“Come on guys,” the tall one said. “Let’s just, uh, go.”
The three of them turned and wordlessly headed back inside the locker room, their wills broken with nothing more than a stare.
“I…um…I’ve never seen a…your eyes,” Kaitlyn said. “They were like a wolf’s.”
“Just some skateboard intensity,” I told her. “It’s a look I give to competitors before I do a reverse ollie. Nothing to it, really.”
“Nothing to it?”
“It’s like Sun Tzu said: ‘The best victory comes when one doesn’t even have to fight.’”
“Sun who?”
“He was a kind of a famous skateboarder,” I replied. Not sure she bought it, though.
Quiet, thoughtful, still puzzled, I could see that Kaitlyn was struggling to get her head wrapped around what she’d just seen. “Um, yeah, okay.” Slowly we began walking toward another part of the campus.
Me, I was glad those fools backed down. For some reason I doubted it would have impressed Mrs. Notley all that much if, while on the tour, I’d put three of her students in an ambulance.
We started walking.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Kaitlyn suddenly blurted out.
“Huh?”
“You heard me,” she said as we strolled along the stone path that cut through the green grass. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“What’s to know?”
“A lot,” she answered. “I bet you have a lot of secrets.”
“Who, me? Nahhh.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Kaitlyn answered. “My gut tells me you’ve got a ton of surprises.”
“Nope,” I replied. “What you see is what you get.”
We walked farther along. A bird chirped and then a squirrel scurried up a tree.
“You’re different.”
“Different than what?”
“Different from the other boys around here,” she said. “I don’t know how to explain it. They’re just more, I don’t know…transparent.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked.
“Not sure,” she answered. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“Well,” I said. “Good luck with that.”
Suddenly she stopped. “No offense, McCutcheon, but like that’s exactly what I’m talking about. I mean I’m not sure this is gonna work if you’re not willing to be more vulnerable.”
“I’m never vulnerable.”
“Oh.”
Damn. I’d spit that out too quickly.
“Wait,” I said. “What do you mean ‘this’ ain’t gonna work?”
“What?” Kaitlyn asked me. “You haven’t been thinking that there might be a ‘this’? Oh, I see,” she added.
“See what? What are you talking about?”
“You already have a girlfriend,” she answered.
I considered all the angles. Being vulnerable would be dangerous. Being vulnerable could lead to being hurt. Being vulnerable would lead to being emotional and emotions always clouded my thinking. After all, hooking up and getting down with a girl was one thing, but this, what I felt like when I was around her, well…I didn’t know how to describe it.
It felt different. I mean, yeah, sure, most definitely I wanted to jump her bones, but also some other part of me simply wanted to hold her hand. Do something pleasant and nice and warm together like go on a picnic.
Yo, wake up, dude, I then said to myself. This girl’s a princess, some Archer Award winner from a whole other planet. Really, what did we have in common? What could we ever talk about on a picnic? Shee-it, the last thing I needed right now in my life was a girl messing with my head. Letting Kaitlyn believe I had a girlfriend would give me the leverage I’d need to keep things status quo and roll right along.
I told myself to be strong, act smart, cut any ties before they became sticky knots that I couldn’t undo. I had other things on my plate. Real things. More important things.
Big-time things.
Yep, I told myself, that’d be my plan. Just lie to her.
“Nope,” I said. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”
Well, perhaps I was exaggerating the potential risks of everything.
She smiled. Something about the light in her eyes opened a locked door inside of me, and though I’d spent years reading the minds of opponents, it felt like the tables had just been turned, and Kaitlyn was suddenly able to read mine.
There was no defense against it, either. No counterattack. Though I could have had a hundred other girls, Kaitlyn was the first one I ever sensed I could fall for.
“So, are you going to tell me something?” she asked.
“On my fourteenth birthday I stopped by the market on my way home from school to buy three pink balloons.”
I began a story I’d never told anyone before.
“You bought yourself three pink balloons for your own birthday?” she asked.
“Not for me, for my sister. We were born on the same day exactly eleven years apart.”
“Wow, what are the odds of that?”
“Point-oh-oh-two-seven-four percent.”
“You’ve done the math?”
“Those are the chances of two people being born on the same day,” I said. “One in three hundred and sixty-five. Converted to fractions, that’s point-oh-oh-two-seven-four percent. Rounding up to include leap year, of course.”
“Of course,” Kaitlyn said, nodding. “Must make for memorable birthday parties at your house.”
“My fourteenth was extra special. I’d gotten the balloons for Gemma figuring she’s three, so I got three of ’em, right? But my mom, she beat me by a mile. Did a magic trick.”
“A magic trick?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She disappeared.”
“I don’t follow.”
Staying on the path, we passed around the backside of the Alumni House as we made our way up toward the main administrative building again.
“Okay, picture this,” I said. “I walk into my house carrying three pink balloons and am greeted by my father. He’s smoking a cigarette. Says to me, ‘Your mom’s gone. She ain’t coming back. Don’t ever ask me about her again.’ Then he took his cigarette and used the heat of the tip to pop two of the three balloons. ‘Don’t wanna spoil her,’ he told me. ‘’Cause you and your sister are gonna have to start learnin’ to do without.’”
