"Yeah." Glass shattered. "I could've been around more. I know that much."
It was the same conversation I always heard from them.
My brother blamed himself--for what I had no idea. I didn't blame him for his absence. Hell, half the time I was jealous of him. I wish I could've disappeared like he had when he was growing up. He spent most his time from eighth grade until he got his own house on someone else's couch. I would've done that too, if I could've. I'd been too young.
Heather half consoled him, but she was always frustrated too. I could hear it in her voice. It was in everything, actually, even the way she walked around the house. Some days I wished she would move in, but part of me was scared of the day it happened--because when that happened, something else would happen. I didn't know what, but I always felt it. I carried it around in my stomach.
The relationship between Heather and me was half because of that. We were half friends. We were half not-friends. We were half present, half not-present. Half haunted, half alive. Or wait, maybe that was just me? But Heather averted her eyes when we talked to each other sometimes, and she avoided having conversations with me in the first place. But other times, she was in my face, eyes blazing with fierce determination. I was never sure which Heather I would get, but I knew it wasn't me or her. It was the question of her relationship with Channing. I got it. I did. I could sympathize somewhat.
I generally avoided everything.
Heather was nice. She loved my brother, but I was in the way. They couldn't have a normal relationship because of me.
A part of me ached at the thought. Who was I to stand in their way? But this brought me back to the conversations they always had: I would be out.
Channing would grumble.
Heather would comfort.
And when I overheard, I'd always wonder: why didn't they just let me go? Why did my brother keep trying to play the part of father/parent/big brother extraordinaire? It wasn't a role that suited him.
He was a legend.
He was a fighter.
He ran his own crew.
The domestic look was not something he wore well. I agreed with Heather on this part.
He hadn't been around when it was just my dad and me. Our half-brother was never around, or hardly. He was kept with his mother most our life. Channing started his own crew in high school--the whole reason the system was created. And when he graduated, he started working right away. He took over my dad's bar two years ago, and he made it better. He brought in our cousin, and they made it a success. And he'd been fighting at events the whole time. He talked about retiring, but I never knew if that was a wish, like he was wishing to become an adult? Or he was wishing he didn't have a teenage sister to take care of? Or he was wishing for his old life again?
Like that.
Maybe fighting was his way of coping? I didn't understand that either.
It wasn't like he and my dad had been close.
Channing was like our mom, and when she died, it was like he went with her. He left the family. I mean, I saw him around town and at parties sometimes--until he either kicked me out or had my guys and me kicked out. He said we were all too young.
Jordan was relieved when Channing stopped attending the same parties we did, and we had learned to avoid him at the bigger parties.
The Roussou scene was different than other towns.
People didn't leave. Or if they did, they weren't in the system, and those people--the Normals--didn't really exist to us anyway. In the crew system, we're all part of a big, fucked-up extended family, no matter the age.
"I'm going to get a refill." Heather's chair groaned. "You want more beer?"
That was my cue.
I stood and slipped down the hallway to my bedroom just as the patio screen door opened.
Then the refrigerator opened, lighting up the kitchen and dining room.
I grabbed my backpack and returned to the hallway. I paused, listening as Heather opened some bottles, pouring into a cup. I smelled rum. Bottles clinked together, and then the fridge door shut.
The inside of the house fell into darkness again.
The screen door opened and closed.
As I heard her footsteps going over the patio, down to the backyard, I slipped out the front door again.
I opened my eyes at the sound of grass crunching.
When I looked up, Cross stood over me, but he wasn't watching me. He was looking at the reason I'd come out here.
He sighed, sitting next to me. "How'd I know you'd be here tonight?"
"You tracked my phone?" I sat up and grinned at him.
He chuckled, reaching for the whiskey in my hand. The cap was already off, and he took a drink, hissing through his teeth. "Fuck." He handed it back. "Why do you drink that shit?"
