by Cheree Alsop
Uncle Rick gave me a bland look from the side of his cow and Cassidy snickered behind me. I hoped she would let it drop, but I knew her better than that. “What would you name them?” she asked.
I thought about it for a moment, then pointed to each of the three cows and said, “Hamburger, Barbecue, and Tri-tip. This black one’s Barbecue because of her color.” I chuckled, then realized I was the only one laughing.
Cassidy stared at me while both boys hid their grins as if certain their father wouldn’t approve. I met his flat look again. “For your information, Kelson, these cows have been in our family for five years and they’ll be here at least double that if we take care of them. They’re Holsteins, which are dairy cattle, not beef cattle, so the names you picked are not appropriate.”
Convinced he would find a way to turn anything I said into a shot against the family, I shut my mouth and tried to milk the cow as Uncle Rick had directed. The second my hand touched the cow’s udder, she kicked out and caught me in the leg with her back hoof. I yelped in pain and fell off the chair.
“What happened?” Uncle Rick asked. He towered above me faster than I thought the man could move. He glanced from me to the cow; I became aware of Cole’s laughter.
“Barbecue doesn’t like you,” the boy said.
This time a smile creased Uncle Rick’s lips, then disappeared before I was sure I had seen it. “You’d better go have Lauren look at that. I don’t want you late for school.”
I scrambled to my feet and limped toward the door. Cassidy patted my arm. “I’ll finish your milking,” she said before I left. Laughter rose from all four of them before I reached the back door to the house.
“Everything all right, dear?” Aunt Lauren asked when I entered the kitchen.
I ignored the pain and forced myself to walk normally. “Nature calls,” I said.
She nodded and I made my way to the bathroom. I sat down on the edge of the tub and lifted my pant leg to find bruises already starting around my ankle. I swore softly and stood back up, then winced. The farming life definitely wasn’t for me.
“HOW’S YOUR LEG?” CASSIDY asked while we waited for the bus.
“Fine, thanks,” I replied in a dry tone.
She laughed. “Dad loves his cows.”
“Apparently.”
The bus pulled up and I hobbled to the back seat. The vehicle jerked forward before I could sit and my backpack fell to the ground with all the contents spilling out. I gathered my belongings together, muttering words I’m not sure anyone in Sparrow even knew, then threw the backpack on the seat, certain the day was going to be a total disaster. When I sat down next to it, I realized someone had taken the seat across the aisle.
The girl from the house I had walked to last night sat with her knees against the seat in front of her and her nose buried so deep in a book, I could barely see her features. I leaned forward without realizing it and her eyes flicked to me, then back to her book. I turned away in embarrassment. Apparently I had a habit of staring at her in the light of day as well.
I kept my gaze glued firmly out the window, but something about the girl kept my attention. Her eyes were the kind of hazel with green irises and gold around the outside. The sight of them stuck in my head. She wasn’t pretty, per se, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her clothes a mismatch of obvious hand-me-downs, but there was something intriguing about her.
I glanced at her again and was happy to find she had turned toward the window where she wouldn’t catch me staring. I had an excellent view of her profile. I normally didn’t study people, but I was stuck on a bus for another fifteen minutes with nothing but farmland beyond the windows; I’d had my fill of farmland.
The girl had high cheekbones with the well-tanned skin I saw on the farm kids all over school. Apparently attending school all day and working outdoors until the late hours of the evening was a great recipe for healthy skin. I knew several Goths in California who could use the tip. Freckles were scattered along her nose, and a dimple in her cheek showed even when she didn’t smile.
Her glasses were broken. The metal frames had been carefully fitted back together on the side closest to me and a streak of Super Glue was evident along the glass. The school bus bounced over a bump and she glanced my way. I studiously avoided her gaze, pretending to be interested in a thread hanging out of the chair in front of me. When I looked back, she was settled deep within her book once more.
