A/N: I did not plan on updating this story so fast, but I figured that with only the first chapter, no one really got a feel for the story. You can't really tell if you're going to like it from one chapter, really...I guess...at least, some people can't.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed:
unlikelytobearit: First reviewer! Yup, Twist gets a lot scarier too...and hopefully, he gets better...I hope...
xxBlueFire920xx: Thank you...I hope your next review is a bit longer, but thanks for the encouragement and I'm glad you liked it!
Warina-Kinomoto: Hey! I missed your reviews, too! I hope you review this next chapter, and I'm trying to work on the next update of A Simple Kiss, I really am...I'm just a little unmotivated is all...
salsipuedes/knoodelhed: Why thank you for the review. It was cool chatting with you on AIM too, and I hope you got over your hold-up on the next chapter of that fic. Rock on.
Alex: YeS! I am alive! I'm so happy! I am working on the next chapter of The Lies They Tell Us, and I do have it half finished...I'm just lacking in motivation in that area. It'll come back...or not, and everyone reading that one will get to sit with it in fanfic purgatory with the Recess readers and their Killing the Daisies fic...I'll finish it, I swear! I just don't know when...
Thanks for the reviews, you guys all rock, so totally!
A note on this chapter: bagman - slang for drugdealer
Alrighty, ENJOY!
Chapter 2: Forsaken
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man,
play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy
and there ain't no place I'm going to.
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man,
play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning
I'll come following you.
-Bob Dylan, "Mr. Tambourine Man"
Icy phantom fingers trailed up my spine, and I woke, shivering. The world was blurred, kind of grayish, and dull. I glanced around drowsily before my eyes came to rest on my bedside table and the alarm clock resting on it. The red digital numbers stared back at me silently, almost mockingly. I was late. I knew I was late. I tried to determine if I cared. Nope, I didn't. I fell back to the pillow and tried to remember what had happened the night before and how exactly I'd gotten back to my room.
There'd been a party, I recalled that. My parents were out of town, business conference or something along those lines, so it made sneaking out easier. My brother wasn't hard to get past, he rarely checked in on me, and even rarer argued when he caught me leaving. The party was at a house. A big house.
No.
Wait.
A park. There was no house, it was at the park. There was music playing, and cars lined up for miles down both directions of the street. It was a college party, for the most part. I didn't recognize really anyone there. Didn't care. A few of my friends were in the crowd, I knew that. Steve, Lou, Doug-E, Travis, Jordan, and Mike. My stomach turned, almost in revulsion. My girlfriend had been there, too.
There was beer everywhere. Full, unopened cans practically littered the grass, and there was a tapped keg. I could see it clearest in my mind, because I visited it several times. I prefer the keg over the cans. Sometimes people laced the rims of the cans and, while I didn't mind acid, I wasn't in the mood for that kind of trip. We'd gone to that party for one reason, in particular, though the dancing and free beer was quite the plus. We'd come for the quality grass, and no, not the kind growing from the ground.
Gordie. Why did that name seem so vivid in my head? His image flooded back to me almost instantaneously. Small, plump, bald, pale, shady. He'd been wearing a striped shirt, red and black, which made him look humorously like that fat kid on the Addams Family. He was wearing loose jeans, too tight to be considered baggy. They had to have been forcedly tugged down to display his faded blue boxers, which had obviously been manually puffed out by Gordie for effect. He had the look of someone trying too hard. I immediately didn't like him, I remembered that. He was my girlfriend's connection. I'd never met him before that night, or heard mention of him.
"Come on," she'd prompted, "This guy is the best dealer. He's got good quality pot." I wasn't in the mood to deal with new people, and I had told her that. She'd giggled, that annoying noise that made me want to touch her. "It'll be good," she'd reassured me as though that were all the reason in the world to associate with this plump, bald, prick.
Gordie had greeted me like we were old friends. Punching my shoulder, stepping close to my face, laughing, smiling, joking with me and about my name. He smelled like cigarettes and spearmint. Bittersweet. I played along, even as I wanted to punch a hole through his pug face. He dragged my girlfriend into a hug, rubbing his hands on her back, and touched her several times as they talked. I flickered a smirk every time he brought his hand up to trail along her skin, took her hands in his own, brushed her hair from her face. And she returned the attention, poking him in the stomach playfully, standing just close enough to him that their shoulders were touching, talking sweetly and childishly, her version of flirting. As far as I was concerned, she could flirt all she wanted so long as I got weed.