I smirked, taking a drink. Unlike him, I enjoyed the burn. "Why do you?"
"Because you do."
He said that like it made the most sense in the world.
I laughed, taking another drink before lifting my head. Below us, at the bottom of the hill and across the street, was my old home. I had no idea what time it was, but it was after dark and the house had been silent since I got to my spot. I hadn't expected otherwise.
I didn't know the people living there. They were new to Roussou, but I knew they were a young couple, maybe in their thirties, and they'd moved into my house when the bank sold it again. They had little kids, and they'd left some of the toys on the front lawn. I wanted to go down and put the toys away, place them on the porch and inside the toy chest there, but that was a bad idea. Talk about stalking. That was a line I couldn't cross, not yet anyway. Right now I just came to watch my old home.
"How was the party?" I asked.
Cross shrugged, hanging his arms over his knees with his hands looped together. "It was okay." He gave me a half-grin. "I'd rather hang, looking at your old house instead."
"That's total bullshit, and you know it." I handed him the whiskey.
He took it.
"You and Monica break up again?" She was his on-again, off-again girlfriend, but I knew they'd gotten back together on Friday. Seemed right they'd break up tonight, just in time for school to start tomorrow. The relationship was really one-sided anyway. Cross tended to sleep with whoever he wanted, though not a lot of girls talked about their time with him. Cross liked his secrecy, and I was one of the few privy to his freewheeling whoredom. Monica was the other. Cross had never kept it secret that if she wanted exclusive and steady, she needed to go somewhere else.
And how I knew so much about Cross' sex life was lost on me. We never seemed to talk about it.
He shrugged again, reaching for the whiskey and taking another drink. A second hiss, and he returned the bottle.
I took it, throwing my head back for a shot.
Goddamn.
The burn was still there. Good. It hadn't dulled yet.
"Bren."
I tensed, hearing the question in his tone. I heard reluctance too. Neither of us wanted to go where he was going with his next question.
"Why do you come here all the time?"
It wasn't all the time. Maybe two out of seven nights.
I focused on the whiskey. "You know why."
"No, I don't." He turned to watch me.
I hated when he did that. It was like I'd let part of the wall slip and he could read me.
I took two shots of whiskey this time. "I don't know."
I did, though.
I came to look for her, to see if she was moving around inside that house. I wanted a glimpse of her, even though I knew she was dead, even though I knew I was looking for a ghost. I still came.
I wanted to see her one last time.
"You're not supposed to lie to me."
I heard his disappointment and breathed in.
I let the air circulate through my lungs and then back out. One steady breath. Then I murmured, "You know why I come."
"For your mom?"
I frowned. Why did
he have to say it? I didn't want to hear it. I just wanted to feel it.
I nodded.
"I figured." He took the whiskey from me again, drank, and handed it back. "I wanted you to say it. Just once."
My throat burned, but not from the alcohol. I wiped at the corner of my eye. "So, the party sucked then?"
"Yeah."
A small grin tugged at my lips. "Now who's the liar?"
He laughed and reached for the whiskey again. "Yeah. Maybe. Still rather be with you."
I nodded.
I was glad.
Cross was waiting in the parking lot for me the next morning. He was on the back of his truck, the tailgate down, a few others with him. They scattered when I parked and got out.
He jumped off, closing the back as I walked by. "Was your brother mad this morning?"
I grimaced, remembering.
We'd fallen asleep on the hill and woken up early in the morning, way too early. Cross gave me a ride home, and I'd hoped to sneak in, shower, dress, and slip out. It hadn't worked out that way.
"No."
I'd thought I was in the clear. Channing and Heather didn't always sleep with a fan on, but they had one going this morning. I crept in and saw Heather in bed with a lump behind her.
"Never mistake a body pillow for a person. I did that this morning," I told Cross as we walked across the lot and into the school.
Channing had been right behind me, and the quiet silence of the morning was finished.
"Where were you last night?" he'd demanded.
