Sever

by J. M. Miller

  “Ow, shit!” he yelled, shoving my body away. “I guess that tackle wasn’t a good enough lesson for you. You need another.”

  I knew he was serious, but I didn’t care. There was no way I’d back down. I jumped up and lunged for him again, prepared to do whatever it took.

  He stood just as quickly and blocked my first hit. I attempted another and connected with his chest just as someone snatched my arms from behind.

  “Syn, let it go,” Tanner said in my ear as I struggled to break free from his grip.

  Carter, Cody, and Ed stepped in front of Seth, shielding me from him.

  He seethed behind them and let out an angry laugh, recognizing he wouldn’t get past. “I’d watch your back, princess. I’m not a pet like these chumps.”

  “Whatever dickhead,” I yelled, watching him jump on his bike and take off down the side road.

  “Sorry to jet, but I’ve got to get home for dinner,” Ed announced. He used the sweat from his freckled forehead to slick back his blond hair then pointed to us. “I’ll catch y’all later.”

  “Yeah, we should go too. Same time tomorrow?” Carter asked. Tanner and I nodded our agreement. “No more fights ‘til then, Syn.”

  Tanner turned to face me after we watched the other guys ride away. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine,” I snapped, then pulled at my knotty strands of hair to tighten my ponytail and walked to my bike at the edge of the outfield fence.

  Tanner stepped beside me as I grabbed my knife from my backpack and slid it into my back pocket. “Look, that guy was a dick. I’m almost sorry I held you back, but you really should be more careful who you pick fights with.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “At least you landed a good hit.”

  “It wasn’t good enough,” I huffed, adjusting my backpack and throwing a leg over my BMX. The doubt was already settling in. After countless hours of self-defense and nearly the same amount playing tackle ball, I felt powerless, and I didn’t like it.

  Tanner took hold of my handlebars and watched his own sneakers kick some dirt beside my front wheel. “Wanna come over and play some Madden on the PlayStation?” His serious eyes glanced up, peeking through the sweaty mop of brown hair covering his forehead. “My mom said she’s okay with you coming over again.”

  “Right. Like I want to add more torture to this day.” I rubbed my ribs with both hands, feeling the next wave of hurt from Seth’s tackle.

  “She won’t kick you out this time. As long as you don’t break another one of her crystal cats.”

  “You know that was a freaking accident! It’s been months. If it’s taken her this long to say yes to your weekly begging, she’s not over it. She’ll never be over it.”

  “Well, you did toss it in the air like a cheap piece of plastic.”

  “It looked like a cheap piece of plastic,” I said with a scowl. “She has a billion anyway. She should appreciate the fact that there’s one less to dust.”

  Tanner chuckled irritably and backed off my bike. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and stalked toward the side road where his own bike was parked.

  “Tanner, wait,” I yelled. “Some other time, okay?”

  He didn’t turn around. His hair shook with his head and he waved a dismissive arm into the air.

  Great. Now he was pissed at me. Moody jerk. The day officially sucked.

  It was probably for the best, though, because I actually wanted to go, regardless of his mom’s issue with me. The move was the reason I kept my butt on the bike seat. Tanner was my best friend, and I was afraid to tell him I was leaving.

  With the lingering July sun still a few hours from setting, there was no real reason for me to rush back home to the apartment. Mom would still be at work, training her replacement manager at The Twisted Grape. Another double shift meant tonight’s dinner choices were leftover pizza or PB&J. There were also plenty of cardboard boxes that needed to be stuffed with clothes and empty promises. I was in no hurry for any of it.

  Riding around the outside fence, I pedaled toward the smaller concession stand. Since the town had built a new little league park a few miles away, this diamond was rarely used and usually deserted. It was surrounded by a fair amount of trees and bordered the railroad tracks, making it the perfect place to get lost for a while.

  As I propped my bike against a tree, I heard shouting on the train tracks. My curiosity won over the urge to ignore it and I peeked through the trees to spy the scene below.

  Two guys—one blond and a head taller than his brown-haired friend—stood in front of another kid with a shaved head. I couldn’t see the third kid’s face from the back, but I could tell he was almost as wide as he was tall.

