How To Train Your Kaiju

by Nicholas Knight

  I’ve only ever glimpsed behind that perfect mask of hers twice. That was two times too many.

  Neither Lusitania nor I bother to correct Brett. We know what we are and what we aren’t.

  “I don’t know you, though,” I say to the other girl, offering my hand for a shake. It amazes me how often guys will forget this simple gesture with a woman, especially among the people I tend to spend time with. My mother beat out any intentional misogyny out of me growing up. I look her in the eyes and when she takes my hand I don’t treat her like she’ll break if I squeeze too hard.

  From her smile she appreciates this. The girl’s got one hell of a grip, too. Like, seriously, damn good. Her arm is more toned now that I’ve got a good look at it. She’s definitely some kind of athlete.

  “Isabella,” she says. There’s a cockiness to her tone that I immediately find attractive. I’d find it a lot more attractive if she wasn’t in the company of Lusitania.

  “Aaron,” I say, the gesture to her car, releasing her hand. “What’s the problem?”

  “Battery’s dead,” says one of the frat boys. His stupid little shorts are some pastel shade that’s probably called “seafoam” or “aquamarine” or something equally stupid. “I tried giving her a jump. Didn’t help.”

  I glance at the vehicle. The lights are still on inside.

  “It’s not the battery,” I say, and pull out my phone to use the flashlight feature. It’s not really dark out, but it’s getting there fast. A few more minutes and it’s going to be hard to see under the hood.

  “What, you’re a trained mechanic now?” Seafoam asks.

  “Yes, actually.” That shuts him up.

  Half an hour later, the truck starts up. I’m sweaty and my hands up to my elbows are covered with grease—but I fixed it. The problem was nothing but a loose spark plug. F-150’s built between 2000 and 2010 are mildly infamous for issues like this. I’d have had it done sooner but I wanted to give everything at least a cursory inspection just in case there was something more serious needing to be looked at.

  “Holy shit,” Isabella says. “I was sure I was going to have to get it towed and taken in to the shop.” She hops up and kisses me on the cheek.

  My chest swells. I’m definitely feeling like a big damn hero. I’ve even earned the respect of some of the short shorts squad. Not sure if that’s worth having or not. It can’t hurt, I decide. Several of them were hovering around like vultures the entire time I worked, a few even asked questions. I did my best to answer them, but I really prefer to do my work in peace.

  Still…well to do college kids who all probably have cars, used or otherwise…I grin at them all. “Any of you have car problems, I promise I’m a lot cheaper than the dealership.”

  That earns a few good-natured laughs.

  I look down to Isabella, who’s grinning at me like I’m a knight in shining armor. She doesn’t even care that my hands are covered in engine grease, taking one in her own. “Can I get you a drink?”

  Beer and a beautiful face? Oh, I really like her. “No hay bronca, bonita.”

  Her whole face lights up. “¿Tu hablas Espanol?”

  I hold my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Poquito.”

  The whole while Lusitania’s been watching with polite disinterest from the side. She’s too well together to complain, especially when a friend of hers is in trouble, but I know she’d rather actually be inside where the party is. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was here to keep me from getting close to Isabella, because as soon as her friend takes my hand there’s a momentary splintering of her mask. Not enough to make it slip, just enough that she looks momentarily rigid instead of her usual flawless self.

  Brett turns to her with a gallant, and totally nerdy bow. “Can I get you a drink?”

  She smiles at him and with an innocent tilt of her head says firmly, “No.”

  Brett doesn’t seem to know what to make of this. She’s not being rude, just exceptionally firm. No games, no dithering, or polite excuse. Just firm denial. Most guys I’ve met have no idea what to do when something like that happens and Brett, unfortunately, isn’t the exception.

  He stands there blinking as Lusitania turns and heads into the house, the colorful shorts brigade immediately moving in to swarm her. Isabella and I follow suit.

