I didn’t care what Clark Richards did or said to me, but my truck was an extension of my grandfather, and he’d disrespected him. ‘Get him invited tonight, Wynn.’
Boyce had an evil grin that was all too familiar from my ninth-grade memory vault – if he’d sprouted horns and a villain moustache along with it, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
‘Thatta boy, Maxfield,’ he said, thumbs flying, texting someone. ‘Consider it done.’
According to the bathroom mirror, I’d had a hell of a night. Black eye. Swollen nose. Bruised jaw. The wall clock in the kitchen said it was early afternoon, so school was officially ditched for the day. I plugged my phone in, drank a Coke, started coffee and went to take a shower while it brewed.
My ribs were sore and bruised, too, and my knuckles were scuffed raw. I smeared ointment on to everything still bloody after the soap and water, before pulling on dark grey sweatpants and a red-and-white baseball tee, wincing from the sharp pain in my side the whole time. Deep breaths were agony and coughing was worse. I weighed the possibility of a cracked rib. Head in my hands at the kitchen table, I stared into my empty mug and tried to recall how I’d got that particular injury.
When we’d gone to buy beer, our usual clerk had been out. The woman across the counter wasn’t willing to give us the benefit of a doubt that we were older than we looked. ‘Scram,’ she said, heaving the twelve-pack of Bud Light to her side of the counter. Her mouth hadn’t moved from its disgruntled, horizontal line.
In its stead, we nicked a bottle of the Jim Beam from Bud Wynn’s closet.
‘You sure about this?’ I asked Boyce, who’d be the one paying for it, one way or another.
Boyce shrugged. ‘Maybe he’ll forget he had it.’
I arched a brow. ‘Right.’ His father was one mean-assed alcoholic. And he never forgot anything.
Mateo Vega, one of Boyce’s buddies, was the first to greet us when we hit the beach. The three of us exchanged greetings, Vega tipping his chin when Boyce asked if Richards was there. ‘Yeah, man – saw him five minutes ago.’ Boyce asked something else I couldn’t hear, though I was pretty sure it had to do with whether or not his girlfriend had tagged along. Vega shook his head once. ‘But he brought a couple bros from the team,’ he warned.
‘Gotcha,’ Boyce said.
We handed the bottle to Thompson and scored enough shit to get us both seriously fucked up. ‘I don’t wanna roll until I find Richards,’ I said, unaware until I said the words that I needed to beat the shit out of him, and I didn’t want anything dulling the rage.
Ten minutes later, I got my wish. Richards was parked on a cooler with a blue cup in his hand. Once I saw him, I didn’t see anything else. Not his friends, not mine.
Boyce: You up?
Me: Yeah. Trying to remember last night. You at school?
Boyce: Yeah. Richards is out today too. Man you pounded him. I knew you had it in you but holy shit.
Me: Do I have any possibility of a cracked rib?
Boyce: Shit. Maybe. I’ll be over after school.
I poured another cup of coffee and opened the door to Grandpa’s room. It already smelled musty. Sunlight filtered through tiny gaps in the ancient metal blinds, which were rusted in a few places where the paint was scratched. Dust motes drifted in the beams, disturbed and swirling from my entry. The furniture was stripped bare – no sheets on the bed or glasses on the night table. Dad had stacked a few ledger boxes against a wall. The years were labelled in his jagged scrawl.
It hadn’t occurred to me that I could ask to move into this room instead of remaining in the pantry. Evidently, it hadn’t occurred to Dad, either.
I sat on the edge of the bare mattress and sipped a second cup of coffee, my head clearing little by little. After my fight with Boyce, Grandpa had taught me the proper way to make a fist and throw a punch.
I’d stalked straight to Richards last night and yanked him up, fisting both hands in his shirt. He dropped his cup and jerked free, stumbling back a step. If his friends moved to defend him, Boyce and Mateo convinced them to stay out of it. No one interfered.
‘W-what the fuck, Maxfield?’
I stepped closer and leaned into his space. ‘You’re a cowardly fucking pussy, Richards.’
He drew himself up, eyes shifting to the gathering audience, and laughed. ‘Whatsa matter, freak – upset because my girlfriend didn’t wanna suck your dick?’ He shoved me back with both hands, or tried to.
