There were many instances where Dylan was convinced that his buddy Sean Foster was a wimp.

For example, Sean never said anything when people cut in the lunch line. Never. He got deliberately elbowed in the face once during a pickup basketball game, and Dylan remembered how he was so ready to punch that jerk for his friend. Sean just wiped the blood off with the back of his hand and told him it wasn't worth it.

But that morning on the bus, Dylan caught a glimpse of his bravery. It was more than anything he ever imagined himself to be.

It started like any other day. Someone tossed Martin's bag to Dylan again. He seemed to be considered as a member of the bullying committee now, not because he had anything against the kid personally, but because it was just easier.

It was easier to throw that bag away than to return it to its owner, just like it was easier to laugh along than to speak up, easier to float downstream into this dirty pool of hatred, rather than to swim upward against the flow.

Dylan couldn't be bothered to fight his own demons. It took too much effort. He raised his arm like a robot, searching for the next person to toss the bag to.

Sean grabbed his wrist. He was sitting next to him, and this time he wasn't staring out the window like he usually did.

His eyes met Dylan's. "Don't."

Sean's voice wasn't particularly loud, but the whole bus quieted down. No one had ever dared to end this game prematurely. It always stopped with people shoving past Martin when the bus reached the school, and he would be on the ground trying to gather all his scattered homework.

Up ahead, Bully stood up. He cracked his knuckles.

Sean ignored him and kept his eyes on Dylan.

"Stay out of it, man," Dylan muttered.

"Dill," Sean said, voice even and gaze steady, "you are better than that."

Someone coughed. The sound exploded like a firecracker. A nervous giggle escaped from the girl behind. Dylan's chest heaved.

One by one, he loosened his fingers and let Sean take the bag from his hands. Sean held it out and nodded at Martin, who hesitantly closed his arms around it, as if fearing that it was a cruel prank.

The bus was eerily quiet, save for that one squeaky thanks from Martin. Sean turned his head to face Bully.

He was neither defiant nor afraid. He just looked calm, like it was the most normal thing to happen on a warm April morning, as it should be. It was the first time someone did something right, yet the idea was too foreign to register in Dylan's brain at once.

He expected courage to be loud, aggressive, and possibly violent. There should be some yelling. There might even be blood. He didn't know it could be quiet like this; it was the kind of serene power he had never seen before.

The bus screeched to a halt.

"You're dead, Foster," Bully said. He didn't sound dangerous anymore. Just stupid.

Sean hopped off the bus and walked a little faster than usual. Dylan caught up with him and whispered, "Aren't you scared of him?"

"Very," he whispered back. "But if he touches me, I'm going to hack into his game account and steal all his virtual weapons."

They looked at each other and smiled. They rarely talked about the event afterwards, but deep down, Dylan had the utmost respect for his friend.