  There’s an area cordoned off inside with several kegs and a table stacked high with red plastic cups. Lusitania is already nearly there, several guys offering her drinks.

  “Let’s head to the kitchen first,” Isabella says, holding up our hands together. “We’ll wash up first. They’ll have some dish soap there.”

  This girl gets sexier by the minute. It’s a random thing but that she knows dish soap is necessary to cut through engine grease means she’s got some degree of experience with this sort of thing. I like a girl who’s not afraid to get dirty.

  Unfortunately, Brett follows us into the kitchen.

  “Dude, your cousin’s kind of a bitch,” he whines.

  Isabella and I are in the middle of washing our hands together. It’s a sweet moment, definitely some flirty playfulness going on here, and he’s not taking the damn hint to skedaddle.

  I roll my eyes at him. It’s not that I disagree with him. Hell, if anyone ever had the balls to say that to Lusitania’s face she’d probably secretly agree with them, all while feigning hurt and confusion, of course. “Ladies” did not take open pride in a guy calling them a bitch. No, the thing that pisses me off is that she really hadn’t done anything to earn the label this time. She shot him down hard. She wasn’t mean about it, just firm. But Brett’s ego is hurt. And admittedly it takes a lot to put yourself out there and make a move on a girl like Lusitania or Isabella.

  Fortunately, I’m saved from having to break bro-code by Isabella. “Quit whining and grow some huevos.”

  Damn. I think I’m in love. Is it too soon to propose?

  Brett doesn’t seem to know what to do with this any more than Lusitania’s hard rejection. He looks to me, like he’s expecting me to say something. I just shrug. I don’t disagree with her. It sucks he got shot down, even if it is for the best—I wouldn’t wish a relationship with Lusitania on my worst enemy—but he’s taking it like a bitch.

  He crosses his arms. “What happened to ‘bros before hos?’”

  I feel Isabella stiffen beside me.

  “No hos here,” I say. That earns me a quick grin from Isabella. Worth it. Also, since when are we ‘bros?’ It wasn’t even an hour ago that this guy was accusing me of being an addict. “Seriously, man up. There’s plenty of pretty girls here. And you don’t want to start anything with Lusitania anyway.”

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “Just trust me on this,” I say. “The crazy is not worth it. Now, go get fishing.”

  Reluctantly he heads off, leaving me and Isabella as alone as the party allows.

  “Crazy, huh?” she asks. And now she’s giving me a funny look.

  “You disagree?” I ask. “How long have you known her anyway?”

  She shrugs. “We were roommates last year. Worked out well enough that we’re sharing a house off-campus now.”

  I’m floored. “You actually live with her? You’re a brave woman.”

  That earns a laugh. “Brave, but not stupid enough to call her crazy where she can here me.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You call her crazy behind her back?”

  “I never call her crazy anywhere,” she says laughing. “She’d somehow know.”

  I’m about to laugh but Lusitania enters the kitchen just then, angelic face stony. She’s heard me all right. Dammit.

  “Isabella,” she says. “A word?”

  Isabella gives my arm a quick squeeze. “Catch you in a bit. Don’t worry, I won’t forget I owe you a drink for fixing my car.”

  That’s something at least. The look Lusitania gives me over her shoulder as they leave, however, does not fil
l me with hope.

  Chapter Fifteen

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  “All I’m saying,” says Alex. “Is that you really should consider all your options. Seriously, Bro, think about the benefits.”

  It’s a weird feeling, being scouted by a frat boy who wants me to pledge. Considering my temper and the inevitable hazing that accompanies pledges, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m ineligible. You don’t think about all the ways having a prison record can fuck you up until you’ve got one.

  Neither of these things are points I want to explain to Alex. He’s a nice enough guy, maybe a year or two older than me. I don’t know what his official title is but he’s an officer in his frat. He’s wearing those stupid shorts like the rest of them, bright ladybug red, and holding a beer. He actually met me when I stepped out of the kitchen with another cup ready for me, which I am damn glad to be drinking.

