by Cheree Alsop
“She’s not much of a conversationalist,” Cassidy commented.
“Cass,” I said with a hint of warning.
“What?” she replied lightly. “I’m just pointing out a fact.”
“Another fact is that you talk enough for all four of us,” I said.
She shrugged and didn’t let my words bother her. “You’re just jealous that I have interesting things to say.” Sandy nodded in agreement.
I was about to reply with something I would regret when the bell rang and saved me.
“See ya after school,” Cassidy said with her usual grin before she and Sandy hurried down the hall.
I watched after them, feeling suddenly very tired. A thunder of engines heralded the Bullets’ return to school. I limped inside and wondered if not doing anything at the diner had been the right move.
THE BIKE PARTS WERE dry, so Jagger and I put it back together in between my organization of car headlights. The flat black paint had dried perfectly. Assembled, the bike blended with the night except for the few pieces of polished chrome that reflected the light from the porch.
Though it was late by the time we finished, I couldn’t resist the chance for a ride. I started the engine and smiled at the way it turned over smoothly and rumbled like a lion. Jagger handed me the helmet without a word. There was a light in his eyes as if he wished he was the one on the bike.
“Open her up easy,” he yelled over the engine. “It’s been a while.”
I nodded and nudged the gearshift down. The bike rolled forward in response to the throttle. The transition was smooth when I shifted up into second and drove out of the junkyard. The sweet spot in the throttle was easy to manage and responded readily. I smiled and pulled down the shield on my helmet to protect my face from the plentiful bugs and debris that always seemed to be blowing around Sparrow.
It had been way too long since I had ridden a motorcycle. I relished the rush of the wind and the hum of the tires over the road. The stars shone bright overhead and the partial moon hovered near the mountains. For the first time since I moved, peace settled over me like a cloak.
The lights of town drew closer. I knew I should turn around. The motorcycle wasn’t licensed and I didn’t want my first run-in with Sheriff Bowley to result in an impounded bike, but the road was smooth and I couldn’t bring myself to listen to reason.
I drove down Main Street, careful to keep the bike just under the speed limit. I was about to turn around when I noticed motorcycles parked outside a small mom-and-pop convenience store. I recognized Magnum’s blue CBR and my heart slowed.
On impulse, I pulled in behind the store and parked my bike in the shadow of the garbage bin where it wouldn’t attract attention. I reached into my backpack and pulled out the black riding outfit Jeremy had unintentionally stolen for me.
The jacket was made out of leather, but was thin enough that carrying it around didn’t make the backpack too bulky. The pants were thin but appeared waterproof and pulled on easily over my jeans. I lowered my dark shield and walked to the corner of the store.
Through the window, I could see Magnum and his gang gathering snacks by the armful. The store owner, a bald man with glasses and a pinched, worried face, stood behind the counter and watched the gang with a resigned frown. Magnum grabbed a six-pack of beer from the cooler and two bags of chips to go along with his donuts, a few candy bars, beef sticks, and a pair of sunglasses. He met up with the others near the front. Each of his companions carried similar armfuls.
They were about to leave when I stepped through the door. “Are you planning to pay for those?” I asked. My voice resonated through the helmet, strong, but muffled, so they wouldn’t recognize it.
Magnum’s eyes narrowed. Two Bullets, big, burly guys who looked like the only way they were still in high school was if they had repeated a few grades, stepped forward to protect their leader.
“We weren’t planning on it,” Magnum said evenly.
“I suggest you reconsider your plan,” I replied.
Magnum’s lips cracked into a humorless smile. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’re the one standing between the Bullets and our intended exit.”
I laughed inside as I replied, “If you’re going to leave without paying, you’ll have to go through me.” It sounded like a scene from a B-rate Western. I pictured them with pistols and cowboy hats. They definitely would have made a great outlaw mob—at least then their gang name would make sense.
“Gladly,” one of the brawny thugs replied. He grabbed a bottle of beer from his six-pack and threw it at my head. It shattered against my helmet. Everyone paused and stared at the boy.
Magnum smacked him in the back of the head. “You idiot, he’s wearing a helmet! You can’t hit him in the head.”
Embarrassed, the boy grabbed another bottle of beer and threw it at my chest. Surprised, I dodged out of the way and it shattered the glass door at my back. Everyone gawked at the damage, and then the Bullets rushed me.
I dodged a punch and slugged one boy in the stomach, then spun and elbowed another in the back. I dropped and swept their legs out from under them. One fell through the shattered door while the other tripped up two more members of the gang. I blocked a kick with my forearm and drove a punch to the attacker’s groin while still holding his leg, then spun him to block a wild swing from one of his comrades.
Someone threw a haymaker and I ducked so his fist hit my helmet. The sound echoed in my head and my ears rang. I stepped back, but was shoved forward and met a punch to the chest. Magnum swung for my ribs. I blocked his punch and slid a chop up his arm to his throat. He backed off, gasping for air. I was about to follow him when a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind and lifted me off my feet.
