Prick takes his time. The Balls are hanging on tight, so he lets me flounder while he backs up and steps into the kick. The asshole’s wearing sneakers, aiming for my nuts. I’m still with it enough to twist sideways, and he catches me on the hipbone. Pain zings up my back and down my legs, but it’s worth it.
“Fuck! Goddammit! Shit!” He hops on one foot. “Get him up. Get him up.”
The Balls have some trouble. They’ve got my arms, so I use my feet, kick the living crap out of their ankles and almost manage to knee the shorter one in the nads.
Over top of their grunts and curses, Prick shouts, “For chrissake. Hold him.” He grabs the baseball bat off the ground, rams the blunt end into my gut, and my breath whooshes out of me. I fold in half, nearly spewing everything I’ve eaten in the last week, before his uppercut straightens me back up and I bite my fucken tongue. Blood drips down my face. These goddamn amateurs are making a friggin mess.
“You starting to understand?” Prick demands and backhands me across the face. I turn my head with it, and there’s nothing but a sharp sting. What a dumbass.
He works me over, slugs me in the belly a couple of times, then goes back after my face, swatting at me like an angry fairy godmother. Somebody needs to teach this idiot how to throw a proper punch. Yeah, I might be nothing but a bloody snot rag hanging off their arms, but these dudes are an embarrassment. Three of them, one of me, and this is the best they can do?
“Lookit,” says one of the Balls. “He’s not only got a ponytail but it’s all wrapped up in a sissy pink thing.”
“Friggin faggot,” comments Ball number two, and I’m amazed he’s evolved to the point of opposable thumbs.
“Gimme that. I want a souvenir.”
I feel a tug at my hair and this, more than anything, pisses me off.
“Hey, you still with us, sweetheart?” Prick grips my jaw in his hand, tilting my head up. “I’m hoping we made it real clear. You go ahead, take up space until you end up in a jail cell for the rest of your life. Just keep the hell away from Tia, so we don’t have to do this all over again.”
The Balls let go, and I fold onto my knees in the dirt, refusing to collapse, humming with pain and knowing it’s smart to stay down. Fuck it. They’re walking away, their backs to me and my anger is such a big, hungry beast, I gotta feed it. I jump up, legs sort of wonky, and rush one of the Balls from behind. I throw myself on him, ride him to the ground, and then pound the ever lovin’ snot out of him. I roll him over with my left hand and piston my right, smashing his face until that goddamn baseball bat lands across my back. Once, twice, and after three times, the pain has me screaming.
They take turns kicking me, forcing me to curl up and wait for it to end.
“Jesus Christ,” mutters one of the Balls. They stand over me, the same as hunters gathering around a fresh kill. “What the hell was that?”
“I think he broke my nose,” says the other. “He’s a goddamn animal.”
“Crazy motherfucker belongs in a cage.” Prick gives me one last boot with his foot, and I’ll be pissing blood tonight. “Stay down, asshole, or we’ll dig a hole and bury you out here.”
They get back in their big ass truck. I sway on hands and knees, spit red-tinged saliva into the dirt and watch as they run over my bike, forwards, backwards and then drive away. I think maybe a couple of my ribs are cracked. I dare a deep breath and hope I’m just bruised.
I crawl to the ditch, dig around in the weeds and find my guitar. The case is scuffed and dented. The instrument looks OK, but my vision’s a little messed up, my bells ringing so loud I can’t think straight. I flop back in the grass, cradle the guitar to my chest and let the pain settle in. It hurts to breathe, hurts to blink, hurts to swallow. My tongue probes the inside of my mouth, testing for cuts and loose teeth.
I think about my dad. Pain always reminds me of the old man. He’d stand behind me while I played, so I never had a fucken clue what was coming. Sometimes, he’d set a hot dog, popsicle or whatever, right where I could see it. If I didn’t screw up, I could eat. Any musician who isn’t good enough goes hungry.
Tia/Barbie is my popsicle. I close my eyes and let thoughts of her melt away from me.
