This story is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


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“You dare defy the king...?”


I threw the punch—

but the one lying flat on the floor was me.

The music room floor of Key Foresta Elementary felt cold against my cheek as a knife-sharp voice cut through the air.


“Even if the world turns upside down and you become President of the United States someday, I’ll never obey you. Got it, Donut Trumpet?”



$ $ $


1957, Queens, New York.


“A hundred Big Packs!”


I barked at the counter of our local burger joint, Pakdonald’s.

The red-haired, frizzy-headed owner, Mr. Pakdonald himself, looked at me—still fuming—and grinned like a clown.


“What’s this, Donut? Stress-eating again?”


“There’s this stupid girl at school. Acts like she’s justice incarnate and bosses me around. I’m the king of Key Foresta Elementary, you know!”


“A king of rich kids, huh?”


Pakdonald chuckled, mocking the private school I went to.


“Everyone calls me King Donut!”


“Yeah, because if they don’t, you’ll punch ’em—I heard.”


“They call me that! I’m serious!”


“Even for a king, a hundred burgers is impossible.”


“You dare defy me? My dad’s the King of Queens!”


“Still impossible. Only one guy ever ate a hundred Big Packs—the pro wrestler Pastaque Carbonara.”


“Whatever! I’ll get the money from Mom right now—”


I spun around—


and slammed straight into some old guy carrying a tray.

A paper cup flew into the air, and ice-cold cola splattered all over my clean white shirt.


“Watch it!”


I was ready to yell at him, but the man glanced at me once and bolted out of the shop like he’d seen a ghost. His wrinkled Hawaiian shirt fluttered as he ran—and on the back, instead of hibiscus flowers, a giant squid danced.


“Hey! Say sorry! And what’s with that squid shirt? Lame as hell!”


Then—clunk.


A low voice rumbled from behind the counter as a hand dropped a wad of cash.


“Make it one hundred and one.”