After a stint of chat, that I couldn't understand now that I was sober, we exchanged green. Twenty dollars for a small bag of hash. Then we met up with the other guys behind a cluster of cans. Lou rolled the joint, in the manner only an expert could accomplish, and we passed it around. It had been a while since one hit could start a buzz for me. I was wasted by the third hit, and by the fifth round everything was a blank.
That morning was fuzzier. We'd ditched the guys and come back to my house. Lars was gone but I don't know where he'd been. We tore the kitchen up and for a moment I wondered if it had been cleaned, because we sure as hell didn't clean it. We'd eaten whatever we could find that didn't require preparation. Cold pop tarts, sliced cheese, Doritos, Lays, Fritos, frozen burritos, a few baby carrots, chocolate syrup, cold hotdogs, uncooked ramen noodles. I think I drank some spoiled milk, or else I was eating the sour cream. I couldn't remember. We went through three cans of soda each, before climbing up the stairs and making out.
Clothes had been discarded without any system or grace. And I'd let her touch her mouth dangerously far below my belly button. Heat had flushed through my body, and I'd almost went into her that night. Thankfully I passed out on the bed before it went that far. My girlfriend's hot and everything, and she does turn me on. I am a normal teenage boy, wrought with hormones and I am, of course, always horny. However, my girlfriend is the type that's been around. She's like a used condom, carrying all sorts of diseases and who knows what else. Not to mention, I don't love her. She's the last person I want to lose my virginity to. So I prefer making out, then passing out, and nothing further. Which brought me back to being cold. I was stripped down to my boxers, my covers draped just below my hips, and I was practically hanging off the side of my bed. My door was partially opened, which meant my parents probably checked in on me when they got home. The house was silent, so I assumed they'd both left for work. They were both workaholics. It didn't bother me. They pried in my life less.
I wondered if I should get up. I didn't want to. I was exhausted. School started in fifteen minutes, and I'd agreed to see my girlfriend at "the school". Which meant the high school where she went, not the middle school I attended. She never came around the middle school. Hell, I hardly went there. I rolled onto my back, tucking the covers under my chin and closing my eyes. After she'd left, I'd drifted in and out of sleep. My head still pounded with the buzz of the night before, and it was swimming. For the first time, I wondered if Gordie had dusted the weed with something. There had been one moment where I thought I could see through my hand. It had been one hell of a high, though, so I didn't care.
I had to get out of bed, I knew that. I was going to meet Lou and Steve at the high school as well. I couldn't bail on them, we had things to discuss. We were planning on jumping an asshole, that I liked to refer to as "that little shit". A punk prep kid by the name of Josh that went to the middle school. He thought he was a hoodlum, or something along those lines. Just a rich idiot with something to prove. I had a history with him that didn't matter anymore. I hated him for new reasons now. He'd stolen a few of my CDs and I wasn't going to let it slide.
I pulled myself up to a sitting position, staring blearily out at my room. A Hendrix poster was taped to my door, clothes littered my floor, crushed empty cans of soda lay here and there, a pack of cigarettes that I knew weren't mine were shoved between a stack of magazines, a large poster of a tie-dyed mushroom hung on my ceiling, pictures of my family were knocked over on my bedside table and dresser, and my walls were covered in posters of bands, pictures I'd taken, magazine cutouts, a few of my own artwork, and practically anything else I could plaster on the wall with tape or staples. The white beneath couldn't be seen at all. I couldn't remember when I'd hung them all, they just started ending up there.
I searched the floor for a clean pair of jeans, tentatively sniffing each one I came across until I found a pair that didn't smell as bad as the rest. I pulled them on. They were too big for me by at least four sizes, hanging down below my hips, and my boxers peeked out. I tugged them up, they slipped back down, I pulled a belt loosely through the loops and gave them no more thought. I flung my closet open, shoving the shirts I no longer wore to one side, and pulled out a blue Hurley tee, tugging it on over my head and noting that my Independent sweatshirt was gone. I tried to remember why, but couldn't. I figured it would turn up eventually.