I felt my mocking half smile shift into place. ‘Oh, she sucked it all right.’
His eyes blazed wide and he swung a fist that glanced off my jaw. I drew back and punched him in the mouth, his teeth scraping my knuckles. He tried to land a body blow, but I blocked it with an elbow and belted him in the gut, and he gave a satisfying oof. We separated and circled each other.
‘You’re a sore loser, freak,’ he panted. ‘You need to learn not to get between another guy and what belongs to him.’ He repeated the hit to my jaw with the same glance-off result.
I laughed, the sound caustic. ‘You think this is about Melody?’ I didn’t expect the spear of pain that shot through me from saying her name. He took advantage of my pause and landed a better blow. My nose crunched and I saw stars. He moved in for another hit but I ducked and drove into him, knocking him flat in the sand.
‘Of course it’s about Melody,’ he said. We rolled and punched each other a couple more times, each landing solid enough hits to draw blood. ‘You want what you can’t have and will never be good enough for.’
As soon as we were on our feet, I swung too wide and missed. He tackled me and I landed on the ice chest, but I took him with me and used his momentum to throw him back over my head. Before he could get up, I jumped on him and punched him twice.
‘I don’t give a shit about her, you conceited fucking dickhole.’ I hit him once more and his eyes unfocused. Before I could knock him unconscious, I felt hands hauling me up and off him and he struggled to rise with the help of his friends. Clutching my side and panting shallow breaths, every one of which generated shooting pain, I pointed a finger at him. ‘But you touch my truck again and I will end you.’
When Boyce showed up, he brought, of all people, Pearl. I had no idea they were on speaking terms. ‘I won’t be a doctor for ten years, you know,’ she said, glaring at Boyce. ‘He should go to the ER. I don’t see the big deal. It’s not like he’s got knife wounds from a gang initiation.’
Boyce sighed. ‘You’re here. Just look?’
‘Fine.’ She rolled her eyes and turned to me. ‘Lie down on the sofa.’
After pressing in several places – painful but not excruciating – and listening to my lungs with a stethoscope borrowed from her stepfather’s dresser, she said she didn’t think anything else was injured. ‘You may have fractured a rib – but there’s no treatment for that. It just has to heal. It’ll take six weeks. No fighting and no roughhousing.’ She levelled a scowl at Boyce.
‘What? I didn’t do it. And shouldn’t we like, tape him up?’
‘I’m sure you encouraged it. And no.’ She looked at me. ‘Take deep breaths as often as possible and cough several times per day, to make sure your lungs stay clear.’ Turning towards Boyce, she stored the stethoscope in her purse and said, ‘Taping him up would keep him from doing those things. He could use an ice pack for the pain – you can make one from a Ziploc and ice – crushed, if possible.’
Boyce said, ‘On it,’ saluted, and headed for the kitchen.
‘Thanks for coming over,’ I said, still confused. Pearl and Boyce never spoke at school unless required to in biology, and though he clearly lusted after her, she’d never seemed the slightest bit interested. Plus, I’d just beat the shit out of her best friend’s boyfriend.
As Boyce dug ice from the freezer, she sat next to me on the sofa, her dark eyes level with mine. ‘For the record, I was wrong about Clark. He’s a jackass, and I can’t believe she took him back.’ She sighed and stared out the front windo
w. ‘He’s the devil she knows, I guess.’
LUCAS
When I dropped Jacqueline off at her dorm, I wasn’t paying attention to anything but her. Not until she reached the steps – at the top of which her ex stood, his gaze alternating between the two of us. She didn’t see him until she nearly walked into him.
I didn’t move except to cross my arms and watch his body language closely, and hers.
As they spoke, he continued to flick occasional glances at me over her head until finally, she turned and waved, as if to tell me she was fine. I wasn’t leaving, because her body language said she was agitated – hands on her hips as they spoke, and then arms crossed defensively. They were too far for me to decipher words, but the tone of their voices drifted just far enough to reach me. Hers was irate. His was placating.
I knew her well enough to know that placating wouldn’t be welcome.