CHAPTER 29
Tia:
I check for Taz in homeroom, English Lit and at his locker. I haven’t seen him since Saturday morning, not even a glimpse of his vapor trail as he sprints past my house. He’s somehow become the number one task on my to-do list. Not that I’m planning TO DO him. OK sure, my mind has gone there, but for the record, the boy doesn’t even know my name. Yeah, I’m still ticked about that.
I set my brown bag on the table and search every face in the cafeteria. He’s not here. He hasn’t visited the lunchroom since day one, and I don’t know where or what or even IF he eats. On that note, my heart flops into the mud of despair and drowns.
It takes me too long to notice my friends are waiting for my attention. “What?”
“Spill,” Lana demands. “We want dirty details.”
I look to Frannie. She rode with her mom this morning, so this is the first I’m seeing her. Pink cheeks, big eyes, bouncing in her chair like she needs to pee real bad, she’s on the verge of liftoff.
“I texted you a gazillion times!” She sounds genuinely upset. Her hands flap and she levitates a bit. “I called and called. How could you not tell me?”
I’m not sure what I’ve done but there’s no doubt, I’m a terrible best friend. “The twins stuck my phone in the toilet tank.”
“Ew.” Renee wrinkles her nose.
“It was sealed in a sandwich bag. Why are you all acting weird?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to bring that boy home with you? Am I not your bestest best friend?” Frannie waits for my nod. I consider crawling under the table. “So how come a bunch of cheerleaders TOLD ME about a Taz sleepover at your house?”
Oh. Mora has a big mouth.
Trish props her elbows on the table and leans forward. “As your friends, we look like idiots for not having the scoop.”
“It was one night!” Bad choice of words.
“Told ya,” says Lanna. Then to me, “Thatta girl.”
“Wow.” Trish turns accusatory. She gestures at me with a celery stick. “People are saying you weren’t around all summer cuz you were hooking up with Taz.”
My friends think I ditched them for a boy. If only my problems were nothing but the result of selfish decisions.
“So in every story I’m a giant slutapotamus?” I unroll my lunch bag. “Thanks a bunch.”
“Explain yourself.” Frannie censures me over a forkful of lettuce. The homecoming diets have already begun.
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“You admit you had a guy spend the night?” Trish interrogates. “How are you not grounded for all of eternity?”
I don’t want to offer details of my life like a handful of half-melted M&M’s. There’s no sense sharing a mess nobody can clean up. And if I start talking about my dad, my mom, my everyday, my voice will get shaky, give me away and I know my friends. Their collective, genuine compassion will turn into a free pass for tears, self-pity and everything I don’t have time for. Just thinking about it has my face feeling hot.
“I was sick,” I admit this much. “Taz stopped by and helped out with some babysitting. That’s it.”
“Taz stopped by?” Frannie echoes, her jaw hitting the floor. “As in, the scariest boy on the planet showed up on your doorstep? We’re going to need more.”
“The R-rated version please.” Lana rolls her hand at me.
I hide behind a giant bite of sandwich.
“The cheerleaders were short on details,” Renee tells me.
I stay busy chewing.
“So does the boy hump like a wild chimpanzee or not?” Lana demands, way too loud, and I’m sure every single person in the cafeteria is staring at us. At me.
“You guys suck. I’m not talking about this.”
They
laugh. I ignore them. My lunch is too important for this. Mora went grocery shopping with me yesterday. Translation … she talked me into being extremely naughty, and my slice of Havarti cheese and pickles are cushioned inside a fat onion roll. And just to prove the wheels came right off the shopping cart, I’m drinking a Yoohoo. If this isn’t heaven, I don’t know what is.
“Look around,” Frannie tells me. “There’s at least a dozen cute guys in this cafeteria, and you could pick any one of them. Nice guys, who aren’t mean and scary and dangerous.”
“A dozen?” I snort a laugh.
“OK,” she concedes. “Six.”
“Name six.”
She looks to Trish. “Little help.”
“Six might be an exaggeration,” Trish admits. “Three. There’s three, maybe three and a half cute guys, and they’d be way better for you and safer than Taz.”
“You’re counting Aaron Marcum, aren’t you? You know he’s gay, right?”
“He’s so cute!” Renee insists.