I found my sneakers, brown Vans, and slipped them on my feet. Grabbed my sweatshirt, hooded, dark olive green, Speed Demon was lettered across the front over a picture of a helmeted devil, and I tugged it over my head. I then grabbed my board, scratched and worn from rough riding, and flung the door to my room open. I paused, snatching up my hat, red and yellow striped, and plopped it over my red hair. I took the necklaces, my shark tooth and a golden cross, that always dangled in front of my chest and tucked them into my shirt, locking my bedroom door behind me. I wasn't paranoid, that my parents would search it. In fact, they rarely went in there. I just felt more secure, and secluded, knowing I could lock that door. I had my privacy.
I jogged down the staircase, and peeked in the kitchen. It had been cleaned and nothing remained of the mess my girlfriend and I had left behind save for the discarded containers piled in the trash. A note had been left in my mother's swooping, delicate handwriting. 'Please empty the garbage', it read. I raced out the door, slamming my board to the pavement and tearing down the road. I could see the beach in the distance, smell the salt in the air. It tasted stale against my dry tongue. I could make out a sailboat's mighty mast against the horizon, and knew that a few surfers were already out on the waves. I frowned, turning my attention to the black pavement rolling beneath my skateboard too fast to follow. I didn't go near the beach. At least, not anymore.
The high school was crowded with students, and I boarded my way through them. I was heading for the backfield, but paused momentarily, nearly colliding with a group of girls. I stumbled off my board to avoid them, kicking it into my hand and walking around them. They turned to me, annoyed, and I shrugged in reply, walking up the pathway. I paused, seeing two familiar figures walking towards the school entrance. The short, stout boy was Sam Dullard. He was talking, his eyes closed as he explained in the manner accustomed to one who knew everything, something or the other to the boy he was walking with. I frowned, feeling my stomach lurch with nausea. It was too early in the morning to have to see Otto Rocket's face, and it was always too early to deal with him. I ducked my head down, passing them by, and catching snippets of their conversation. They were talking about field hockey. I snorted. It was a stupid sport.
My brother ate, slept, and breathed it. Everything was all about his teammates, and the team, the games, the competitions, the stupid sport. I hated it. I hated hearing about it. And I hated my brother because he constantly went on about it.
I jogged around the side of the building, making to jump the back fence. I stopped. There was giggling near by, girls chattering. I looked around, my eyes falling on the small group. They were all sitting on the bleachers that surrounded the field, talking. Cheerleaders and their friends. I knew a few of them, Sherry and Trish most predominantly. Bitches, as far as I was concerned. Sherry talked too much shit, and Trish only ever talked to say something snide. The other girls I knew were rich bitch Ocean Bluffs bred prep queens wearing too much make-up. I disregarded them.
I was staring, I knew it. But her soft features and gentle smile, graceful motions and misleadingly shy giggle wasn't something you couldn't stare at. She moved a hand to push fine purple baby strand curls from her face, and let her white teeth briefly flash. Her hair was done up in braids, I thought it looked better down. Her make-up was light, unnoticeable, and I only knew she was wearing some because for the most part of my life I'd only seen her without it. Her eyes were blue. It didn't seem right. She could express so much with just those eyes, and I hated when she looked at me with them, because I could read everything she felt towards me. Disappointment, mostly. Loathe, scorn, reprove. And sadness. She always looked sad when she saw me.
I leaned heavily against the fence, pretending she was talking to me. Not flirtatious talk like I got from my girlfriend, or the chatty kind she was sharing with her friends. No. The kind of talking we used to do. Joking around, laughing at the good times, serious at the sad. Make fun of me, I silently pleaded with her, notice me, say my name, call out to me, tease me just once. Just for old times sake. A heaviness clouded my heart and I could feel my body trembling. I felt like a child. A child that had fallen down and his mother refused to pay him mind, simply saying, "Keep up."
She pushed her hair behind her ears, and, almost suddenly, caught me. Our eyes met. Her friend was saying something, and the others excitedly replied. They didn't notice that she was lost from their conversation, lost with me in that swirl of emotions and tension rushing between us. I wanted to do something. Something cool, something that would make her smile. I wanted her to come over. I wanted her to stay there. I wanted to do something to disrupt the connection, I wanted to stay in that moment forever. I wanted her to know I had been staring at her, I hoped she didn't. I wanted her to touch me. Not like my girlfriend did. I just wanted her to touch my face, my hands, my neck, my shoulders. I wanted to feel her, not like I was feeling her at that moment. I wanted to physically feel her. To know she was real, and not just a hallucination, that I wasn't tripping on some drug. And in that, realize that my past, my memories that seemed so false now, were all real as well. That she existed, and that we had once been more than a few awkward moments of meeting eyes. That I had been happy once, no matter how jaded or childish that happiness had been.