  “I said, what were you doing up in the tree, Chunky? I’m surprised you were able to climb it,” the tall blond said with a laugh.

  The kid staggered back a step—his second mistake. Nothing says fear like a step back. Choosing to wear a bright red shirt with horizontal white stripes had been his first mistake—it made him look wider, a bigger target, his face the obvious bullseye.

  Great.

  The kid wouldn’t get out of the situation without help. I didn’t particularly want to watch him get stomped, so there was really no other choice. I had to help.

  After jumping down the small slope, the two bullies turned at the sound of my cross trainers crunching some loose gravel. They were definitely older, but they looked familiar. I’d seen them downtown before. The tall blond squinted against the sun. As soon as he noticed my gender and small body, he smirked.

  “Looks like we’re about to have some more fun, Tick,” Blondie said to his friend, putting a hand over the zipper of his jeans and grabbing himself.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

  I shook off the hesitation, threw back my shoulders, and marched toward them.

  Tick’s shifty eyes glanced nervously at his friend, unsure of what to do. Obviously, Tick was a nickname, and it fit, whether it referred to his nervous twitchy movements or the fact that he looked like an ugly bloodsucker.

  The kid in the stripes remained still, not trying to run away. He probably knew he wouldn’t get far even if he tried.

  Blondie must’ve seen the scowl on my face. He chuckled and smoothed a hand through his stringy hair. “Is this your friend?” he asked, tilting his head toward Stripes. “Are you his little ankle biter?”

  Before Stripes could blink, Blondie spun around and punched him in the face. He let out a pained grunt and stumbled backward, holding his face in shock. Blondie seemed set on grounding him, so he attacked again, speeding up his swings. Stripes finally realized what was happening and started blocking by ducking and shielding his face with his hefty arms.

  Within seconds, I stepped behind Tick. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he turned back around. I gave him my very best psycho smile before ramming my fist against his nose.

  He screamed. Blondie glanced back at the sound of his friend’s pain but didn’t abandon his target. He swung again, landing a solid punch to the side of Stripes’ shaved head, finally knocking him to the ground.

  “Knock it off, asshole.” I stepped closer.

  “You want some too, Ankle Biter?” Blondie straightened up. His lip twitched into a crooked dare of a smile.

  Taking in his size, every part of me doubted my chances. He was big. My weight probably wouldn’t do much to him. Then there was the fact that my ribs were already sore from Seth’s tackle, and my hand was throbbing from the day’s second punch. Things weren’t looking good. I had a chance to land one solid hit, but that wouldn’t be enough. The only real shot I had at beating him was if Stripes helped—his weight could do some damage. Unfortunately, he was still crouched on the ground, trying to wipe the blood off his face with the bottom of his shirt.

  “The only thing I want is for you two dicks to take off. You hit my friend, I hit yours. We’re even.”

  He scrunched his snub nose and laughed. “Even? I’m not
done yet.”

  “Not done picking fights with fat kids and girls?”

  “I’ll kick the shit out of anyone. I don’t discriminate.” He cracked his knuckles and took a step closer.

  I stood my ground, watching his smirk grow. When I heard footsteps crunch behind me, I knew I’d made a mistake. Tick’s arms hooked my elbows and pinned them back behind my body.

  “Let her go!” a muffled voice said. Even though I couldn’t see him, I had to assume it was Stripes, still holding his face. About time he said something.

  I relaxed my arms, and Tick’s hold automatically loosened in response. Knowing it was my only shot, I bucked my head back against his face. He dropped my arms and screamed again. Before Blondie could react, I kneed him in the sweet spot and as he doubled over, I decked him in the eye.

  “Ah! You fucking bitch!” he screamed. It wasn’t nearly as loud as Tick’s screams, but I knew I’d hurt him.

  My legs shifted toward the park, ready to make a run for my bike. Stripes stood only a few steps away, his hand still covering his shocked face. There wasn’t a bike near him. Without one, he had no chance of getting away.

  I took two steps, but time was already up.

