Emmitt’s in front of me so fast I actually have to blink at the air rushing by me. “Leave Dusty out of this, you asshole.”
“Ooooh!” Ricky and his friends start slapping drunken high fives. “Little Morton got himself a protector!”
“Shut the hell up, Rick,” Casey says from behind me. “There’s only three of you guys, and you’re all wasted. Just get outta here.”
Rick howls with laughter. “Yeahhhh…,” he slurs again. “I’m really worried about being beaten by a hippie skateboarder and my wimpy, retarded ex-hockey coach.” He sways on his feet and stares at me, and I’m not sure if he thinks I’m Jack or something, but it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is his last statement.
I’m not really sure why that last statement suddenly has me charging out from behind Emmitt, yelling, “What’d you call my uncle?” Maybe it’s the vodka. All I know is that now I’m face-to-face with Rick, and Emmitt looks totally freaked out by my sudden challenge. Good. Maybe that means he’s okay with the fact that I attacked his face with mine in his bedroom a few minutes ago.
“You heard me, punk,” spits Rick. “The asshole hockey coach ruined my career.” He drops his beer bottle and curses again. “Everyone in this town knows whatta dumbass he is, anyway. The day he cut me from the team, they all knew that.”
I’m strangely proud to say that I throw the first punch.
It’s a good one, too, right in the gut. Rick keels over for a second, and in that second the place goes nuts. Rick’s goonies go after Casey and Emmitt, and Rick is throwing punches at my head while I try to get him in the stomach (it’s pretty much all I can reach), and I’m pretty sure the rest of the party is in chaos—everybody is either trying to get out of there as quickly as they can or get in on the punching.
Rick gets me a few times in the face before Casey shoves him off, and I realize he and Emmitt pretty much have the goons (who I don’t think were too sober to begin with) incapacitated. But Rick, drunk as he is, is still going at all three of us, so I keep throwing punches as long as I can.
Until someone pulls my arms behind me, and I realize that someone is wearing a police officer’s uniform.
THE RIDE in the cop car is silent. Casey and I are in the back, Emmitt is in the front, and none of us are saying anything.
The police station is small, which is pretty much what I expect from a town this size. The inside doesn’t look anything like police stations do on TV, but it’s still pretty intimidating. The lighting is low and police officers are everywhere, filling out paperwork, talking on phones. Our cop, Officer Wozcoski, brings Casey, Emmitt, and me back to a claustrophobic little room where he sits us down and asks us our names.
He nods at Casey and Emmitt as they give theirs, and I get the impression he already knows who they are—small town syndrome, I suppose. Then I tell him my name.
“You’re not related to Jack Morton, are you?” This guy is huge, and I am not about to lie to him.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “He’s my uncle. I live with him.”
“Ah,” mutters the cop. “The prodigal sister’s child returns.” I have no idea what that means, but I also don’t really care.
He leaves, and Emmitt drops his head down onto the table with a sigh. Casey punches him in the shoulder.
“You freaking out about your season?”
Emmitt nods slowly. “If they press charges… there is no way Mom or Coach will let me play this year. It’ll totally wreck my chances with college scouts.”
A shot of guilt hits me. This is my fault. I started all this. I punched Rick. Sure, I’ll get in trouble, but I don’t really care what Jack does to me. What’s the worst that can happen to me? But Emmitt could lose hockey over this.
“I’m so sorry, guys,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have punched that dick. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Emmitt looks up, shocked. “Dusty, what are you talking about? He insulted Coach. If you hadn’t hit him, I would’ve. Especially after all that other crap he said about me taking his spot. Everybody knows he got kicked off for smoking too much dope. Besides, Dusty, you gotta fight for your family.”
I open up my mouth to answer, but I don’t have anything to say. I try to tell myself that I was really just defending Emmitt, but there’s no denying that I punched Rick after he made that crack about Jack. The whole thing doesn’t make any sense. I’m stuck on that point when Casey sighs. “Yeah, Dusty,” he adds, “He was talking smack about your uncle. You had to punch the dude.”