“Yeah, he’s super duper cute, but he doesn’t count as a guy I could have. And I’m thinking you also included my brother, and that’s just gross.”
“Your brother is hot,” Lana tells me.
“He’s fourteen!”
“I don’t have a problem with that. He’d be so grateful for everything I could teach him. He’d probably get right down on his knees and …”
“Stop! Don’t even go there with my baby brother.” I wrap my sandwich back up. I’ll save it for when I can fully appreciate it. “Just so you know, there’s nothing going on between me and Taz. We’re barely even friends, OK?”
“If you say so.” Frannie’s skepticism is right upfront. “We’re just worried about you.”
“Yeah well, I’m worried about him. I know you guys think Taz is awful, but he’s actually a sweet guy. He’s just quiet and sort of shy, and he really helped me out on Friday night. He brought me ginger ale, and you should see how nice he is to Tully. He cooked breakfast for everybody Saturday morning and petted the cat and … and I think he might not have sneakers! He runs barefoot! Nobody in school is on his side, and I’m so close to finally getting him to open up, so close, and I just know he’s going to surprise me, in a really good way. I can feel it.”
Dead silence.
“Uh oh,” Renee whispers.
“What?”
“You’ve got it bad,” Trish pronounces.
I shake my head but don’t say anything, because they wouldn’t believe me. I don’t even believe myself.
“Um,” Frannie starts, stops, bites at her lip. “As your friend, I’m not sure if it’s my duty to tell you this or hide it, but I overheard Brandon talking with some of the guys in World Government.”
“Oooh-kay?”
“They were laughing about Taz missing school today, like maybe they had something to do with that.”
Instant rage. Red mist explodes behind my eyes. White noise rushes into my ears, and I miss whatever else Franne has to say. I hop up so fast my knee gives a warning pinch, but it doesn’t slow me down. I stalk the length of the cafeteria, to where the hockey players gather. My friends are right about my brother. Theo is adorable. He sits with the JV guys and gives me a nod with a dimpled smile. He’s eating his lunch, and it’s not an onion roll or a Yoohoo but plain old peanut butter and jelly and juice box. How did that happen?
My brother. Mr. Selfless. He never asks for anything for himself, and how is he still so sweet in a world full of guys who should be wearing condoms as hats?
I walk right up on Exhibit A.
Brandon spots me and grins. He, Kyle, and Marty are planted at the Varsity Hockey table. Marty’s got a fat lip. Brandon’s nose is bruised and puffy. Kyle looks like he lost a fight with a jackhammer.
“What happened to you guys?”
Brandon snags my fingers with his. “Rough practice yesterday.”
Kyle and Marty share a laugh.
“You wear helmets.” I tug my hand away. “With cages.”
Brandon shrugs it off. “I looked for you at our game Friday night.”
“I was sick.” I flatten my palms on their table, lean closer and make eye contact with each of them. “I heard you guys had a busy weekend.”
The three trade looks. “Not really,” Brandon tells me. “Just some volunteer community service.”
More snickers.
“What’s that?” I point to Brandon’s wrist, to the pink hair tie he’s wearing as a bracelet. “Souvenir.”
I can’t be sure it’s Tully’s pink twisty. I can’t prove it’s the same one Taz left my house wearing in his beautiful silky locks. Doesn’t matter. This isn’t a court of law, and I’m so angry, it’s as if my skin is pulled way too tight.
“Tell me you guys didn’t gang up on Taz, Brandon. Convince me you’re not some meathead bully who thinks he’s got a claim on me after a couple of disappointing dates. Because, right now, you look like somebody I’m embarrassed to have ever considered my friend. And you know what, Taz is the guy who looked after me when I was sick and didn’t ask for anything in return.”
“Tia,” Brandon says and gets to his feet. Now we’re too close. I’m forced to tilt my head back to look at him but refuse to back up. “The dude is ten kinds of effed up. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Who picked you to be my bodyguard? I swear Brandon, if I hear about you guys hassling Taz again, I’ll tell every girl in school your penis is the size of my thumb.” I demonstrate with a thumbs down.
Marty spits potato chip shrapnel, and Kyle swats the back of his head. I turn on them. “Did I mention how everyone’s going to hear I caught you two sniffing each other’s underwear?”