“That’s, wow…horrible,” Kaitlyn said. “You must be so mad at your mom for leaving like that.”
“Not really. I kinda like to imagine she’s got a nice job, met a nice man, and is living in a nice, tall condominium building right now, just sorta waiting for the right day to come back and pick up her kids to take us all home.”
“You really believe that?” Kaitlyn asked.
“No. But Gemma, my sister, does. She’s only in kindergarten, so she kinda needs to. But me,” I said as I looked at the soft breeze blowing through the tall trees. “I’ve already seen too much of this world to believe in bullshit like that.”
Just then Kaitlyn kissed me. She leaned forward and kissed me good, right on the lips. When our mouths parted I noticed her eyes were wet with tears.
I expect tears would have come to my eyes, too.
If I woulda let them.
“Don’t ya think we ought to start heading back?” I said not looking at her.
“Yeah,” she answered. “Guess we should.”
Our footsteps were slow and casual, both of us sort of shuffling our feet more than we were actually walking. Across the way I spotted a gardener, his golf cart parked by a storage shed, trimming a hedge with a rusty pair of shears.
Of course they had gardeners, I thought to myself. Probably had pool men and valet parking attendants around here, too.
“Can I ask you somet
hing?” Kaitlyn said to me.
“Sure.”
“Your mom, why’d she leave?”
“Don’t know,” I answered, but that was kind of a lie. I’d thought about it tons, considered why she’d left a million times. And every time I thought about it, I always came to the same conclusion.
She left because of me. It was my fault. When I was twelve, thirteen years old, I’d rather fight than do homework. I’d rather train than study. Nowadays, I’ve changed a hundred percent and I handle all of my business, but back then she used to have to nag and nag me to get my schoolwork done and do my chores, and probably she just got fed up with my never-ending crappy attitude.
I was a bad kid with bad dreams of MMA superstardom and she must have just gotten sick of it. Plus, a week before she left, she caught me starting to teach Gemma how to box a little bit—you can’t ever begin too early—so I guess she figured to hell with these terrible kids and she took off to go live a happier life.
“Really, you don’t know?” Kaitlyn asked me.
“Not really,” I replied. “One day, though, I’m sure, I’ll find out, but the thing is...” my voice trailed off.
“Thing is what?” she asked.
“Thing is,” I said as nerves swirled in my gut, “I think I’m afraid to find out the real truth. Like maybe it’s just better not to ever know?”
“Wow,” Kaitlyn said.
“Wow what?” I asked.
“Wow,” she answered. “You really are different.”
I responded with a fake smile. On the inside, I wished she hadn’t said that. Didn’t she know that all I really wanted was to not be different, to be just the same as every other normal kid?
I’d always been different. Always been celebrated. Always been cheered. Always been told I’m one-of-a-kind. Well, deep down I’d learned something about being different, something undeniably and horribly true.
Being different was lonely.
We walked past a large yellow construction truck, and I chuckled when I read the orange-and-black warning sign that said TEACHERS’ PARKING LOT IS CLOSED. At Fenkell, we have roofs that leak right into our classrooms with teachers who use buckets sitting on school desks to prevent puddles; but over here, if there’s a pothole the size of a nickel, they repave the entire faculty garage.
Lucky me, however, got an escort to Mrs. Notley’s car, which had been parked down the hill on the main road. Something had come up, some headmaster stuff, so Kaitlyn kept me company for the ten or so minutes while I waited for my ride back to Fenkell.
Couldn’t say I minded at all. After all, even a blind man would prefer to stare at Kaitlyn rather than Nate-Neck and his lopsided zigzag nose. As far as training went—well, I’d just make up for the missed time at Loco’z with some extra one-armed pushups at home later that night, I figured. No big deal.
“Sorry,” Mrs. Notley said as she finally approached. “Never a dull moment around here.”
“No worries,” I told her as she pushed a button on her key chain and the doors to the BMW chirped open. “Your Archer winner’s been keeping me good company.”
“I haven’t won yet,” Kaitlyn said. “I think my chances are okay, but I still need to figure out the conferre ad communitas part of the application.”
“The what?”
“Conferre ad communitas. It’s Latin for contribution to the community. Not that there’s anything wrong with saving the whales or fighting for clean water in Third World countries, but I want to figure out a way to make a different kind of difference, something unique yet sustainable and really has, you know, like a big impact on a person’s life.”
A horn, loud and deafening, suddenly honked.
“If you could just take a step back for us, please, ma’am,” asked a big-bellied man wearing a white hard hat and neon yellow safety vest. Mrs. Notley, doing as she was asked, stepped a few feet to her left so that the giant construction truck reversing its way out of the school’s main driveway had room to pass.
The big-bellied man stepped into the road, waved a stop sign, and halted traffic, the loud engine from the truck drowning out all the other sounds around us. Unable to get into the car or talk without screaming, the three of us watched and couldn’t help but admire the truck driver’s skill.