Two words I did hear her say, clearly: ‘It’s. Jacqueline.’ With this, she uncrossed her arms, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
He stepped closer and she didn’t move, but when he raised a hand to her face and she stepped back, I propelled off the bike and up the walk. She swiped her card and slung the door open, and he followed. I grabbed the door just before it closed, as Jacqueline whirled on him, her mouth open. She stopped when she saw me.
‘You okay, Jacqueline?’ I asked, stepping next to her as I examined him for signs of aggression. He oozed condescension above everything else – increasing when he recognized me as the guy who’d repaired the AC at his frat house. ‘What would administration think about you sniffing around the students?’ he sneered, and it took every ounce of self-discipline I had to keep from reacting.
I turned to Jacqueline, dismissing him – the one thing guys like him can’t easily swallow, and the one response to which I could give free rein.
She told me she was fine, her eyes sliding to the gathering audience I was just beginning to notice. Something about this girl made everything else disappear for me. At times that was ideal, while others it could be hazardous.
Then Kennedy Moore gestured to me and said exactly the wrong thing. ‘Are you hooking up with this guy, too?’
‘Too?’ she asked, her voice so vulnerable, and I wanted to punch him in the mouth to stop the ugly words before he said them.
‘In addition to Buck,’ he said.
Her mouth fell open, whatever she’d meant to say emerging with no sound.
Moore grabbed her arm and started to steer her away, and without a second thought, I wrenched his wrist and removed his hand from her. I wanted to snap it.
‘What the fuck?’ He puffed up, and I knew in that moment that he wasn’t done with her. He thought he could win her back – or maybe he knew he could.
But Jacqueline steeled her jaw, laid her hand on his arm, and told him to leave. He argued – stressing his belief that I was a maintenance man – which I couldn’t refute without placing Joseph in danger of losing his job.
‘He’s a student, Kennedy,’ she snapped. He said something about speaking with her next week, when they were home. She didn’t reply, her expression unreadable.
I knew the comment about Buck had unnerved her, but not for the reasons he intended. He spoke as if she should worry about a bad reputation, which was bullshit. The idea that people might be gossiping about her hooking up with the asshole who’d assaulted her made me want to find and beat the utter shit out of him all over again.
Moore glared as if he could intimidate me. I hoped he wouldn’t be stupid, because he’d be much less trouble to put down than his rapist cohort. He seemed to think his resentment was threatening, but his stance was completely untrained and left him wide open. Two hits and he’d be on the ground. He’d probably never even been in a real fight. I held his stare until he turned and went through the door.
Jacqueline touched me then, and my body unwound. She teased me about my multiple jobs, and I told her the maintenance thing was rare, and the self-defence gig was a volunteer position.
‘I guess we should add one more, huh?’ she said, and I stiffened, thinking economics tutor while fighting to keep my expression vacant. ‘Personal defender of Jacqueline Wallace?’ she said. I swung between relief and disappointment. I didn’t want to tell her, but I wanted her to know. ‘Another volunteer position, Lucas?’ She leaned closer, playful, hypnotizing me with those eyes. ‘How will you have time for studying? Or anything fun?’
I reached out and tugged her to me. Goddamn, this girl made me want. ‘There are some things I will make time for, Jacqueline,’ I whispered, kissing her neck – the sensitive space near her ear that made her go weak when I barely touched my lips to it. She hummed softly when I licked and sucked the delicate skin, careful not to mar it with a bruise. She was a sensual but private girl. Marks would only be welcome where they’d be hidden to anyone but her.
For now, I kissed and released her.
I emailed Jacqueline my notes on her research paper, noting the fact that she was caught up, though I’d continue to send her worksheets the last two weeks of class. I also let her know I’d be going home Wednesday – where there was no Wi-Fi, so I’d be virtually unreachable. As Landon.
If Grandpa could see me now, he’d shake his head and sigh heavily. And if he could reach me, he’d cuff my ear and call me ten kinds of idiot.
She replied to the email to tell me her parents were going skiing, but she was going home anyway and would be there alone. In all the scenarios I’d ever imagined, this girl having parents who’d do something so oblivious wasn’t in them.