The wind kicked up, knocking my hood up onto my neck and the back of my head, and somehow reminding me that I had other places to be. Her friend playfully slapped her arm, trying to get her attention. She turned away from me, eyes lowered. She looked a little pink-cheeked, but I wasn't certain. I felt a gapping hole in my chest, turning to the fence in front of me. I climbed up with practiced ease, skateboard firmly tucked under my arm. I dropped over the other side and skinned the palm of my hand when it hit the gravel to balance my fall. It hurt, a slight stinging. It felt good.
I strode forward across the field towards the back fence. I had to pass the bleachers unless I wanted to cross the field. The field hockey team was practicing, and I didn't want to get in their way. Or be seen by my brother Lars. I don't know which mattered most. I lowered my head as I passed, glancing her once more from the corner of my eye. The girls were silent, all except her watching me like hawks wondering if I was prey, an enemy, or irrelevant. They decided the latter, waiting until I was far enough away that they assumed I couldn't hear them anymore before continuing their conversation. They were talking about dating, guys, and prom.
Wasn't that all girls talked about?
Steve was a freshman at the high school and Lou went to school with me. They were already there, leaning against the far fence. Steve was tall, and well toned. His hair was sandy blonde, bowl cut, strands scattering in his face. He shook his head to get them out. He had dark eyes that could light up like a candle or extinguish like a dead flame depending on what kind of high he was riding. I'd only ever seen him wear one pair of jeans, and he had about four t-shirts, all Element brand. A Marlboro was balanced between his teeth, and he grinned my direction, lighter in hand, turned up on high for bong style. He loved smoking from bongs. It was cool, except when you shared a pipe with him. He could cash a bowl himself and still need more for a buzz. It made him a real hash hog.
Lou was sitting on the ground, and I punched fists with him.
"Hey, Tambourine Man, how's it going?" I greeted, then nodded in Steve's direction.
Everyone called Lou 'Tambourine Man' for two reasons. He always had his stereo with him because he loved music. And he was a bagman, the only one I called a friend. He had long greasy brown hair, hanging past his shoulders, and a black tam was pulled on his head. The bags under his eyes and placidness of his skin was the biggest indication of how long he'd been doing drugs. He was short, thin, his lips were dry and his pupils were constantly shifting back and forth. I don't know if it was just naturally how he was, or if he'd done so many drugs for so long, but he always seemed to be on a permanent high. He was slant eyed, his words slurred, and he seemed incapable of holding an intelligible thought for too long. He was always chilled out, laid back, and one of the few people I got along with all the time. He knew all about music, the only thing that seemed to remain in his head, and we could talk for hours about it.
"Been better, loco dude," he replied with a goofy smile, "I lost a dime bag of my best shit, and my stash is low on stock. Total drain on my pocket. Forget the fact my postman's late. I can't deal with that panic right now…"
"No doubt," I muttered, shaking my head, shoving my hands in my sweatshirt pockets and looking to Steve.
"What's up, Maurice," he said, saluting me. I shrugged, leaning on the fence to hover above Lou, "You and Trix have fun?" I frowned. Trix was my girlfriend's nickname, like the cereal but with a different meaning. I guess it was better than Lucky Charms. We call Mike's girlfriend that sometimes, but she isn't as into it as Trix. So we just do it when we want to annoy her. Which is pretty much all the time. She's a bitch. So is Trix, but at least I get to make-out with her.
"None of your damn business," I replied shortly. Steve laughed, though it wasn't really funny. He was a jackass. Lou chuckled as well, but I think he was just laughing because Steve was laughing and he found that fact funny.
"What's with lilac?" Lou questioned, and I gave him an odd look. I didn't know what he was talking about. He motioned over my shoulder to the bleachers, and I felt my face grow hot. I turned to follow his gaze, feigning a stupefied glance.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I muttered, peeved, and embarrassed. They didn't know about her, about my past with her, about my thoughts on her. They didn't know how she made me feel, and they weren't going to find out, not if I had my way.
"I saw you looking at her. She had you under her spell, like a rat in headlights or some shit like that," Lou pressed, hiccupping and snickering.