"Ssshhh!" I'd glanced back at him, but Heather was already rolling around. We'd woken her up.
"He let me leave without much of an explanation," I told Cross. "But I have to have dinner with him tonight."
"Doesn't he work tonight?"
"Yeah." We got to the school doors, and I used my back to open them. "Guess where we're going tonight?"
"You're kidding. Your brother is the opposite of a parent who'd want you to show up for home family meals. How's he going to do that? Between his guys, his woman, and his bar?"
I shrugged. I'd do my part, show up where or when I had to and let my brother figure out the rest. As long as I was in the clear, for once. I shook my head.
The hallway was full with people, but once we stepped inside, a nice clear path appeared for us. That's what happened for anyone in a crew. People thought we were gangs. We weren't. I hated gangs. If it was that situation, I wouldn't be in. So, no. We weren't gangs--there was no hazing ritual, and we weren't in until we decided to risk limb and life to get out. No one told me what to do, not unless I backed them up, and if it was a situation where I didn't want to back up my guys, that was a whole other problem that needed to be dealt with. We took care of our own, and unlike normal friendships, we went to bat for each other. Sometimes literally. That was the basic rule of being in a crew: you backed each other up. No matter what. Now, I couldn't say our case was the same for the others. Some were more official. They had auditions, a whole application process, but some just happened naturally.
Those were the best kind.
That's how we had come to be.
Jordan, Zellman, Cross, and me. We were known as the Wolves, though we didn't have an official name. There were no T-shirts or secret handshakes. Our crew had formed over several years because of a couple key events. The first was in sixth grade when Zellman was being bullied. Jordan had waded in. He'd thrown kids out of the way and given the bully a couple black eyes. Hence Zellman's loyalty to Jordan.
The next time was at the end of seventh grade.
A guy tried to creep up on me behind school one day. I fought back, but he had friends. What could've happened, I didn't like to think about.
Cross and I had been friends since Amy Pundrie called me fat in third grade, and Cross told her she was Amy Pigdrie instead. He'd kept calling her that until he got in trouble in fourth grade and was sent to the principal. He only whispered the name after that, and it got shortened to Amy Piggy. Once I hit puberty and realized what it meant to be a girl, I told him to knock it off with the weight-related name-calling. He hadn't uttered a word about it since, but he still gave her the side-eye sometimes.
Anyway, Cross had shown up the day the creeper was after me, and Jordan and Zellman had shown up too.
Cross took out the guys from the left.
Jordan and Zellman took out the guys from the right.
I returned the favor a few months later when a guy tried to knife Jordan in a fight. I showed up, grabbed the knife, and slammed it into his side. I wasn't one to throw punches, but people learned to be wary of me when I pulled out a knife. My throwing skills were decent, better than most normal people, but my talent lay in the slicing and dicing motion.
There were other crews that were bigger than ours, but we were the most feared. There was a reason for that.
"You already know your locker and schedule?" Cross asked.
I nodded, heading to my locker. "Unlike you, I showed up for registration last week. Fancy that, me being the good student."
A few girls were already looking at him. I was somewhat surprised he wasn't already gone, getting his dick wet, but it was the first day of the year. He wouldn't be leaving my side or Jordan and Zellman's, not unless he was forced away.
He groaned, resting his back against the locker beside mine. "Something tells me it won't last."
I grinned, turning the lock until the door opened. Then I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. I stowed my bag inside and brandished the paper in the air. "Good thing I got your info too."
He snatched it. "Ah! I love you."
"What?" an irritated voice exclaimed behind us. "There's no crew coupling. Or at least there isn't in yours."
Cross and I shared a look as he turned around.
"Hey, twin sister."
Tasmin, who answered only to Taz, beamed up at him. Like Cross, she was naturally tan, with the same tawny hazel eyes and golden blonde hair. Even their lean builds were the same. Cross just had broad shoulders, while Taz was petite. Her hair fell to her waist, and today she'd braided one side along her skull, all the way to the ends.