I’d be hitching a ride in the Hellers’ SUV for the four-hour trek to the coast. They’d rented a beach house and planned to make Thanksgiving dinner there. I would stay with Dad and have a few days of silence, except for the dinner we would share with Charles and Cindy, Carlie and Caleb.
Cole had snagged himself a girlfriend at Duke and had decided to go home to Florida with her for his first break, instead of coming home. His father ragged the hell out of him for a week about mothers-in-law and being whipped and texted questions like, ‘Where are you registered?’ Cole vehemently denied impending marriage or in-laws while Heller laughed his ass off at every infuriated text from his oldest son.
I wished I could tell Jacqueline.
Predictably, the altercation with Kennedy Moore renewed my antagonism and tapped it a notch higher. Monday’s class was torture, between failed attempts to either ignore him or at least resist firing telepathic insults at the back of his head. When he turned and smiled at Jacqueline at the end of class, I left the classroom before I walked down the steps and put a dent in his toothpaste-ad-worthy smile.
Leaning on the wall by Jacqueline’s usual escape door, I watched her emerge with the guy who sat next to her in class. He’d attended one or two of my sessions at the beginning of the semester, three months ago. They both seemed to notice me at the same time, and I could have sworn they were discussing me as they approached. After wishing her a good break, he headed towards the opposite exit, and I examined Jacqueline’s face for signs that he’d told her I was the class tutor. Her expression was jumbled as she stared up at me, her forehead holding the slightest crease. Unable to read her, I fell into step as she passed, pushing the door open as we exited together. Her elbow brushed against me and her now-recognizable scent revived my memories of Saturday night.
‘Can I see you tonight?’ I asked.
‘I have a test tomorrow in astronomy,’ she said. She would be studying with classmates all evening. Nothing strange about that, except for the brief pause that made it seem more pretext than reason.
Dogged by a nagging sense of exposure, I scanned the mass of people, looking for the source. Intuition told me that source was right next to me – but that had to be wrong. ‘Tomorrow night?’
‘I have an ensemble rehearsal tomorrow,’ she said, and the buzzing in my ears increased. She talked about missing practice Sunday morning and packing her bass for the break – fam
iliar ground – but my brain faltered, comprehending that it was familiar for Landon – not Lucas.
I was sprinting headlong into a concrete wall, and I had hit that wall before, hard. I didn’t have to feel the wretched crunch of everything shattering to know how it would feel. I needed this break. I needed the waves on the shore, and my dad’s silent presence. I needed to see if I could break this obsession.
Staring into her eyes, I asked her to text me if her plans changed. With every speck of willpower I possessed, I said, ‘Later, Jacqueline,’ and walked away without touching her or kissing her goodbye.
18
Landon
I thought hitting Clark Richards would make me feel better – and it did. It felt too good, if there’s such a thing as too good. Every blow I landed, and even the hits I took, numbed and transformed the pathetic freak I’d been, bringing to life an unfeeling motherfucker in his place.
My fight with Boyce last year rattled that cage, but hammering the shit out of Richards’s face was the watershed moment. I’d found something better than combining molly and weed, better than alcohol, better than sex for smothering the voices in my head – because even when those things worked, and they sometimes did, the voice I still heard was my own, and it would never let me completely forget. Ever.
‘I’ll only be gone three days,’ Dad had said, his hands cradling her face. ‘We see Charles and Cindy this weekend, right? We’ll plan that Christmas in Rio trip you and she have been harping about for years.’
She pouted at him with a fake scowl. ‘Oh, harping, eh? Maybe you can just stay home, Mr Grinch.’
He slid his hands down her shoulders to her elbows, loosening her crossed arms and pulling her hands to his chest before towing her close and tipping her chin. ‘You can’t leave me behind, Rosie,’ he murmured. ‘Not after last night.’ He leaned down to kiss her like I wasn’t sitting twenty feet away.
‘God, you guys, get a room.’ I clutched the controller in my hand, eyes resolutely staring at the screen and my skateboarder guy doing ollies over spaces between buildings, aerials off walls and slides down escalators – stuff that would kill me in real life. I tried closing my left eye so I couldn’t see my parents, who were standing by the door, saying their long, mouth-sucking goodbyes.