"Who you talking about, Tambourine Man?" Steve demanded, following as Lou pointed her out.
"Lilac," he mumbled, "Don't know her name…the girl with the purple hair, white shirt, short skirt. Real fancy, done up..."
"I don't fucking know who he's talking about," I insisted, shifting uncomfortably as the two squinted, examining her.
"Dude, that's Regina Rocket," Steve exclaimed, saying her name almost mockingly and I winced. I wasn't surprised Steve knew who she was, but I hadn't been prepared to hear her name aloud. I said it silently to myself sometimes, but there was something abrasive, harsh about it against my ears, "She's a babe. A total bitch, hangs out with bitches. But dude, she's hot. There was this one time…well, see, she has P.E. the same time I have study hall. So I was ditching with Kyle and Nick, and the girls were running, and you know how the P.E. uniforms are like white shirts, and shit. Her and her friends were jogging by together, in those white shirts, and we'd gotten water bottles from the vending machines. We soaked them, the entire front of their shirts, and it was kind of chilly out and they were wearing those thin sports bras underneath so their boobs…"
"Shut the fuck up," I spat before I could stop myself. I grimaced. I had seen Steve getting excited just at the memory, and Lou on the ground straightening, interest piqued. Dirty thoughts had been racing through their minds, and it bothered me. They weren't allowed to think that way about her.
I wasn't allowed to think that way about her.
My heart was pounding, and I knew my cheeks were red. I looked away, biting down on my tongue in anger. "Aren't we here for a reason?" I pressed, hoping to change the subject.
"Yeah. Sure, sure," Lou mumbled, "Who we fucking up today?"
"You seem pretty touchy about the subject of Regina Rocket," Steve persisted, "Hey, doesn't she live down the street from you?"
"Dude, Steve…" Lou slurred.
"I'm just wondering," Steve grinned. I hated him, "Maybe I should tell Trix about your little crush…" I slammed him against the fence by the collar of his shirt, sinking my fist in his stomach. He sank down within himself, his brow drawing together, his face contorting with the pain. I dragged him back up, pinning him against the chain links. His cigarette fell crushed to the ground, fizzling. Lou was silent, watching us with a smirk. Ten bucks, he saw it coming.
"Why you gotta piss me off, Steve?" I hissed, "You know I don't like when you give me shit about Trix."
"I'm sorry, man," he groaned, clutching his injured gut. I let him go, falling back against the fence once more, and shaking my head.
"Then drop the fucking subject."
"It's dropped, man, it's dropped," he coughed, attempting to maintain some sort of dignified stance. He leaned against the fence, heavily, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing darkly my direction, "We cool?"
"Yeah, sure," I muttered, "Can we get back to why I'm here?"
"That little shit?" Lou provided hesitantly.
"Yes. That little shit," I hissed, "Josh, or whatever."
"We jump him after school. Problem solved," Steve said, "That was easy."
"Nope," Lou piped, "He broke Maurice's Beatles tape. Premium sound, gone in a crushed moment…no more Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, no more girl with kaleidoscope eyes…he's got to pay, dude, pay with more than blood. He has to…"
"We jump him after school," I interrupted, "But I need to know Mike and Jordan'll be there. I can take the jerk by myself, I just need insurance if his prep friends are there."
"They're all weenies, dude, you can take 'em," Steve insisted, rubbing his stomach somewhat dejectedly while muttering under his breath, "I know you can."
"I just want Josh. I don't want to deal with the others," I shrugged, "If I'm pounding other guys' heads, then that's less time spent pounding his head."
"They'll be there," Steve assured me, "Middle school, right?"
"No, the fucking moon," I cynically retorted. He shrugged, "School gets out at two. Back entrance, he rides a bike. We can hit him there. Hall monitors don't usually come around."
"Cool," Lou conceded, "You really want to go through with this kind of set up, Maurice? I -thought you were all like, Mr. I-don't-fight-unless-it's-a-spur-of-the-moment-fun-for-me-not-for-the-guy-who's-face-I'm-smashing-in-kind-of-fucking-deal. You can get in serious shit for this, you know…dean and the VP already have it out for you."
"Josh has been asking for it," I pressed. I really just hated the little shit, that was my only reason. My stolen CDs were just an excuse, "He's always pissing me off. He walks around like he's real cool and shit, and I can't stand that. He's a fucking dick, acts like he's down when he ain't, stealing and breaking my shit. He needs to learn his fucking place, that's what he needs. And that's what I'm gonna do, teach it to him."
