Take Me On

by Katie McGarry

  What? Haley said she was a drug dealer. No longer able to stand, I drop to a stool. Buying it is one thing. Selling it...

  “You can’t feed yourself,” Denny reminds her.

  The glare Abby sends him prickles the skin on the back of my neck. “My assets are continually tied up, but I know people who can pay him.”

  Silence before he addresses me. “I’ve got one stall down in the men’s bathroom. If you can fix it, the job is yours.”

  “Give me tools and show me the way.” My older brother Jack constantly clogged his toilet.

  “Tomorrow,” he responds.

  “Now that this is all Brady Bunchesque, I’m thinking finder’s fee.” That damn evil grin crosses Abby’s face.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of not biting the hand that feeds you?”

  “No, that would have required me to go to school regularly. The way I see it, you were looking for something and I helped you find it. I deserve some appreciation.”

  They stare at each other like both of them are contemplating hitting the button that results in nuclear war. Frightening how neither one of them flinches.

  “You didn’t find anything,” I say. “I came in here myself.”

  Denny pulls his wallet from his back pocket and slams several bills that include zeros in front of Abby. She tucks the cash down her shirt and begins eating again like the whole exchange never happened.

  “Tomorrow after school,” says Denny.

  When he walks into the back, I steal the rest of the peanuts. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

  “No,” she says between bites.

  “Is he the reason my mom comes in here?”

  She demolishes her sandwich and dusts off her hands. It’s like a curtain shade descends over an open pane and the fallen fabric produces an intricate, sad design. For a few seconds, Abby isn’t the girl I hate. She’s a girl whose outside mirrors my inside. “Has there ever been anything in your life you’ve learned that you wish you could take back knowing?”

  A sickeningly sharp pain slices through my stomach, the ache worse than hunger. The serious set of Dad’s face while he told me to get the hell out and the bitter cold and loneliness of three in the morning in the car—I could do without those memories. “Yeah.”

  “This is one of those things, okay? Work here, but kill your curiosity. If you can’t, then I suggest the Laundromat. I hear they need an attendant.”

  It’s a numbing confession. Could the truth be that bad? “My mom’s having an affair with someone here. Maybe that guy. I can handle it.”

  “If it were that easy, I would have dragged you in here last Saturday and introduced you to the issue myself. Leave it alone.”

  Abby hops off the stool and steps into me. There’s nothing seductive about it unless you’re the kind of guy that likes to have your dick ripped off and handed back to you. “Tell anyone that Denny gives me food and I swear to God I’ll have you screaming like a little girl.”

  I smile because I can tell she means it. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

  “I’m lethal. Never forget it.”

  Abby leaves with as much flair as when she’d traipsed in. Who knows if anything out of her mouth today was the truth, but her last statement... Abby probably has never uttered truer words.

  Haley

  Dinner’s done. The dishes have been washed and put away and, on one of her rare nights off, my mother has become an anarchist. There’s a spring in my step as I walk down the dark street with Mom and Maggie. All of us are bundled in multiple layers of clothes to fight off the cold. Behind us, Jax and Kaden push each other, laugh, then one of Jax’s brothers yells out, “Go.”

  In a flash, all my cousins and my brother race past us with their arms pumping hard to see who will reach the neighborhood park first.

  Thanks to my mother’s crafty thinking, we’re all being rebels by breaking tonight’s curfew. Sometimes a little rebellion is good for the soul.

  Maggie slips her hand in mine and does the same with my mother. She draws back as we walk forward then uses our arms to swing herself into the air. She’s getting too big to do this, but I can’t fault her for finding a bit of happiness.

  “I don’t have a school project,” Maggie says, but thankfully she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut when Mom told Uncle Paul that’s why we all needed to leave the house.

  “Yes, you do,” answers Mom. “Your weekly agenda says that you’ll be starting physical fitness testing next week. You need to practice, and who better to train you than your family.”

  I try to suppress a grin, but I fail. Uncle Paul didn’t like my mother informing him that she was taking all of us to the park to help Maggie study, but because Mom asked him nicely and said please, he let us go. Personally, I think it’s because she offered to take the younger kids out. He gets irritated when they’re too loud.

  Curfew is a loose term with my uncle. It can change from day to day, from moment to moment. It’s created to suit his whims and his whim tonight was to agree to let my mother empty out his house.

  Mom releases Maggie’s hand and gently nudges her forward. “Go on now. Catch up with the boys. This is your first task in preparing for the test—running.”

  Maggie starts to bolt after the boys, but I hold on firmly to her fingers. The park is in sight and the dark February night is chased away by multiple streetlights, but there are dark houses along the way.

  I was jumped a few days ago and suddenly nothing in this neighborhood feels safe. “She should walk with us.”

  Lines crinkle between Mom’s eyes as she studies me. “She’ll be fine. I see her, and Jax and Kaden are watching us from the park.”

  Sure enough, the two of them have climbed the jungle gym and behave like soldiers as they scan the area surrounding us.

  “Go on, Maggie. I want to talk to Haley.”