  I’m not a big drinker, but sometimes I really just need to kick back a cold one and it’s been way, way too long since I’ve indulged. The better part of a year, really. I wasn’t about to drink during my trial, couldn’t while I was incarcerated, and was in too much of a rush and trapped beneath parental supervision after I got out. Objectively speaking it’s not a great brew, a little warm, a little flat, and I definitely would have preferred it come from a bombshell like Isabella instead of a guy in girl shorts. Objectivity can take a fucking hike. I know all this shit about the beer, taste it, feel it, and I don’t give a crap. After so long, it’s the best damn drink I’ve ever had.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say. It’s a coward’s excuse. I won’t consider it. I know I’m ineligible. I just don’t want to admit it. Alex is doing his best to be welcoming and inclusive, I don’t want to throw it all back in his face with a hard no. “Tell you what, though, your boys need their cars worked on, you send them my way. I’ll give them the Alpha-Alpha-Epsilon discount.”

  Alex laughs. It’s a genuine laugh. He actually appreciates the offer.

  The other laugh that accompanies it, is mocking. “The mechanic’s too good to join a frat?”

  It’s Seafoam. I don’t know why he’s being an asshole. Truth be told, I don’t much care either. Best I can figure is he’s sore that I upstaged him outside in front of the girls. Just two weeks ago, the way he’s talking to me would have me clenching my fists and making ready to eat his words. His tone still pisses me off, but I’m too busy marveling at the disconnect, at my newfound control and separation from my temper to care.

  “Just don’t know that a frat’s for me,” I say. That’s about as diplomatic as I’m capable of.

  “Good call,” Seafoam says. “You couldn’t cut it anyway.”

  “As what?” I eye his shorts and buttoned up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “A metrosexual transvestite? I’m good.” I give Alex a nod, say, “Thanks for the beer,” and leave the group behind before I do something really stupid. I’ve got a better hold of my temper now. Doesn’t mean I’m in perfect control. All things considered, I think it’s best I not test that.

  I step outside and make my way around to the side of the house, figuring that’s the spot where there’s likely to be the least activity. It’ll give me a moment to take some deep breaths and get myself completely under check. Doc’s game is helping, no doubt about it, but why take the chance?

  As I near the corner, however, I hear a pair of familiar voices talking. I’m about to turn and leave them to it when I realize that they’re talking about me.

  “Seriously, Bella?” Lusitania says, and her controlled mask is gone. There’s genuine frustration and disdain in her voice, nothing she would ever let her rich parents or any of their friends see. “You can do so much better than Aaron.”

  Thanks for that Lus.

  “I like a man who’s good with his hands,” Isabella says back. “You’ve been giving him the stink eye since you saw him. No, don’t deny it. I know your tells, girl. He’s your cousin, that’s got to count for something, no?”

  “He is not my cousin,” Lusitania snaps. “His gutter-trash maggot-dicked father seduced my aunt, while the pony fucker was still married.”

  A real angel, Lusitania.

  “You got such a way with words when you cut loose. You ever think about writing some of this down? You know, modern poetry?”

  “This is not funny!”

  I swear I can hear her stamp her foot like a little girl.

  “Look, whatever, his dad’s a cheating scumbag. Doesn’t mean Aaron is.”

  Thank you, Isabella. I knew I liked her.

  “He has no future, Bella. He’s trouble.” Lusitania sounds exasperated. She must have been trying to hammer this point home since she dragged Isabella out of the kitchen.

  “Because he’s a mechanic?”

  “Because he’s a fucking convict.” The words are released in an angry hiss. “He’s got no plans. No ambition. And even if he did, how’s Dick-For-Brains going to make it happen? The only reason that shit-stained-ass-munch is here is because his father asked mine to pull some strings.”

  Well that explained a lot. Lusitania’s father was a United States senator. Her mother came from money, which, if I’m remembering right, is how her father became a senator in the first place—marrying a rich girl’s as good a way as any to funding your ambitions. Hell, it worked just great for Dad.