  Blondie grabbed my arm, whipped me around, and clenched both hands around my throat. I grabbed his wrists, trying to pull them away. Leaning his face close to mine, he released his anger in a long breathy grumble against my cheek. I watched a drop of sweat run down his forehead as his fingers squeezed harder. The pressure traveled up my neck, building so much force behind my eyes I was certain they’d burst.

  Fear rocked through me, turning off all thoughts of self-defense. I almost panicked, until I remembered my knife. I didn’t want to use it. I never wanted to use it. But I would.

  My hand slid into my pocket and clenched the warm metal. It felt nothing like the wooden handle of the kitchen knife, which was why the pocket knife itself hardly triggered memories. This situation had changed that, though. They flashed behind my eyelids like pictures in a slide projector.

  The kitchen knife lay on the floor in a pool of blood beside John’s body. Mom’s mouth opened wide with silent screams. John’s blue eyes flashed with pain and panic.

  I blinked, snapping back and realizing I needed to shock Blondie enough to make him leave. I only needed to shock him. Taking in as much air as his grip allowed, I thumbed the blade open and sliced the side of his forearm.

  “Fuck!” he screamed, releasing me and covering his arm.

  I inhaled a deep breath, protectively covering my throat with one hand and holding the blade up with the other. “Leave, before I decide that cut wasn’t deep enough.”

  After they biked away, I took another huge breath, released it with a relieved sigh, and glanced at the knife. Blood tinted the edge of the blade.

  “You must be crazy,” Stripes said from behind me.

  “Yeah, well …” I replied, tucking the knife back into my pocket and watching Blondie and Tick finally disappear around the bend. I turned back to Stripes. Streaks of blood stained a good portion of the bottom of his pretty polo shirt and smeared his face and hands. “This amount of crazy just saved you a trip to the hospital. Blondie was the real deal. No bullshit.”

  “Yeah, I kinda figured that when he ripped me out of the tree,” he said, rubbing his hands over the pockets of his khaki shorts. “Where did you learn all that?”

  “Some from self-defense classes I’ve taken with my mom,” I answered as I eyed the rest of his body. The sticky humidity and probably fear had soaked his clothes with sweat. His sandals looked pricey, but they were the ugly type with the closed backs. I doubted anyone would want to steal those. “Did he take anything?”

  Stripes wiped a sweaty hand over his flushed face, rewetting some dried blood. “iPod. He took it before you showed up.”

  I nodded once. There was no need to ask if it was expensive. There was also no need to state the obvious: that he’d never see it again. “Sucks,” I mumbled, turning back toward the park.

  “Wait,” he called. I stopped and glanced back over my shoulder. “Are you an ankle biter like he said? Do you always jump into fights you have no chance at winning?”

  “I’m pretty sure that,” I snapped, spinning to face him and pointing toward the empty tracks, “was a win. And, no, I don’t bite ankles. I’m a damn Doberman.”

  He put his hands up. “I just meant, you don’t even know me, you’re half their size, and you still stepped in. I don’t understand.”

  “What’s to understand? I saved your ass. It’s your lucky day. You’re welcome.” I whipped back around, jogged to the trees, and hurried toward the concession stand. Answering questions was not something I needed. Ice. Ice was what I needed. My knuckles throbbed as I snatched my bag from my bike and removed my pick set. Luckily, the concession door’s padlock was basic and always a cinch to open. The rusty latch it hung on gave me more issues than the lock itself. I grabbed the usual tension wrench and rake pick and got to work. As soon as the pins set and the lock popped, footsteps and heavy breathing invaded my space.

  “What are you doing? Did you just pick that lock?” Stripes asked, panting between words. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “What are you doing? I thought leaving you back there was a hint for you to go away, go home, go somewhere other than here.” I rolled my eyes at the concession stand’s door.

  His feet shuffled as I removed the lock and pushed open the door. “I just wanted to say thanks. I owe you one.”

  I walked straight to the ice machine, flipped its lid, and shoved my hand inside, sighing as the coldness wrapped around my skin. His eyes tracked my movements. Even though they were starting to swell, his eyebrows were still able to scrunch into a disgusted look.