  My stomach sinks as it hits me what’s going on. Just crap. Maggie yanks out of my grasp and races for the park. It warms my heart to hear Jax and Kaden encouraging her to run faster.

  “So,” says Mom.

  “So,” I repeat, feeling the need to hide the bruises on my face that I thought I had covered so well with makeup.

  “I heard you talked to your dad this morning.”

  “Yup.”

  “I also heard that you talked to John about a scholarship.”

  Figures John would snitch on me, but I ignore the twitch of anger because of the hope that spreads within me. Maybe this isn’t about the bruises. Maybe the makeup has worked. “Yes.”

  “Alice Johnson’s son heard from Notre Dame.”

  I stop, because the ache that I was rejected is still too fresh. Mom pauses beside me and places a comforting hand on my arm. “Did you get in?”

  I shake my head because I’ll cry if I speak.

  Mom stretches an arm around my shoulder and rests her temple against mine. “Why didn’t you tell us, Haley? Your father and I want to be here for you on this. And not just with the college search, with everything. It’s like you’re keeping everything bottled up all the time.”

  I readjust, forcing Mom to drop her arm. “I was going to tell you,” I lie. “Things just got busy.”

  “Haley,” Mom starts, but I don’t give her an opportunity.

  “I told Maggie I’d race her on the monkey bars.”

  Mom’s forehead furrows, but she nods, accepting that I’m ending the conversation. “No matter what, I’m here if you need me.”

  If I need her.

  I need her and Dad desperately, but since we lost our home everything has become distorted. “All right.”

  “Believe me,” she pushes.

  “I believe you.” I don’t and as we walk down the street, neither of us holds ourselves as
if we believe the other.

  West

  An insanity leaks into my brain that makes deciphering reality from fantasy impossible. The cold creeps past my skin, past my muscles, and burrows deep within my bones. My limbs feel numb. Mainly my toes and my fingers. I blow on them and I no longer sense heat.

  I’m low on funds and low on fuel, but I can’t take the chill anymore.

  With a flick of my keys, I start the engine and turn the heater on full force. This is my third night sleeping in the car. I think it’s my third. My stomach growls. Two in the morning, I’m freezing my balls off and hungry as hell. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.

  At home I’d be warm. I’d be in a pair of boxers under a pile of blankets. Stomach full.

  I could go back. Pull in and walk through the door, but I stop the thought. Dad threw me out and if I walk in, he’ll throw me out again.

  I roll to my side in the reclined driver’s seat, searching for comfort. Each night, I fall asleep, then wake up from the cold. And if the plummeting temperatures don’t jerk me awake, the demons haunting me do.

  Exhaustion causes my eyesight to blur, but I force myself to stay coherent. I can’t fall asleep with the car running. I’ll be out of gas by morning. It’s in these moments when reality mixes with dreams that sleeping in the car becomes dangerous.

  Wake up!

  My eyes snap open and my entire body shivers. I dreamed it. I slam my frozen hand against the steering wheel. I dreamed again that I had powered on the car. My breath billows out in a cloud and my fingers hurt as I bend them. I pinch myself after I turn over the engine. I’m awake this time.

  Awake.

  The air first blowing out of the vents is cold, but within a few minutes hot air defrosts my frozen digits. I push a button and the radio plays. Not loud enough to draw attention, just soft enough to keep me awake.

  This song played the last time I talked to Rachel—the night of the accident. She was pacing in a conference room in her golden ball gown. She was a replica of one of those fucked-up fairy tales she was addicted to when we were kids. Only Cinderella wasn’t a seventeen-year-old high school junior with severe anxiety issues.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel,” I say as if she can hear me now—as if her memory could have heard me then.

  “You stole from me, West.” The gown crinkled as she completed the endless pacing loop in the small room. “You expect me to speak to you after that?”

  “I was helping Gavin.” Our oldest brother. My breath is a white puff of smoke in the cold air. “I stole the money out of your room because he gambled too much. I didn’t know you needed it. You should have told me you needed help.”

  In an extremely bold and uncharacteristic movement, my sister lifted her skirt so she wouldn’t trip and invaded my personal space. “Isaiah and I needed it. If anything happens to him...” She paused, then pressed on her stomach as if she was in pain.

  Fuck it. I rub my eyes. She is in pain. The night of that last conversation we had was the night she went after Isaiah. She went after him to save him and she ended up in an accident. She ended up in pain.

  And Rachel told me if anything happened it would be my fault.

  A bell rings and I jump in my seat. My heart pounds hard once as my breath comes out in a rush. The cheap-ass alarm clock I bought continues to blare in the passenger side and the first light of day breaks in the east.

  My neck is stiff from falling asleep against the driver’s-side door. My fingernails are blue. I stretch my legs and my knees automatically lock.

  I slam the clock off and I stare down at the keys that had dug grooves in my hand. Fuck it all, I never turned on the car last night. The entire torture was just a dream.

  Unable to take the car anymore, I stumble out and let the sharp cold air hit my lungs. Leaning against the front of the Escalade, I try to rub the cobwebs out of my head.

