Days had gone by and there was calmness. Craig went to school and actually tried to pay attention in class, some classes. He thought of asking for extra help and leniency regarding staying back, begging for summer school and for Radich to not call his dad.
He'd see Ashley in school, duck his head and smile when he saw her in the hall, lean against her locker and talk to her about anything, everything. He'd brush his hand against her hand, lean his head toward her. At home his father was in a good mood night after night and Craig almost allowed himself to hope that things had changed for good.
He wasn't going out drinking or smoking pot or whatever with Sean and Jay. He was staying home and doing his homework, trying to catch up on a years worth of work he had missed. Most of it wasn't too bad for him, but the science was tricky. He almost asked his dad for help with some of it, but he didn't. He didn't want to push things, rock some precarious little boat that was in a calm sea for once.
One bright morning, the sky that clear and unreal blue, he walked up the steps to the school where Jay and Sean were standing.
"This must be some kind of record, Manning," Jay said, smiling that evil smile of his.
"What?" Craig said.
"You've been here all week. What gives? Turning over a new leaf? Are you trying to be the model student?"
Craig scowled and laughed him off but as usual Jay's snide comments tended to hit close to the truth. Maybe he was trying to be the model student. Maybe he was trying to make up for lost time. Maybe things were good with Ashley and his dad, maybe things were good.
In Simpson's class he breathed shallowly as he waited for his test to be handed back. Usually he failed or came close to it, and a lot of times his tests were marked with red pen and "See me," was scrawled across the top. He never would. But this test he had actually studied for, with Ashley's help, and thought he had a chance of not failing.
Simpson smiled as he placed the test face down on his desk, and Craig slowly turned it over. 85. He let out his breath and felt himself relax in a classroom for the first time all year. This was his highest test grade all year.
"So, how'd you do?" Ashley said at lunch, pushing her tater tots around her plate. Craig dipped one in ketchup and ate it. He put on a mock sad face and Ashley's face crumpled in disappointment, then he smiled.
"Oh, you passed, didn't you?" she said.
"Yeah. 85,"
"I knew you could do it," she said, and kissed his cheek.
Outside, the sky still that clear blue, his arms wrapped around her, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"How are things, you know, at home?" Ashley said, worry filling up her blue eyes. Craig licked his lips and looked away, then he looked back at her.
"I don't know, my dad's been okay lately,"
She saw the scared kind of hopefulness he had, and she didn't want to tell him that it probably wouldn't last. He knew that, she was certain. Deep down he knew it wouldn't last.
That night his dad was late, but that wasn't so unusual. Craig made some macaroni and cheese and ate it in front of the T.V. watching re-runs of "Full House," Mindless. He thought of his 85 today and couldn't believe he had done so well. He thought of Ashley, the way she smelled and the way she looked and the sound of her voice.
He heard the car pull up a little fast and he tried not to worry. He heard the slam of the car door and he gasped, felt the tiny beginnings of a headache behind his eyes. What was wrong? He looked around. The pot he used to make the macaroni and cheese was on the stove with congealing macaroni and cheese in it, his bowl was in the living room. Craig jumped up, grabbed his bowl and rinsed it and shoved it in the dishwasher. He rinsed out the pot as best he could and shoved that in the dishwasher. He heard his father's heavy footsteps on the walk outside and he ran toward the stairs and bolted for his room.
He shut his door but there were no locks on it, that had been a big deal in the beginning of ninth grade and his father had made it clear there were to be no locks on that door, not on a door in his house. From his room he heard the front door open and slam shut and Craig jumped back, closed his door softly. He glanced toward his window, which was locked from the outside so he couldn't climb out. He looked at his closet as a viable option. Downstairs he could hear other things slamming, perhaps his father's briefcase into the table, perhaps chairs or coffee tables. Craig was holding his breath. The calm was over. The storm was here. There would be nothing to do but ride it out.
"Craig!" Craig closed his eyes as his father yelled his name again. Things were wrong, something was wrong. He'd been such a terrible kid, he'd done everything wrong. This litany of guilt and wrong doing ran through his head like a perverse telling of the rosary beads, and each shortcoming that he thought of proved again and again to him that he deserved every beating he got, every hit was his to take because he deserved it, he knew he did.
His father's footsteps on the stairs, his name called again, and then his bedroom door was yanked open and he saw that look in his father's eyes, that bleary, demented look. He grabbed Craig by his wrists and pulled him forward and Craig felt light headed, like he'd faint before anything happened. He was shoved to the floor so suddenly that he barely knew what had happened when his father kicked him in the stomach and he cried out in pain, and he couldn't breath, and when more kicks came he closed his eyes and curled up and waited for it to be over.
He was alone, lying on the floor of his room, curled up, barely able to move. He took a breath and felt the pain from that kick in his stomach. He knew the pain from that would last a day or two and deep breaths would bring it pulsing back. He blinked slowly, not ready to try and stand up, not ready for anything. He wanted to just lie here on the floor.
It was so unfair. Going to school, studying, trying to think things were okay when they weren't. Craig sat up and had this idea, this idea that this one week had let him glimpse. He had done well on that test after not paying attention for a whole year, he had Ashley, he had been almost happy this week. If his father wasn't such a violent dick imagine how his life could be? He could imagine it and was pissed off that his father made it this way.
He stood up, fought waves of dizziness, held onto his dresser for support. When the dizziness passed he packed a bag of some clothes, his ipod, his school books, and he went downstairs. He didn't know where his father was and he didn't care. Just let him try and stop him. Just let him try. Craig shrugged into his jacket and slipped on his sneakers and left.
Joey was tiptoeing downstairs after kissing Angie goodnight when he heard a knock at his door, and then another more frantic knock.
"Coming!" he called, and opened the door. His eyes widened in surprise seeing Craig standing on his doorstep with a bag slung over his shoulder.
"Joey. Can I come in?"