Defending Jack. Why would I do that? As Emmitt pointed out earlier, this isn’t my family, and I got shipped out here without anyone even asking my opinion. Why had I hit Rick, anyway? Especially after what Jack said tonight.
Except that Jack and Beth had taken the three of us in when we had nowhere else to go.
And bought us clothes.
And food.
And the kids really like them.
And I look just like Jack.
And I still have that picture of my dad in my head, telling me he couldn’t come back to the hospital with me.
Casey leans over and slugs me. “Hey, dude, where did you disappear to during the party? Did you finally hook up with Alicia?”
Emmitt and I exchange a furtive glance before I shake my head. “Uh… not exactly.”
Casey sits up excitedly. “So where did you go? Who’d you hook up with?”
Now Emmitt is squirming uncomfortably, and I’m annoyed that he even thinks I would rat him out. “Oh, just talked to some other girls. Ya know, in the kitchen and whatnot. Nothing very exciting.”
Casey sinks back down in disappointment, and Emmitt catches my eye and winks, as usual. That wink somehow makes me think maybe I can get through the uncomfortable conversation I’m pretty sure Jack and I are about to have.
BY THE time Jack comes roaring into the station, I can feel one of my eyes turning black, and Emmitt confirms it’s going to be at least that color. “Is there anything darker than black?” he tries to joke, so I get that it looks pretty bad. My head doesn’t feel too great either, and my gut, where I took a few hits from somebody, also isn’t in the best shape. Casey and Emmitt have their fair share of bruises too, but I’m still betting Rick looks worse.
Jack is preceded by Officer Wozcoski into our little holding room. He’s practically snorting fire. He looks us all up and down. “You three all right?”
We all just nod. There’s a woman behind him who’s basically a shorter female version of Emmitt, and it only takes my high IQ a few seconds to figure out she has to be Casey and Emmitt’s mom. She spends a few moments hugging Casey and Emmitt and checking them over for bruises before Emmitt finally introduces us. “Mom, this is our friend, and Coach’s nephew, Dusty. Dusty, this is my mom, Alice.”
We shake hands, and she never stops staring at my black eye. It’s definitely not the best introduction I’ve ever had to a friend’s parent, let alone the parent of a guy I just made out with.
Now that the parents have arrived, the officer sits down to take our statements, asking a lot about what Rick said and what time he arrived. Emmitt tells everyone that Rick has been hassling me for weeks. When the officer asks who started the “physical altercation,” as he puts it, Emmitt carefully avoids my eyes and answers.
“Honestly, I’m not really sure, sir. It all happened so fast. Everyone was just standing in a circle around us; it could have been anybody.”
It’s weird to hear him lie to a cop, but I guess it shouldn’t be. As honest as he is, Emmitt has never struck me as the type to sell out a friend.
I try not to work up too much hope that this means he liked what happened between us in Aaron’s bedroom as much as I did.
After listening to our statements, the officer leaves for a few moments. There are a lot of things I want to say to Emmitt, but I’m not about to say them with everyone else there.
The door flies open when Officer Wozcoski returns. “Well,” he says, “the statements of others at th
e party support what these three have said. It looks like we won’t be pressing charges against them.” Emmitt lets out such a huge breath it’s amazing he doesn’t completely deflate.
“Jack,” I mutter, “Emmitt’s not off the team, is he?”
Jack didn’t say much while we were giving our statements, but you can tell he isn’t very happy. “Emmitt, I can honestly say that I’m pretty disappointed with most of the team right now, since it sounds like most of you were in on this fight. Still, I know how Rick’s been since he was kicked off the team. This subject will definitely come up at our first team meeting, and I will definitely be talking to you and the other players about it, but I don’t think I’ll have to ask any more of you to leave the team. Thank goodness.”
Emmitt’s complexion improves about six shades, making me glad I asked. Jack says good-bye to Emmitt and Casey’s mom and crooks his finger at me, no longer even looking at Emmitt and Casey. I can tell Emmitt wants to say something to him, but he seems to think better of it.
