned in from across the table, her Turkish accent smooth and dangerous. “And she didn’t even raise her voice. That’s power.” Ali, sitting at the end, wide-eyed but smiling like she’d just seen a fireworks show, tilted her head. “Okay. That was insane. Like—Joan Jett meets Scarface insane. I love it.”
Back at the line, Bobby finally scoffed, shaking his head. “Whatever. You ain’t worth the trouble.”
She looked him up and down, voice calm and venomous. “And you ain’t worth the calories I’m burning talking to you.”
The boys peeled off, still muttering, still pretending they hadn’t just been roasted in front of half the cafeteria.
As she dropped into her seat, Roxy slid her a chocolate milk and raised her brows. “So... we starting a gang or what?”
She cracked her knuckles and smirked. “Nah. We’re finishing one.”