The Call of the Wild was clearly embossed on the cover. It didn’t bear the barcode and plastic tape of library books, so I guessed she owned it. The spine looked worn, as if she had read the book many times. I sat back, surprised about her choice of literature. I took her for a Pride and Prejudice type, or maybe one of those obsessed with the current vampire trend. Perhaps she had to read the book for school.
When I disembarked the great yellow wannabe Twinkie, Cassidy and Sandy were waiting for me.
“Cass told me about the cows,” Sandy said. She laughed, showing braces banded with the school’s colors of black and yellow. The combination made her teeth look like they were rotting.
“I’m sure she did,” I replied. I rolled my eyes, and Cassidy grinned.
The girl from the bus walked by with the book still held in front of her. She magically managed to miss the railing that split the school’s cement stairs in two and drifted up them, oblivious to the world around her.
“Who’s that?” I asked before I could second-guess my question.
Cassidy followed my gaze. “Madelyn West? She’s our neighbor.”
She looked back at me curiously and I replied as smoothly as I could, “I wanted to ask her about the book she was reading.”
“You don’t seem the bookish type,” Sandy said. I knew I didn’t imagine the wistful hint to her tone.
“I doubt you’ve ever opened a book,” Cassidy agreed. She lowered her eyebrows in mock suspicion.
I swung my backpack over my shoulder. “I’ve opened a book, Cass. The phone book.”
Sandy laughed as if my lame statement was the funniest thing she had ever heard. Cassidy pushed her shoulder. “No one uses the phone book anymore,” she said. She set her cell phone to silent and shoved it in her pocket. “That’s antiquated.”
“Oh, look who’s using big words,” I replied.
She shot me a look. “That’s what happens when you open books. You use . . .” She paused, her brows pinched as she concentrated. “Gargantuan words.” She gave me a look of triumph.
“Was that the biggest one you could think of?” I asked.
She stuck her tongue out and hurried into school with Sandy.
I paused at my locker and managed to open it after the second try. I tossed my backpack inside, grabbed a notebook and my English textbook, then shut it in time to see students running down the hall.
“Hurry, we’ll miss it,” a boy said to a girl as they rushed past.
Curious, I followed them down the hall to join the mass of students at the end. I pushed my way through and found Magnum and his thugs picking on two scrawny students who looked like they belonged in biology instead of on the receiving end of Magnum’s fist. He slugged one of the boys again, breaking the kid’s glasses, then shoved him in a locker. The second boy followed closely behind.
“Doubt the newbies’ll mess with the Bullets,” a girl nearby said to her friend. “Of course, they didn’t look the type to bother Magnum anyway.”
“Everyone bothers Magnum,” the other girl replied.
They both looked up suddenly, as if afraid they would be overheard. Magnum and the Bullets were too busy laughing about their triumph to notice. I felt a brief impulse to drive a fist into Magnum’s stomach the way he had to me in the lunchroom, take him down with an elbow in his back, twist his arm so the bones locked and any movement meant pain, then make him apologize to the kids in the lockers.
I envisioned the movements I had trained hard to make fluid and natural. The technique would be a bit more brutish than my
usual style, but I didn’t mind taking a page from Magnum’s book. I might even add a few of his groupies to the mix.
It took me a moment to realize I gripped my notebook and English book so hard that my knuckles were white. I remembered my promise to Cassidy and willed my muscles to relax. Students began to drift away now that the excitement was over. Magnum left with five guys trailing behind.
The will to fight against injustice thrummed through my veins with a ferocity that surprised me. I was never one to stand up for weaklings, but I had also never seen so many people just watch while one of their own was tormented. It rang discordant in my heart. Zoey would never have allowed such a thing. I closed my eyes and willed the ache in my heart to go away.
When I opened my eyes again, the hall was empty. A quiet tap sounded within one of the lockers. “Hello?”
I let out a loud breath and opened both lockers. The boys squinted at the light, then stepped out shakily.
“Thanks,” one croaked out.
“At least he forgot the wedgies,” the other said.
“You mean he’s done this before?” I asked.