The truck’s cold, but I’m not shivering. Jack drives quickly, and neither of us says anything for a while. He’s the one who speaks first. “Dusty,” he finally says, “I don’t understand what happened tonight.” He sounds almost sad. “Beth and I actually came back to the house with the kids early, because we were worried you might feel left out of the evening, and you weren’t there. Now, I’m relatively new at having kids in my house, but I think I had five heart attacks just wondering where you were.” His voice drops even lower. “Then, I get a call from the police, saying you were found at an extremely loud house party in a group fight with some of my ex- and current hockey players. Then they tell me that the fight was started by one of said ex-hockey players, who has apparently been hassling you for weeks, which you have never even mentioned to me. Can you explain any of this? At all? Why would you take off without even leaving us a note? Why didn’t you ever say anything about Rick? What the hell is going on, Dusty?”
I blink back something that might be tears, but I can’t see how. None of this makes any sense. No adult has really talked to me like this since Mom started disappearing, and I don’t even know how to react. “Whatever,” I mumble.
Jack pulls the truck over. “Why, Dusty?” he asks, and once again, I turn to the window so I don’t have to look at him. “Why did you do it? You could have asked me if you could go. I don’t know if I would have said yes or no, but you could have asked. Why all of it? Why not tell me about Rick? And why let yourself get pulled into that fight? Are you hoping to get me fired on top of everything? Do you hate me that much?”
The thing is, he’s not really yelling at me or anything. He never even raises his voice at all. But even so, that line pisses me off. I know he doesn’t know what happened in the fight, but he should figure it out—he has to know that Rick’s been hassling me because of him. “I just want you to leave me alone!” I snap, even though I’m still not looking at him.
I hear Jack sigh. “Dusty…,” he says, “I am trying to do the best I can here, for you and Matt and Julia. But you have got to talk to me. You have got to give me something to work with.”
I don’t have any answer for that, so I don’t say anything.
Jack turns the car back on. “This can’t keep happening, Dusty,” he says very quietly. Then he goes on about how I clearly need to try some counseling, and how hard he and Beth are trying… blah blah blah.
I turn to look out the window again. He’s right. This can’t keep happening.
Chapter 7
TWO YEARS Earlier
The knock on the door was unexpected. Race had gone home after school, so it couldn’t be him, and none of Dusty’s other friends ever came to their apartment. Checking to make sure that Matt and Julia were busy working on their homework at the table, Dusty went to answer the door.
“Hellooo!” Mr. Ludley, their landlord, was a decent guy, if eccentric. Dusty smiled at his greeting, which seemed to match his balding head and the polka-dotted tie he liked to wear. “Mr. Porter!” Mr. Ludley grinned. “Is your mother in?”
Not for over two weeks, Dusty thought snidely in his head. This was the longest she’d been gone so far, and there was almost no money left. Dusty had already decided that if she wasn’t back by tomorrow, he was going to go to the place where he knew their father was staying and beg him for money. “Uh, she’s still at work.”
“Oh.”Mr. Ludley frowned intensely. “Dusty… you know I enjoy chatting with your mother very much….”
Of course you do, thought Dusty. His mom would flirt and charm and get Mr. Ludley to give her extra time on the rent without him even noticing. Dusty found the whole thing disgusting.
“But she had promised the rent would be paid by now, and I still haven’t received the check.”
Dusty felt his skin clamming up. His mom hadn’t paid the rent yet? It was nearly the end of the month. “Oh, sorry, sir. I bet she forgot. You know how she can be sometimes.” He tried to laugh at his own joke, but he found himself almost coughing halfway through.
“True, true, I know she’s a touch forgetful… not unlike me! Listen, I’ll check back with her tomorrow, okay?”
The door closed, and Dusty ran to the bathroom to throw up. “Dusty?” Matt called after him. “Dusty, are you okay?”
THE NEXT day after school Dusty and Race sat outside Prescott, watching Matt play with a friend on the swings. Julia was inside at a minicarnival the school was having for the littlest kids, probably gorging herself on chips and juice. At least, Dusty hoped she was. Dinner that night was going to be slim pickings.