  Dad was right to throw me out. I’m a worthless piece of shit that let my sister down. I failed her. I failed her so badly that she saw the writing on the wall. She knew her entire world was falling apart and she knew exactly where to rightfully place the blame—on me.

  Haley

  With my hands shoved in my jeans pockets and my nose buried in the collar of my father’s old army sweatshirt, I run to keep up with Jax and Kaden. They were pissed to find me at the neighborhood bus stop this morning at four and their mood hasn’t lightened as the three of us walk-run the two blocks from our bus stop to the gym. The bus ran late and John hates tardiness.

  The moment we step inside, Jax and Kaden bolt for the locker room and I survey the space, searching for John. Only the completely dedicated and insane show this early and they are currently in the middle of a three-minute rope jumping set. The bell on the timer rings and all of them drop to the ground and begin push-ups. Five more of those bad boy combos to go until they start the sit-ups.

  “I’m not giving you a letter.” John sits behind a small metal desk in his cramped and disorganized office, banging on a laptop.

  I rest a hip against the doorframe, seeking courage. I’ve got to be tough on this. Make him think I’m in control. “That’s not why I’m here. I want you to train someone.”

  John’s eyes snap to mine and his fingers freeze. “What do I get out of it?”

  “An awesome fighter.” West did take down Conner’s little friend and bruised the hell out of Conner’s face. It’s definitely arguable that West has raw talent.

  “Can he pay?”

  My face tightens as I try to smile. “Probably not, but I heard you’re looking for a volunteer to clean the gym and I’m sure he’ll do it.”

  “Not enough. What else do you got?”

  “I’ll return to the gym and train.” Swallowing prevents dry heaves, but the tingling in my head indicates I probably went green. Just the thought of fighting makes me ill.

  John pulls on his bottom ear as if that will help him correctly hear what I uttered. When he accepts that hell hasn’t invested in snow-removal trucks and that pigs haven’t taken to air, he speaks. “Sit down.”

  With my foot, I push a boxful of paperwork to the side and drop into the seat across from my grandfather. He resumes his angry typing and ignores me. On the filing cabinet behind him is a picture of me and him after my last fight. He has his arm around me and both of us hold up an end of the belt I won. I barely remember what that type of smile feels like on my face.

  Since there was a lack of female kickboxers in the area, I trained with the guys in the gym and we had to travel to find tournaments for me, which meant a ton of one-on-one time with my grandfather. The two of us were close, very close. Now we’re as far apart as strangers.

  John clicks the mouse. “What’s this about?”

  I weigh whose truth I should tell. “I’ve got a friend who’s going to be in a fight in two months and he needs someone to train him.”

  John’s seat squeaks as he relaxes back and links his fingers together across his stomach. The smirk informs me I’m in trouble, but it’s the chuckle that grates against my nerves. “Are we talking about your new boyfriend that jumped Conner?”

  I officially hate Jax and Kaden. “Yes.”

  He chuckles again and the smile fades. “Fight for me, Haley.”

  I’m shaking my head before the final word leaves his mouth. “No.”

  “I want more than you gracing us with your presence in my gym. You remain the best talent I’ve seen in years—”

  I interrupt, “You have Kaden and Jax.”

  “In years,” he repeats. “And you threw it away. You want that college scholarship? You’ll get more than a recommendation from me. You’ll have current titles. What more do you need?”

  “No.”

  “Haley...” John runs his hands through his gray-and-white-peppered h
air.

  “No!”

  “At least tell me why! Tell me the truth. Tell me why you walked away.”

  I lean forward with the urge to bolt from the cramped office. My breathing picks up and I rub the sweat off my palms onto my jeans. “Because.”

  “Dammit.” Both of his hands land on his desk and I jump with the impact. “What the hell happened to you?”

  My pulse pounds in my ears. Did Jax and Kaden snitch about the night they found me in the garage? I wipe my palms against my jeans again, except this time I’m not attempting to expel sweat but the memory of the blood that caked my hands. “I’ll train here again, but no sparring. I can’t spar, okay? It’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  It’s silent as he stares at me. I try to count my heartbeats, but it’s next to impossible.

  “Then we’ve got nothing to discuss.” John pretends he’s in his office alone and writes on a piece of paper.

  “He needs help.” I need help, but I can’t admit it. There’s always been a part of me that has craved to rest my head on my father’s or grandfather’s shoulders and tell them the truth, but then they’d see me for who I am and how can that help? They already hate who they believe me to be. No reason to make them despise me more.

  “You know my asking price.”

  I prop my elbow on the arm of the chair and cover my eyes with my hand. “Then I’ll train him. At least let me use the gym to do it.”

  The scratching of pen against paper ceases. I can’t look at him. I just can’t.

  “If you train at my gym again, then you can use the facility, but he only spars or trains with me or the others if I get you as a fighter.”

  I part two fingers and peek at the evil old man across from me. “I won’t spar.”

  “I wouldn’t throw you immediately back into your old training regimen even if you asked. I’ll ease you in, but if you agree to spar when I say, then I’ll help you train him.”

  I straighten. “I’m not sparring, old man. Get it through your thick skull.”