He threw me before I could react. I crashed into a row of shelves and they collapsed to the ground, spilling their contents all over the floor. The guy picked me up again and threw me bodily into another stack. Pain flared up my leg. The shelves fell over and brought another set down as well. I climbed back to my feet and bull-rushed my attacker. My helmet slammed into his stomach and he fell into his friends.
The store clerk was shouting. I heard the sound vaguely above the angry yells of the Bullets. I blocked two punches, ducked to avoid a third, and blocked a kick with my elbow. I then slammed a haymaker into one jaw, caught a punch, and turned with it to throw the spikey-haired girl into one of the brawny boys. Then I dropped to a knee and chopped a tall, skinny boy in the groin. I turned on my knee and kicked out to bring three of them down.
I rose back to my feet and surveyed the tangle of arms and legs that made up the Bullets. One guy with now-broken designer glasses and a tattoo around his bicep pulled out his wallet and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the ground. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
I searched for Magnum, but he was already gone. The rest of the gang stumbled through the broken glass door and fled the convenience store. My leg ached. I favored it as I looked at the mess the store had become.
“Thanks a lot.”
The dry tone of the owner’s voice sounded loud now that the gang was gone. I glanced at him.
“It was thirty dollars’ worth of food.” His expression was grim and he ran a hand across his bald head in agitation. “Now look. I have to rebuild my shelves and clean up twenty times that amount in destroyed perishables.” He blew out a breath and gave me a small, wry smile. “I appreciate what you tried to do, but sometimes we need to accept that the current situation isn’t as bad as it could be.”
The Bullets roared off on their motorcycles. I watched them through the shattered door as they disappeared into the night. “But it could be better,” I said, fighting to catch my breath. The helmet visor had fogged from the exertion; I fought the urge to open it and wipe it clean.
The owner gave a humoring chuckle. “Maybe so. But I have a broken shop to put to rights before tomorrow.”
His accepting tone flooded me with guilt. I turned to find him attempting to sweep the mess into
a pile. I held out my hand without a word. He studied me for a second, then gave me the broom. The steady swoosh of the rough fibers complemented the chink of glass and the dull thud of plastic as he filled a garbage can. We both mopped up spilled juice and applesauce, and he sprayed the floor down with the air of someone who took pride in the cleanliness of his shop.
Together, we lifted the shelves and he hammered those that had been damaged back together. While cleaning, I kept my helmet and jacket on, aware of the security cameras that sat in the two ceiling corners opposite the front door. The store owner cleared his throat when we were almost done.
“You might want to get that looked at.”
I followed his gaze to a trail of blood that was leaking from my leg and down my shoe to the floor. I knelt and pulled my pant leg up enough to see bloody patches through the bandages. My encounter with the shelves must have torn some of the stitches. “I guess sticking around will only undo the cleaning we’ve done,” I said wryly. My stomach rolled at the thought of going to the hospital to get the stitches repaired.
“Looks like it,” the man said in an unreadable tone.
I stood and walked toward the door.
“Wait a minute.”
Trepidation filled my chest. I turned slowly, worried he wanted to call the authorities about the fight. Instead, I found him holding out a box of gauze and another of bandages. “You might need these.”
I accepted them with a gloved hand. “Thanks.”
I crossed to the door. “Sorry about the glass.” We had swept it up, but replacing the shattered door would carry the majority of his expense.
He waved it away. “Glass is repairable. You gave me something to think about.”
I watched him silently, aware that he saw only his reflection when he looked at my dark visor.
He hesitated, then walked up to me with a hand held out. “Thanks.”
“For what?” I asked. I shook his hand slowly.
“For your help. It takes courage to stay behind and clean up a mess you had a hand in making. You could’ve run away, like they did.”
I smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Running away isn’t my style.” The words sounded cheesy as they echoed in my helmet, but it made him smile as well.
“Maybe the Bullets will learn something,” he said.
“I doubt it,” I replied.
He laughed and waved me away. “Go take care of that leg. I’ve got this.”
I left the convenience store feeling older and more foolish at the same time. I should have known better than to fight the Bullets where they could cause property damage. They wouldn’t shy away from destroying things others cared about. The part that bothered me was that I hadn’t considered the consequences of the damage until we were done. I vowed to have better timing if I chose to confront the Bullets so that others didn’t pay for my actions.
I climbed on my bike in the shadows and slowly passed the convenience store entrance. The owner raised a hand when I went by and I gave a short wave, then rode into the night. Darkness flooded around me, pressing my thoughts back in the steady hum of the motorcycle’s engine. It definitely wasn’t the only time in my life when the greatest peace I found was on the back of a motorcycle. I gave myself to the ride and let everything else fade away.
I KNEW I SHOULD go to the hospital, but the thought of neon lights and needles made me light-headed. Plus, the fact that Uncle Rick would have to drive up and authorize another medical treatment wasn’t a pleasant one.
Instead, I traded my motorcycle for the four-wheeler at the junkyard and drove to Madelyn’s. I parked it in the bushes at the edge of her property and limped to the porch. I hesitated at the door. I had never knocked, and after her father’s reaction to her being out late, I didn’t know how he would feel if there was a boy asking for her. Buck barked from his kennel, but he knew me and the sound was only halfhearted.