"Chill, Maurice," Steve interrupted, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, "I don't need a reason to put my fist through that smug bastard's face." He pulled another cigarette out, placing it between his lips and working the lighter from his pocket. I shook my head, offering a hand to Lou, and helping him to his feet. He wobbled slightly, giggling to himself and staring at the ground humorously.
"I'm supposed to see Trix," I said, though I don't know why. Maybe I wanted to chat. Everything seemed so fuzzy, so confusing when I wasn't wasted. I couldn't even begin to understand why I did half the things I did. At least when I was high, I didn't care and I had an excuse. Steve looked up at me through his eyelashes, cupping his hand over the tip of the cigarette and lighting it. It blazed red, and he took a long drawl from it before taking it from his lips.
"You trying to tell us something?" he chuckled through gritted teeth, billowing smoke from his lips and nostrils. I shrugged, pressing my hands deep into my hooded sweatshirt's pockets and concentrating on the chain-link fence. He looked like a dragon when he did that. Not like the cool Asian ones, but like the evil medieval ones. It bothered me, when I compared things like that.
"Yeah, dude," Lou spoke up, punching my shoulder lightly, "He just said it, he has to go see Trix."
"I don't have to nothing," I spat, "Fuck it. I don't want to see her." I glanced over my shoulder, the field hockey team had converged around the bleachers. There was a group of kids sitting up in them, a few I recognized from my school. Otto was there. So was Josh. "What the fuck's going on over there?"
"Orientation or some shit like that," Steve answered, taking another hit from his cigarette with a deep hissing noise and puffing out the smoke before continuing, "You know, join the mighty Sharks, pride of Ocean Shores High, propagandist bull like that. Must be real honorific, and crap, to be the chosen ones. Hell, I could try out for the fucking team and probably make it."
"Not the way you smoke man, like a fucking chimney," I commented, and Steve snickered, sucking at the Marlboro. I frowned, glancing out at the street and houses lined up across from the school. Once upon a time, I had played sports like they were the only thing to live for. Once upon a time I would have been in those bleachers too, just to sit beside my best bro, Otto. Once upon a time, I cared about more than beating the shit out of some stupid kid. Once upon a time…
I was surprised, when Lou and Steve fell silent, staring behind me. I felt a jerk, someone grabbing my arm and spinning me around. I stumbled slightly. I was still lightheaded, still buzzing, and it was early so I was tired. I caught my balance with a bit of a struggle, my hand tightening into a fist, as I turned angrily on this newcomer.
"What the fuck is your problem?" I demanded, but bit my tongue instantly. My brother Lars glowered back at me. He flickered a glance to Steve and Lou.
"Put that fucking cigarette out, or I'm calling the fucking cops on your punk ass," he growled at Steve, who took another hit from the stick before smashing it against the fence pole. I felt my face grow hot, my heart pounding, adrenaline kicking through my veins. He turned his fiery eyes back on me.
"What do you want?" I asked cheekily.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he returned.
"Checking out the field hockey team," I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, it sounded like a sarcastic sneer, it was meant to be a low blow, "Maybe I'll try out. You think I got a shot?"
"You're supposed to be at school, Maurice," he snarled, narrowing his eyes at me.
"School don't start until…" I began, then fell short, looking to the others with an amused smirk, "What time does school start?" Lou sniggered, gaining a glare from my brother. He swallowed hard, shrugging and preoccupying himself with studying his dirty fingernails.
"Fuck, Maurice," Lars snarled, pushing me in anger, I stumbled back before falling into a heavy lean against the fence, "You even gonna go today?"
I chewed my lower lip, looking up at him in frustration, trying to keep my head cool. I was embarrassed. I hated when Lars came around, especially when my friends were there. They expected me to be a smart ass to him, to talk back, and give him lip. I was scared of my older brother. My entire life, he'd beat on me. It made me tougher, yeah. I could win any fight against any guy. I could scrap better than any of my friends and they all knew it. What they didn't know was that Lars could take me. He could more than take me. I stood no chance against him. I probably couldn't even get one hit in.
"I haven't decided yet," I muttered cynically, meeting his eyes coldly. His frown stretched tautly over his face. There was a twitch, in his cheek, just beneath his eye. Just a tick, that went off whenever I got on his nerves.