The first boy nodded. “He does every year. He forgets we’re not new.”
I wanted to hit something. The locker the first boy just vacated made an easy target. I slammed my fist into it before asking myself if it was a good idea. The thin metal dented so the locker didn’t close properly.
The two boys stared at me with matching looks of surprise and a hint of fear. I wasn’t built like Magnum—a bulldozer with guns who looked as if steroid use was probable—but I wasn’t a pushover, either. I lifted weights and had been captain of the Mixed Martial Arts Club at my last high school.
I knew Magnum targeted me in front of everyone in the lunchroom because he wanted to ensure I wouldn’t be trouble. What I couldn’t decide was if folding had been a good idea. Maybe the students I freed wouldn’t have spent time in the lockers if I had stood up for myself—then I remembered the teacher with the clipboard in the lunchroom. It was one thing if students didn’t stop a fight; it was another when the teachers looked the other way. If Magnum’s gang had the school under wraps, I might have been suspended. Who knows what Uncle Rick would make me do with a few free days on the farm?
I glanced at the dent in the locker door, then at the two boys who looked fairly close to my age. “You guys juniors?”
They both nodded.
“What are your names?”
“I’m Sam and this is Jared,” the first boy said.
“The Bullets beat up kids like this every year?”
They nodded again and Jared gulped noisily. “I, uh, they like to remind everyone that they’re in charge.”
“Why are they in charge?”
The students looked at each other as if debating whether I was crazy. I smoothed the crumpled sheets of my notebook. “Look, I just don’t like bullies, that’s all.” I indicated the locker. “Sorry if I scared you. I don’t understand how that gang can have so much power over this school.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “It’s not only the school,” he said. At my look, he rushed on. “They own the town. Sparrow answers to the Bullets.”
I looked from one to the other incredulously. Jared nodded in affirmation of Sam’s words. The bell rang. I rubbed my forehead in an attempt to clear my frustration.
“We’d better get to class,” Sam said. I nodded and they both started down the hall, then Sam paused. “If you. . .” He swallowed, then smiled weakly when I nodded for him to continue. “If you could do that,” he pointed to the dented locker, “to the Bullets, perhaps this town wouldn’t be so scared of them.”
He disappeared around the corner with Jared close behind. I stared after them for several seconds until the second bell rang and I realized I was late. I took off running in the other direction, my crumpled notebook in one hand and the English book the other.
A ROAR OF MOTORCYCLES filled the air as we lined up for the bus after school. The sound sent a rush of longing through me as Magnum and the Bullets rode around the corner. I counted thirteen motorcycles—a mixture of cruisers, a few street-converted dirt bikes, and two bullet bikes. The sound of their engines combined was enough to make me want to leave Sparrow and go back to California, where my CBR waited beneath a piece of canvas.
The Bullets circled the school once as if to remind the students and teachers who owned them. Then they drove down the road in a tight V formation instead of staggered like most bikers did. A few other students rode motorcycles home, but they were single or in pairs. It was obvious Magnum made sure their dominance was well noted within the town. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and climbed onto the smelly bus. I fell on the backseat and resigned myself to another boring ride.
Madelyn didn’t ride the bus home. I told myself I only thought of her because she was a tiny bit interesting in a ride made duller by gray rain clouds that hung low over the town. I had never been a person to complain that gloomy skies made me melancholy, but it was hard to stay positive at the sight of fields overhung with heavy clouds. Plus, seeing Magnum’s bikers made the pain of being away from home extra sharp.
Cassidy called Sandy again the instant her feet hit the road, and the boys took off running. I followed slowly until Uncle Rick rang the bell, then I jogged with Cassidy to the house. I grabbed an apple for myself off the counter and waited with the rest of them out back for my orders.
Uncle Rick sent Jaren and Cole to burn ditches. Giving a ten- and twelve-year-old access to fire sounded like a bad idea no matter how contained it was, but Uncle Rick said the oncoming downpour reduced the risk of it rushing out of control. Cassidy was sent to the Ram to haul hay again, but when I followed her, Uncle Rick called me back.