“I’m thinking of talking to your mom,” Dusty said in a low voice.
Race glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “You mean… about your mom taking off again?”
Dusty nodded, feeling his face go red. He was worried he was going to cry or something stupid like that. “I, uh, found out yesterday that my mom never paid the rent this month. And we’re almost out of food. And it’s been almost three weeks. I don’t know where she is. And I haven’t been sleeping much.”
Now a tear did slip, but Dusty wiped it away quickly and Race tactfully ignored it. “Yeah, Dusty,” Race sighed. “Maybe you need….”
“Dusty!”
Julia came racing out of the school, holding out a large creation of yarn and Popsicle sticks glued to paper. “Look what I made today!”
She bounced up and down excitedly; now Dusty could be sure that she’d had plenty to eat at the carnival. He took the picture from her and studied it.
The Popsicle stick figures were labeled, in shaky handwriting, DUSTY, MATT, and JULIA. The yarn around them formed smiles on their faces and a huge sun in the sky. At the corner of the picture it said, in the same shaky handwriting, “MY FAMLY.”
“I’m going to go play with Matt, okay?”
Julia ran toward the playground, and Dusty watched her grab for Matt as she reached him at the jungle gym. Matt began to help her climb the wooden bars on one side of the contraption, and Dusty turned back to Race.
“Never mind, dude. I can’t do it. I can’t. I’ll go see Dad tomorrow or something, get money from him. Mom has to come back soon anyway, right?”
Race still worried, sometimes, about Dusty’s temper, about being the one to push him over the edge he always seemed so close to. So he didn’t say what he wanted to say. Instead, he just said, “Sure, Dusty.”
THE SUN wakes me up early the next morning. My eye and my head hurt, but that isn’t bothering me nearly as much as thinking about the night before. Everything about it was insane. Me beating up Rick over Jack. Jack screaming at me in the car. Me screaming back. Me and Emmitt… well, something.
I haul my sore body out of bed. It feels like a million years since I’ve seen Matt or Julia, and I wonder if Jack or Beth have told either one of them what happened.
The floor below the attic is completely empty, so I figure everyone is already up and having breakfast. Sure enough, they are all sitting
around the table like one big happy family.
“Dusty!” Julia exclaims. “What happened to your eye?”
So nobody has told them. “Nothing, Julia. Just a fight.”
Matt’s staring at me, wide-eyed. I guess Beth notices, because she quickly changes the subject. “Eggs, Dusty?”
“Steak for your eye?” Jack adds dryly, handing me an ice pack from somewhere.
Is that supposed to make me laugh? I don’t know what to say, so I just nod at Beth and hold the ice up to my aching face. “Yeah, eggs would be great.” I sink into the chair next to Matt.
“Dusty,” Julia asks as Beth dishes out a huge pile of scrambled eggs onto my plate, “why would a fight make your eye purple?”
Matt rolls his eyes. “It’s called a black eye, stupid,” he says knowingly. “It’s what you get when someone punches you in the face.”
I freeze in my seat. Did Matt just call Julia stupid?
“Matt, don’t call your sister names,” Jack says mildly. He leans over to Jules. “I know it looks purple, honey, but Matt’s right. We call it a black eye.” Julia sticks her tongue out at Matt, and everyone goes back to eating normally.
Except me. I mean, what’s going on here? Matt and Julia, who have always gotten along really well, are fighting about Halloween costumes and calling each other names at the breakfast table?
After breakfast is over and Matt and Jules have been shooed off to clean their rooms, I decide to ask Beth what’s going on. I’m not about to say two words to Jack if I don’t have to.
Beth tosses me a concerned look as I follow her to the sink. “Hon, do you want some aspirin? That can’t feel very good.”
I accept the aspirin and choke it down. “Um, Beth? Matt and Julia seem to be fighting a lot lately.”
Beth looks shocked. “I’ve hardly seen them fight at all, Dusty,” she replies.
What is wrong with this woman? “Matt just called Julia stupid,” I intone, trying not to raise my voice. “They never called each other names before.” Before we got here, I add in my head.
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