  “You’re welcome. You don’t owe me. Now you should go,” I excused him and grabbed a handful of ice before closing the lid. The cubes slowly numbed the pain as I rubbed them over my knuckles.

  “Right,” he replied, backing up to the door and stopping. “I agree with them about your size. You may look like a miniature pinscher, but you do fight and play like a Doberman, or maybe a pit bull.”

  “Hang on. That’s what you were doing in the tree? Stalking the game?”

  “I’m not creepy or anything. When I saw my brother heading into the park, I walked down the tracks so he wouldn’t know I followed him. My bike sucks on gravel so I ditched it by the main road. Anyway, you’re good, definitely better than me. Maybe even better than my brother.”

  “Your brother?” Seth? I dropped the ice and slipped my wet hand into my back pocket, gripping my knife and preparing for the worst. Always prepare for the worst.

  His lips turned down. “Whoa. You think I’d fight you after what just happened on the tracks?”

  “People do what they need to do when they feel threatened. It’s instinct. That switch can flip back to normal pretty quickly.”

  “My brother’s a jerk. There’s no switch for that,” he said. “I saw him tackle you after the play. He’s done the same to me, when he’s let me join a game, anyway.”

  My fingers relaxed on the knife. He wasn’t a threat. He could barely breathe let alone attack me.

  I nodded and rubbed my ribs, thinking of Seth’s tackle again. “He’s more than a jerk. He’s an ass.”

  “Yeah, I’m hoping to get even with him one day.”

  “Why not now?” I reached into the refrigerator and tossed him a bottle of water.

  He palmed the bottle between hands and eyed it skeptically, as though his life hung on the decision. A second later, he pressed the chilled plastic against his swollen face. “Why not now?” he echoed with a sad, breathy chuckle. “You were on the field with him. I’m the family geek, in case you couldn’t tell. The music and game junkie. I can barely run, and he reminds me of that any chance he gets.”

  Grabbing more ice for my hands, I asked, “How bad do you want to get even?”

  He didn’t have to answer the question. The gleam i
n his eyes showed me enough.

  “We can start training tomorrow, Stripes.”

  “Stripes?” he asked, confused. “My name’s Damian Mead.”

  “Damian, huh? Never would have guessed.” I eyed his clothes. “Charles or William maybe.”

  “Is there something wrong with my name?”

  “Nope, but I think Stripes is better.”

  “Not the worst nickname I’ve had,” he admitted. “You gonna tell me yours?”

  “Annisyn Kane. You can call me Syn.”

  “Are you trying to kill me?” Stripes huffed, hunching over to catch his breath.

  “Maybe.” I spun the football between my hands. “You keep wasting my time and I definitely will.”

  He stood up and used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The movement exposed part of his basketball belly, which had noticeably deflated in the two weeks we’d been practicing. He grumbled into his hand. “That pass was shit. You’ve been off all day.”

  “So?” I snapped when he finally looked at me. After going through every color of the rainbow, the black eye and bruised cheek Blondie had given him were finally gone. Now the only color that speckled his round face was an exhausted shade of red. “I’m just a little tired, okay? Besides, some passes are bad. It’s your job to catch them anyway. Maybe we should practice bad throw drills.”

  “So you are trying to kill me. Can we just break for a minute? I need a drink.” He released the last of his breath in a huff, blowing his cheeks out to their fullest.

  Each new day of practice he seemed to relax more around me. Sure, he was still a bit geeky and quiet, but he was actually kind of funny too. Today, though, he was unusually lippy.

  “Fine. And I’m not killing you, the sun is killing you. It’s hot.” I covered my brow and looked up past the trees, toward the intense ball of fire in the early August sky. Hot wasn’t the right word to describe the day’s heat. Hell was more accurate. We should have practiced earlier, like every other day, but Stripes was busy all morning. “It would have been cooler this morning,” I said, dropping another hint for him to tell me what his plans had been. He’d already told me that his parents had bought a boat servicing place near the marina, that it was the reason they’d moved here from Georgia. He was expected to help there most days, so if that was where he’d been this morning, he would have said so.