I limped around back and studied the windows. A familiar form brushed by the one in the right-hand corner. Madelyn had her long brown hair loose around her shoulders, and she paused by the window long enough to set her glasses on the sill.
I debated whether my luck would run better knocking on the door or climbing the tree with a bleeding leg. I chose the latter and eased myself slowly up the branches. The tree was big and old. The branches barely sank under my weight as I worked my way toward the window. I sat down gingerly and tapped on the glass with one finger.
The figure through the white curtains paused, then hurried over to the window. Madelyn’s face appeared and her eyes widened when she saw me. She pulled up the pane.
“Kelson, what are you doing up here?” she demanded in a loud whisper.
I lifted my pant leg and showed her the still-bleeding wound. “The hospital’s overrated.”
She grabbed my arm and helped me inside. I sat on the window seat and tried not to smile at the way she studied me with her hands on her hips.
“What did you do?”
I grimaced. “I think it’s better if I don’t tell you.”
She blew out a breath in exasperation. “Kelson, you’ve got to take better care of yourself.” She left the room and pulled the door shut behind her.
I looked around, painfully aware that it was the first time I had ever been in a girl’s room that wasn’t my sister’s. I shied away from the thought.
I was immediately aware of one thing. Madelyn didn’t have any pictures of family or friends on her walls. From her trips on the bus. I figured she was an only child, but I expected friends, parents, cousins, pictures of girls laughing and playing, and other things that showed friendship and fun the way my sister’s had.
Along with books on every available surface, organized but covering everything, there was a poster of a frazzled cat on one wall and a mirror with a T-shirt draped over it on the other. The wall had been painted a soft rose color, and her bed was perfectly made with about a dozen pillows on top of it. A pair of worn blue slippers peeked out from beneath her dresser, and the partially closed closet door revealed clothing hung up by color.
I rubbed my forehead. Instead of Madelyn’s room revealing who she really was, it just left more mystery in her wake.
Madelyn came back in carrying thread and needles, rubbing alcohol, rags, antiseptic ointment, and additional bandages. She set everything on her bed and glanced at me. “I don’t normally bandage strange boys in my room.”
“You reserve your time for the ordinary, boring ones?”
She smiled. “If you see one, let me know.”
I laughed quietly. “This strange boy appreciates it.”
She gave a slight frown, the worry in her eyes showing how nervous she really was about working on my leg. “Don’t say that until it’s over. I’ve never done anything like this before.” She hesitated. “You want to sit on the bed?”
I patted the wooden surface of the window seat. “I’d better stay here. This’ll be easier to clean up later.”
She nodded and poured rubbing alcohol into a small bowl, then set a threaded needle in it. “I washed my hands,” she said without looking at me.
“If I die, I doubt it’ll be from an infection.”
“More likely from Magnum,” she replied.
I looked at her, wondering how much she guessed about my current situation. She appeared not to notice and pulled the needle and green thread from the rubbing alcohol. I drew my pant leg up high and began to unwind the bandages. My stomach turned over at the sight of the sewn wound interspersed with gaping, bleeding holes. I looked away.
“Queasy stomach?” she asked in a voice that sounded a touch tighter than usual.
“I’m not used to seeing my own blood, apparently,” I replied through tightly gritted teeth. I refused to lose my lunch in her bedroom. It was bad enough coming to her to be stitched up, let alone defacing her clean, if not revealing, bedroom.
“I took you for the always injured type,” she said.
“Ha-ha,” I replied humorlessly. “Sp
arrow’s hard on my health.”
She stood next to the window seat for a moment. When I glanced at her, her face was white and her jaw was clenched. She met my eyes. “I don’t think I can do this.”
I pushed back so I lay along the window box and turned my face toward the window. “Sure you can. Just pretend you’re mending Buck’s collar or a pillow or something.”
“A pillow that bleeds?” she asked quietly.
I put an arm over my face. “I won’t make a sound, I promise.”
“And if I cry?” she asked in a pitiful attempt at humor. The honesty in her voice gripped my heart.
“Then I won’t feel like such a sissy when I do,” I replied without looking. I clenched my hands into fists.
I heard her kneel down, then a soft hand touched my leg as she wiped the blood away with a rag. I listened to her take in a breath, then let it out in a rush. Pain flared as she worked the needle through my skin. A squeak escaped me. “At least I can be manly about it,” I said in a rough voice.
She kept silent and continued sewing. Sweat broke out across my skin. My fingernails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists tighter. I took in short, rapid breaths that barely filled my lungs. The pain was excruciating. I began to doubt the credibility of action movies where the heroes stitched themselves up without so much as blinking.
In my manliness, I must have passed out. I came to at the brush of Madelyn’s fingers on my cheek as she set a cold rag on my forehead.
“You all right?” she asked, her brow pinched with worry when my eyes met hers.
I nodded and sat up slowly. She kept a hand on my arm and helped me scoot back against the wall. She had rewrapped my leg and cleaned away all traces of blood from the window seat. My leg throbbed, but it was easier to handle without having to look at the gaping wound. “Thank you,” I said.
She gave me a searching look. “That’s something I never want to do again.”