"Well, I'm deciding for you," he roared, grabbing my arm and dragging me across the field. I struggled, jerking my arm in a futile attempt to free myself from his tight grasp.
"Let me go," I hissed, but he didn't flinch, "Where the fuck are you taking me?" I stumbled in my struggling, looking to Steve and Lou who were staring at their feet, embarrassed for me.
"I'm taking your ass to school," he replied evenly, daring me to argue with that.
I could see his teammates, staring in shock of his behavior. They didn't know about Lars's black sheep little brother, the pothead. The lame kids from my school, watched, some laughing at my predicament. I assumed they were the ones who didn't know me, because I sure as hell didn't know them. Otto was staring at me. No, staring down his nose at me. And then he simply looked away. I thought I hated him, but every time he did that, ignored my presence, turned his back on me, it felt like a bullet hitting my chest. I didn't know why. I didn't care about him anymore, didn't care about what he thought of me or anything else.
We crossed the field in a matter of moments. I could see kids, hanging around the high school, staring at us openly. I glanced back, the girls on the bleachers watching. She was watching. My heart quickened and my cheeks deepened in red.
"No sé que lo que tú piensas tú estás haciendo. ¿Importa si le llevo a la escuela¿Cuánto tú has faltado ya?" Lars was ranting. He liked to rant in Spanish. I think it was because he didn't think anyone else could understand him. Hell, most of the time, I couldn't understand him. Either that, or it just came out in that language because he wasn't thinking straight. Or maybe because it made him sound more like our parents, who always yelled at us in Spanish. I didn't know. I didn't really care.
I needed to do something. Anything. It was too much, being treated like a child in front of all those people. I looked to the boys, lined up on the bleachers, and grinned, putting all my effort into a stop. Lars jerked to a halt, losing his grasp on me.
"Hope you all make it to the dick squad," I announced in mock pleasantness, it was the first thing that spilled from my lips, and, while I wasn't sure at first where I was going with it, it sounded pretty good, "You know, the we-don't-have-one-so-we-have-to-be-one squad." Eyes widened, and I could feel the anger bubbling through the crowd. Lars gritted his teeth, drawing in his breath, and I could hear him trembling with rage.
"Lars, who the hell is this and what's his problem?" an older boy stepped forward, glowering menacingly at me. He had the attitude of one who didn't curse often. 'Hell' didn't sound right, didn't roll off his tongue the right way. Lars didn't answer, just moving forward and smacking the back of my head. I didn't regard the move, setting my jaw firm. It hurt where he'd struck me but I wasn't going to let him see that. He grabbed me behind my neck, beginning his rant again, shoving me towards the school and leaving those other boys behind, obviously uncertain of what had just happened. I heard that boy, the older one, turn around, apologizing to the younger kids lined on the bleachers. Telling them he'd get an explanation and that he was sorry for that intrusion. The hair on the back of my neck prickled at that. Intrusion, that's what I was, an intrusion.
I gave up fighting against Lars, letting him lead me away with my head lowered. That insult felt good. Their reactions, their anger, shock. The field hockey team was precious to Lars, and I hurt it. I'd hurt something precious to Lars, and that very fact alone felt good.
We stopped, outside, in the front of the school. The first bell had rung, and students were racing to class. The front was nearly empty of people. Lars let me go and I turned to face him, wary of whatever he may do. I'd meant what I said, and I wouldn't take it back. He shook his head, frowning. He didn't seem as tightly wound as before. All anger, all frustration, had simply dispersed.
"You taking me to school?" I finally dared to speak up, then quipped tauntingly, "You'll be late getting back for class." He snapped his head up, eyes locking with my own, and I lost the will to hold that gaze, the first to look away, downcast. I think I looked ashamed and I knew I probably should have felt at least some form of remorse. I'd been an ass. But I was too proud of my moment, too satisfied with myself.
"What's the point?" he muttered, turning away and shaking his head, "You're a lost cause anyways…" He left back up the stairs to the school building, and I stood watching as the double doors slammed shut behind him. I chewed the inside of my cheek until blod spilled over my tongue, my eyes were wet and I didn't know why.
"Fuck you," I whispered bitterly, before noticing Lou peeking from the side of the building. He looked both directions, as though preparing to cross a street, before jogging over to me in a duck-like strut.