A moment later, the horn honked again as if the truck driver was saying “all clear” and good-bye to his big-bellied friend. Then traffic resumed.
That’s when I noticed it—the green four-door parked across the street. It wasn’t the car, however, that caused my muscles to tense and my fists to clench; it was the driver.
Weasel.
What was he doing here?
He and I made eye contact. Weasel slowly torched a cigarette, and then, confident I’d seen him, he turned on his ignition, put his car in gear, pulled into traffic, and drove away.
How long had he been watching me? I wondered. Clearly, he wanted me to see him—but why?
It didn’t take me long to figure it all out. I was being sent a message, a message from my dad and a message from the Priests. Like property, I was owned, a valuable asset whose job it was to rake in profits. Eyes would be watching me. Always. Too many people were starting to make too much cash, and if anything risked interfering with the money flow, the business partners would have to step up and regulate.
“McCutcheon? Hey,” Kaitlyn said trying to grab my attention. “Mrs. Notley, she’s talking to you.”
I woke from my daze.
“I said, are you ready?” Mrs. Notley asked.
“Um, yeah,” I said, a bit hazy. “We better go.”
I climbed into the BMW, and as we pulled away a new question suddenly entered my mind.
Was Kaitlyn now unsafe?
SIXTEEN
After picking Gemma up from school, we walked through the front door of the apartment, ready to jump straight into our usual routine.
But Dad was home. And he wasn’t alone.
“Aw, he be kinda cute.”
Gemma and I stared, frozen in our tracks.
Dad had brought a tall, chubby, dark-skinned lady home with him. She wore a blond wig, sparkly purple eye shadow, and a fluorescent blue skirt over white fishnet stockings that were torn at the knee. The dress, if it could be called that, allowed us to see more of her chest than was appropriate.
On her big chocolate boob I spied a large tattoo written in blue script.
Destiny
Immediately, I understood exactly what was going on. My dad had brought home a hooker.
For me.
“A man needs red meat,” he said slapping the whore’s butt as if to push her forward in a go-and-get-him type of way. “Dig in, son. Destiny here’s got a magic about her. This woman is gonna turn you out!”
He laughed. My eyes narrowed, and I could feel my demeanor turning to ice. Though I tried to prevent any sign of the shock, shame, and repulsion I felt on the inside from appearing on my face, I was sure it was leaking out.
And in front of Gemma? I thought.
“No thanks.”
“Huh?” my father said.
“Not interested,” I told him.
“Wuuut?” the woman cried out, putting her hands on her hips. “Like I aint’z good enuff for ya? Baby, once you get a taste of me I…”
“Shut up!” my dad ordered. He pointed his finger at the woman’s face, and his ferocious look sent her a clear message: Keep your lip zipped unless you want to have it smashed.
The hooker glared, but wisely, kept quiet.
“You gonna to be ready for this kid from Oakland on Saturday, or what?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Funny how confident you are even though you’ve been missing trainin’ to chase tail.”
“I’ll be ready,” I repeated. Weasel had obviously reported back to him about Kaitlyn.
My dad’s solution: get me laid. “You ain’t got to worry,” I said, sickened by my father’s thinking.
Gemma’s eyes fixed straight ahead, mesmerized by this strange person in our living room.
“Take your jacket off, Gem,” I told her. “And meet me in your room. We’ll start your vocabulary words in there.”
Gemma, hypnotized by sparkly purple eye shadow, didn’t move.
“NOW!” I barked. She began to unzip her coat, and my father began to unzip his pants.
“Well, if you ain’t gonna take her for a spin, I sure as shit will.”
He nudged the woman toward the master bedroom, and without hesitation she went inside. Both Gem and I couldn’t help but gawk as her bubble-shaped ass jiggled toward my father’s bed.
“Ain’t no good sense wastin’ it,” my father said to me. “Hell, she already done been paid for anyway.”
He closed his door.
Wordlessly but hurrying, I went to Gemma’s clock radio on the nightstand in her room, turned it on, and cranked up the volume as loud as the small machine could go. My hope was to drown out the sound of my dad having his way with a skanky hooker while Gemma and I attempted to study.
My father, however, was a loud man with a loud voice who liked to call out all kinds of nasty descriptions as he did what he did with the whore. Gemma kept looking at me with a puzzled expression.
“Just concentrate,” I told her holding up another flash card. “Focus in and try to concentrate.”
When my Saturday night fight rolled around, my father was nowhere to be found. Alone in my corner after the blood from the previous cage battle between two girls, one black and one brown, had been mopped off the mat, I looked across and saw Razor, my opponent, bouncing on his toes on the opposite side of the closed-in steel pen.
He glistened with prefight sweat, getting himself ready for war. His manager, a fat guy wearing a backward hat, massaged Razor’s shoulders and inspired his fighter with fiery words about destruction and mayhem.
“You’ll kick his teeth out!”
“Yeah!”
“You’ll break his bones like plastic forks!”
“Yeah!”
“And if you get the chance,” his manager squealed, veins practically popping out of his forehead, “snap his fucking neck!”
Caged Warrior (9781423186595) Page 11