“I’m sorry I dumped the hay,” I said when I reached him. “I’ll drive slower this time.”
Uncle Rick took off his cowboy hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. I didn’t know people still used handkerchiefs. “Son, you cost us two hours of work pitching the spilled hay into the truck, and I also had to feed some of my best crop to beef cattle.”
I didn’t see the problem besides the two hours part. It must have shown on my face because Uncle Rick rolled his eyes. “We’re selling the cattle in the spring. We save the best hay to fatten them up before we sell them.” At my blank look, he let out a breath. “I got you a job with Jagger at the junkyard. He’s gettin’ old and can use the help.”
I stared at him. “You got me a job at a dump?”
“A junkyard. It’s where they throw broken cars and stuff.” He waved a hand toward Cassidy’s truck as she drove away. “I don’t have time to train you, and I’ve got enough help with my kids and the Crosbys. This way, you can earn a bit of money and help my brother.” He sighed and chuckled as though at an inside joke. “Actually, he’s my half brother. Used to live further south, but moved here when I mentioned the junkyard was up for sale. He’s an ornery old cuss, but he’s kin. It’s a good job.”
I had an opinion about that, but I refrained from stating it. My ankle still smarted from the cow and I couldn’t deny the fact that I had dumped the hay. “How do I get there?” I asked quietly.
“I’ll drop you off on my way to the Quonset. Cass’ll pick you up later tonight when you’re done.”
I nodded without a word and climbed into the cab of his blue truck. It took a minute of searching, but I found the other end of the seat belt and buckled it. Uncle Rick climbed in and gave me a strange glance, then started the engine. The black-and-white dog jumped into the bed of the truck like he had the day before, reminding me that for some reason, everyone rode in the back of trucks in the country instead of the perfectly suitable passenger seat. I slumped and stared out the window, sure I was never going to figure this place out.
Uncle Rick drove a few miles out of his way to drop me off in the middle of what looked like every car and tractor part imaginable strung out along afield. Piles taller than Uncle Rick’s tractor
surrounded the field. As we drove through, I saw half a Corvette in one stack and spotted the other half crunched almost beyond recognition near a pile of tires that had been faded by the sun.
Uncle Rick stopped near a small wooden shack in the middle of the lot. “Enjoy,” he said as if he would be the one enjoying the fact that I worked at the junkyard.
I mumbled “Thank you” and climbed out. The dog in the back hesitated for a moment as if debating whether to follow me, then Uncle Rick turned the truck and the dog settled again in the middle of the bed.
I watched them leave and listened to the truck after it rounded the final pile of debris and disappeared from view. The door of the wooden shack swung open with a creak of protest. A loud crack sounded, followed by a puff of dirt at my feet. My breath caught in my throat and I jumped, turning to see who was firing at me.
A portly man with sparse gray hair and a long beard laughed. He held a rifle in the crook of his elbow and leaned heavily on a cane. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all day,” he said, chuckling. He indicated the junkyard. “And as you can tell, the comedy is rich here.”
I didn’t know how to respond to a crazy man with a gun. He must have guessed my apprehension because he turned the gun so I could see a strange canister on top of it. “Air-powered paintball gun. Sheriff don’t let me walk ‘round armed since the Taylor kid broke in and I almost shot ‘im.” He winked. “’Course, that’s what guns’re for, right?”
“I thought so,” I replied cautiously.
He grinned. “Right ya are.” He motioned me forward. I complied, against my better judgment. He squinted when I reached the single stair to the shack’s slanted porch. “You the boy Rick called me ‘bout?” He scratched the few strands of hair on his forehead. “’Course, I don’ know why else you’d be here, ‘less you like bein’ shot with paintballs.”
I shook my head. “Not my favorite thing.”
He grinned, showing a few very crooked teeth. “Not mine either. We ‘ave somethin’ in common.”