She was gorgeous, just like her brother.
And while she wasn't in our crew, she was as close as possible. Cross was protective, keeping her away from the violence, and she also didn't like the system. She didn't understand it.
"Hey, twin brother!" She waved a finger between us. "Is this the reason I saw Monica crying at the end of the hall?"
He looked.
I sighed. "I knew it."
He turned back, frowning. "I never answered your question last night."
"So you two were together last night?" Taz's tone was accusing.
Cross cringed.
So did I. This was more attention than we needed. If you were in a crew, you got attention. Any, but especially ours. It was just a fact. Her voice rose and I cursed in my head, wondering who'd pick up on what she was saying and run wild with it. Wolves were infamous, but Cross was infamous in his own right. Me too, if I was being truthful and not hiding from it. Any girl who joined got noticed, and the fact I was in the Wolf Crew, which no one got into--this shit would be spread before the end of next hour.
I didn't like it, but I'd have to handle it. Still, this innuendo on Cross and me as a couple didn't rest easy on my shoulders.
"Hey, hey." I reached for her finger. She lowered it before I could grab it, and I rested against the neighboring locker. I raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't like that, and you know it."
She rolled her eyes. "I just think it's stupid. You two belong together. Now scoot!" She waved at her brother and nodded to the locker behind him. "That's my locker." She winked at me. "I pulled some Student Council strings and got us all together."
"Wait." He looked down at the paper I'd given him. "My locker is by yours?"
"You're smart," I deadpanned.
He rolled his eyes, but I could see a smile.
Taz nodded to where I was rest
ing. "Right there."
A grin spread over Cross' face. "Nice. What about--"
"No. Those losers are in another hall."
Cross and I shared another look, but it was what it was. Taz made no secret of her hatred for Jordan, and her volume had increased over the last two years. Sometimes I wondered if her hate was covering something else. Was there something more going on between Taz and Jordan? I hadn't braved Taz's wrath enough to ask her, and when Cross shook his head at me, I knew he hadn't either.
After grabbing my notepad, I moved out of the way. My locker closed as both of theirs opened.
"This is awesome, Taz." Cross didn't have a bag with him, so he tossed his keys inside. "Thank you."
While her brother was empty-handed, Taz was not. She carried a bag overflowing with items, and she'd pulled a big pink cart behind her. Books were piled high on it, along with locker separators, anything someone would need for an office, and a small dry-erase board. She had cardboard cutouts for photographs and even some pink glittery stuff. I had no clue what she would do with those, but this was Taz. She would make the inside of her locker a masterpiece. I had no doubt.
"Are you kidding me?" She dropped her bag to the floor and began unloading the cart. "You guys are doing me a favor. If you're both here, the other girls will stay away." She glanced over her shoulder.
I followed her gaze, but I already knew who she was referring to. There were the usual girls who gawked at Cross, but she meant a whole other group. Though the hallway was busy, that other group had gathered across from us. I recognized a lot of girls from our grade congregating at Sunday Barnes' locker. Half of them were eyeing Cross.
They saw me, but kept eyeing him as if he were a piece of steak and they were starving. They didn't care I was here. I frowned at that.
If they saw me watching them, they'd usually look away. My presence alone would deter them. Not today. Today, I saw the hunger in their eyes. The girls were brazen as they watched Cross. Sunday was friends with Monica, but as I skimmed the group, I could see she wasn't there.
I shifted on my feet, rounding to face them more fully. I didn't like this. I didn't like that they were ignoring me, even though I didn't care that they were here for Cross. That never happened.
"Their notches have gone up," I mumbled to Cross. They were getting bolder.
He grunted, knowing exactly what I meant.
"Stop that!" Taz protested, her hands on her hips. "I'm the twin. I'm supposed to have the secret language with him. Not you."