  My budding nausea is interrupted by Isabella’s quiet voice. “He’s a convict?”

  “Cut some kind of deal and got early release,” Lusitania says. “Dad told me to stay away from him.”

  “And you always do what your father says?” There’s a teasing note in Isabella’s voice. One that I don’t think many people could get away with using with Lusitania.

  “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Lusitania snaps. “Of course not. If he didn’t piss me off so much I’d make friends with him just to spite Dad. But he’s so damn smug, acting like he hasn’t caught the luckiest break in his useless maggoty life. He hasn’t earned the right to be here. He didn’t put in the effort. Hell, he probably doesn’t even want to be here.”

  “And your Daddy didn’t make any calls on your behalf?” Isabella says.

  “Probably, but I told him not to. I worked my ass off to get into this school. I did all the right extracurriculars, tailored my resume, and kept my grades perfect.”

  They’re entering the real meat of Lusitania’s problems but I can’t bring myself to give a shit. Girl-code’s just as strong as guy-code. If my not-really-cousin shits all over the idea of Isabella and me getting together, then it’s not happening. I storm away from the corner, fists clenched, stomach tight.

  I don’t know what’s got me more pissed off, the way Lusitania was talking about me like I’m complete and utter shit, which her father clearly agrees with, or the fact that I don’t entirely disagree with her points. What the hell was I doing at this school? What kind of future did I have? I’d never really considered things further than a few months down the road at a time. With my prison record, what options did I really have available for me that I wouldn’t have to carve out for myself? What girl was going to want a real relationship with me? Not just a hookup, a genuine, honest-to-God relationship?

  I was forever relegated to one-night stands and girls who just wanted to use me to piss off their daddies.

  I’m so pissed off that I’m not really watching where I’m going. Unsurprisingly, because of this I bump into someone as I make it out onto the front lawn. It’s Seafoam. And my bump just made him spill his beer all over the girl he was hitting on. She shrieks and pulls away as he whirls on me.

  Glaring into my eyes, he slaps my red cup out of my hand, splashing the rest of my beer all over my front. I’m soaked and stink. I look down at my empty cup, at the beer drenching me that I didn’t get to finish. The first beer I’d had in over half a year.

  Seafoam’s talking some kin
d of trash but I’m not listening. His words are too irritating to pay attention to. But they won’t stop. He’s in my face. Trying to be a tough guy. Trying to make me back down, prove who’s really alpha.

  All of the frustration that’s been building over the past few minutes explodes out of me and my fist connects with his mouth.

  He staggers back a step. I take a step forward and punch again, this time catching him in the throat.

  He chokes and falters back another step. Again, I follow up and this time deliver a round house that sends him sprawling to the ground. Who’s top dog now, bitch?

  He’s not unconscious, just moaning on the ground. It’s so pathetic that I hesitate. That hesitation lets me hear the gasps and screams going up all around me. A quick look around reveals that everyone’s pulled back. Several people are snapping photos with their phones or maybe recording this. Some are laughing. Most are horrified.

  I’ve violated their safe little world. I doubt if one in every ten of these students has ever actually been in a fight. Violence just isn’t a part of their lives. The girls especially seem sickened. I don’t know a lot about girls, but the “alpha male” aspect that so many find attractive actually has very little to do with real violence. I’ve crossed the line in many of their eyes from sexy to dangerous.

  Worst of all, when I turn around I find Isabella and Lusitania watching from the porch. Isabella is gaping. Lusitania’s mask is firmly in place. Even so, I swear I can feel her smirking, looking down on me. I knew you’d never be more than trash her look seems to say.

  There’s no salvaging this. No saving face.

  I’ll probably be expelled before the semester ever begins. Hell, I might even be back in prison before the end of the month.

  Without another word, I head back for my dorm.

  Chapter Sixteen