That shuts them up.
“Tia c’mon,” Brandon whines. “What do you think Taz wants from you? Huh? I’ve talked to my dad about him. There’s stuff you definitely don’t know. Trust me here, you can’t let that dirtbag around you or your family. And if your dad were here, this wouldn’t be an issue. Cuz there’s no way he’d let it happen.”
“You don’t know anything about my dad!” I shriek while grabbing his hand and pulling at Tully’s pink twistie, because this jackwagon is not allowed to keep it. “This is not yours!”
He doesn’t quite catch on to what I’m doing at first, tries pulling away, but I am a rabid wolverine, all bared teeth, sharp claws and barking “Give it, give it, give it.” Just as I rip it off his wrist, I see Theo standing up and starting toward us with a frown. I now realize I’m putting on a show for the entire cafeteria. Just great.
CHAPTER 30
Tia:
I troll slowly down the road, reading house numbers on mailboxes. The Ark draws attention in this neighborhood. People stop and stare. Maybe it’s the siren’s song of the muffler calling to them. Maybe it’s the confetti of rust, shimmy of squooshy tires or billow of smoke from the tail end. I’m creating a bigger spectacle than the Macy’s Day parade. I pat the dash of my trusty steed and watch the houses grow steadily bigger.
Most of them are set way back from the road, with curvy driveways, shrubs as trim as soldiers and lawns big as battlefields. No dandelions allowed.
I check the address on my phone again. Willow Drive does not seem like a Taz-friendly habitat. Maybe the sandals, washed out shirts and ribs showing through his skin are a choice, a lifestyle, the most convincing rebel without a cause on the planet. Or maybe Frannie got it wrong.
Because she takes her duties as best friend more seriously than her position as a model office student, Frannie threw rules to the wind and rifled Gibson Tazmerek’s file for his address. Then she hyperventilated into a brown bag and made me promise not to hunt down Taz on my own. I agreed. I lied. No way I’m inviting witnesses along on this crazy train.
I now fight the Ark into an overly wide right turn, tires veering onto grass greener than leprechaun poop and follow the driveway of an amazing red brick house with a wide porch, white columns and patio furniture nicer than what’s in my livin
g room. The whole picture screams of a perfect family who never suffers hangnails, holes in their socks or moldy bologna in the refrigerator. I cross my fingers and hope the Ark doesn’t pee oil on the pavement.
Climbing out, I grab my Calculus book off the passenger seat and suddenly regret my sweats and T-shirt with “stay out of my crease” scrawled across my chest. It’s Theo’s shirt. He’s a goalie. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not here to impress. Just bringing Taz his homework. A good deed. Not nosy or stalking or concerned beyond the student liaison parameters.
I take a fortifying breath and step onto the porch, up to a door with a shiny gold knocker in the middle and a doorbell on the side. The combination seems redundant and a decision I’m not prepared for. I debate and come to the conclusion that this is a colossal mistake. What am I doing here? Before I can change my mind, I stab the button, amazed by the working doorbell and spotless welcome mat under my feet. I’m reaching for a second push when the door swings open, revealing a little dark haired boy around Tully’s age. He looks familiar.
“Hi!” I wave and smile, trying for a friendly, girl-next-door vibe. “I’m looking for Taz, or um Gibson?”
He blinks at me with big dark eyes. I shift to peer around him.
“Jamie, honey, who’s at the door?” The feminine voice comes from inside.
I see the woman walking toward me but my brain can’t compute. I am Neo. I’ve swallowed the red pill, fallen down the wormhole and would rather be standing anywhere but here.
“Tia? Can I help you with something?” She comes to stand in the doorway, head dipped with curiosity. She’s changed out of her pencil skirt and pearls, but is no less put together and intimidating. Her eyes flick to my shirt and her lips pinch. I hide the semi-dirty hockey slogan with the Calculus textbook.
“Uh. Hi Mrs. Sanderson?” Why did I phrase that as a question? Why am I standing on my high school principal's porch? What in holy hohos is going on right now? “I’m looking for Gibson Tazmerek?”
Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1) Page 12