"He set you free, huh?"
"Something like that," I murmured.
"What's the hang up? You look drawn out," Lou said, giving me a nonobjective once over. I rubbed my hands over my face, taking a deep breath. My fingers were trembling.
"Too much has happened today," I moaned, "Let's do something. I don't want to go to school."
"Figured you wouldn't," Lou grinned toothily, "Doug-E might have a stash stored for a rainy day. I figure you're looking for a fix." I nodded.
"You know me too well, Tambourine Man," I replied, forcing a half-smile and letting him take the lead. My shoulders felt heavy, weighted, like the world sat on them. That day had been nothing but unwelcome familiar strangers, my past reeling up to smack me in the face, stabbing me in the back all over again.
I hate how they look away. Otto, Lars, her. It's not the anger, the sadness, the frustration, the disappointment in their stares that gets me, that cuts me deep. It's always when they look away.
-0-0-
Otto walked in silence next to Jamal, Josh and Eddie. They were chattering excitedly about what had happened at the orientation between the Rodriguez brothers. Otto didn't want to hear about it anymore. His stomach was a knot and his head was hurting.
"But who was that kid?" Jamal asked. He'd moved to Ocean Shores about a year and a half ago, so he didn't know Lars or any of the past Otto shared with the Rodriguez family, most particularly the youngest son.
"That was Lars's little brother, Twister," Eddie answered eagerly. Otto stumbled in his steady pace, stopping to catch himself. The other boys halted, turning to look at him in surprise. He knelt down, as though to tie his shoelace.
"He's a fucking loser. Will you guys forget about it already?" Otto growled. He was tense and he knew it. Maurice's comment stuck with him, about the 'dick squad'. He'd never felt happy to see Lars whomp on someone before, but when the older brother had struck the younger on the head, Otto had felt a smile spread across his face. Beat the shit out of him, he'd commanded silently. That's what the pothead needed. A good beating.
"Jeez, Otto, there's finally a little excitement around here, and you don't want to talk about it?" Jamal persisted. Eddie was respectably silent, but Josh felt the need to back Jamal up.
"Right, just because he was your best friend," he started before receiving a quick jab in the ribs from Eddie. He grunted, "What?" Otto had frozen, and Jamal quirked his head.
"Best friend? Otto, that kid is your best friend?" he piped, confused. Otto stood abruptly, standoffishly. His hands tightened into fists. He narrowed his eyes at Josh, before disregarding him and turning to Jamal.
"Don't mistake," Otto hissed, "'Was' is the operative word. Twister Rodriguez doesn't exist and Maurice Rodriguez was never my best bro. Don't ever forget that." He pushed his way past them, storming forward towards their middle school. Reluctantly, the others followed.
"What's his deal?" Jamal whispered to Eddie, who looked down at the cement in silence. So he turned to Josh, "I've never seen Otto-man like this. What's up with this Twister/Maurice kid?"
"They used to be best friends…they grew apart," Josh explained nonchalantly, "End of story."
"That's not it," Eddie murmured, "They were more than best friends, they were like brothers. They did everything together. Maurice, the way you saw him back there, a total jerk, he wasn't always like that…okay, he could be a jerk sometimes, but he used to be really cool."
"What are you talking about?" Josh whispered harshly, "He was never cool."
"He was cooler than you," Eddie argued, "He used to be someone…he used to be nice. Used to be friendly, cool to hang out with."
"Really?" Jamal asked in disbelief, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting Maurice to be standing in the distance, "What happened?"
Otto flinched. He had been listening to them, and had prayed he could hold his tongue. He slipped his thumbs under his backpack straps and pursed his lips.
"Nothing happened," he barked, "You don't turn into a lame-o. You're always a lame-o. He was a lame-o from the beginning. He just had us fooled." The others hushed, guilt settling in their stomachs uneasily. They silently agreed that the subject was dropped, continuing to school quietly.
END A/N: Okay...um...that's it for now. You get no more for a long time, until I finish with the fanfics I haven't finished! Probably...you might, I can't foresee the future, afterall.
Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. I only got five reviews on that first chapter...gosh, I feel so unloved...I hope more people review this chapter...I worked really hard on it, after all. If you read it, review it. Even if it's just to say a few words, I want to hear from you! Pretty please...
Thanks for Reading, and Peace Out.
