by Bella King
“Those were Edyth’s girls, huh?” Blake asks, craning his head over to them.
“Certainly were,” I reply, continuing to walk away from the school.
“Hold up,” he says. “What if there’s something valuable in that car?”
“Do you ever stop stealing?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Not really,” he replies, quickly catching up to me again and leaving the car behind. It’s not worth having the vandalism pinned on him later because he stole an air freshener out of it and tried to sell it at the school. I think he realizes that.
Blake and I walk down the road toward the skate park together, leaving the sorrowful world of Blackstone High behind us for now. Tomorrow, we’ll be back, but right now we’ll forget that school ever existed.
I pull out a pre-rolled joint and place it between my lips. God, it’s good to be free.
Chapter Five
Amber
I limp out into the parking lot, annoyed that it took me so damn long to finish the math test. It’s difficult to fill in those stupid bubbles properly when my hand is throbbing in pain. I remember it being stomped by some nasty old sneakers against the tile floor when I was ganged up on and attacked in the bathroom.
My joints ache now, but at least I don’t have to walk home. I live four miles away from the school, and the walk back would be a nightmare. I still have the car that my father bought for me before the divorce. I treasure it because it’s the only thing I have left from him.
I clutch the thick straps of my bookbag, sulking out into the yellow afternoon sun while other people run around me to flee the dreary school building. They could’ve made it out of brick like any other normal school, but the outer walls are solid concrete, just about as prison-esque as they could manage. It’s depressing.
I look up as I get to the parking lot, scanning the shabby cars parked in disarray on the unmarked lot. My eyes land on a spray painted abomination of broken glass and scratched and dented metal sitting among the other cars.
It’s my car.
“What the fuck,” I say aloud as I run up to it. My bookbag bounces on my shoulders, slowing my run as I approach my defaced vehicle.
“Fuck,” I shout as I stop in front of it.
The car has been keyed about a hundred times. All the windows, including the front windshield, have been smashed to bits, and the word SLUT has been spray painted in bright pink across the side. Even the tires weren’t spared, not that I could drive it with the broken windshield anyway. All four of the brand new summer tires were punctured and flattened. This hunk of steel isn’t going anywhere.
I would kick the tire, but my feet already hurt enough. The girls who attacked me didn’t miss a single part of my body. They made sure I was hurting from head to toe, and they got my car too. I’m certain it was the same people.
I look around, suddenly becoming aware that I could be jumped again, but I don’t see anyone who looks threatening. I look back at my car, feeling heat behind my eyes as I fight back tears.
Come on, Amber. Don’t be a pussy.
I take a sharp breath in, reaching through the broken window and yanking the dangling angel pendant that I keep hanging from my rearview mirror. It came with the car, since my dad got it used, and I never took it out. It makes me feel safe, even though I’m especially religious. I just like having it there when I drive.
I tuck it into the pocket of my hoodie, turning away from my wrecked car. If I have to walk home, I might as well get started now. I’m not going to make it back any faster by moping around by my car. My mom is going to be pissed that it’s wrecked, no doubt blaming it on me. I don’t even think I’ll tell her about it yet. It’s not like she’d be able to help me fix it. My dad was the one with all the money, and because I’m an adult, she’s not getting any child support.
I feel sick in my stomach. It’s an anxious nausea, the type that I felt when my parents used to argue all night long. The funny thing is, it almost feels nice to have it again, like my parents are still together, shouting at each other in the other room while I try to sleep. It’s fucked up that I would ever want that back.
I avoid making eye contact with anyone as I leave the school grounds. I pull my hoodie over my head, yanking the drawstrings to hide my face. I don’t want anyone to know that I exist. I want to be forgotten.
I walk as quickly as I can down the tattered single-lane street, beginning the long journey back home. This town is so small that practically everything is contained on a single stretch of road. All I have to do is walk down it for the next two hours to get to my trailer. I don’t even have to think about where I’m going.
Good. I don’t want to think.
I want to slip off into my safe daydream world that I enjoy so much. Nothing exists there, save for a few cute guys and a nice warm bed.
Speaking of cute guys, Flint is cute as hell, but in a scary way. He would be much more pleasant to daydream about if he wasn’t a total dick. I try to conjure up an alternative version of him in my head, something safer and more at ease, but it doesn’t have the same effect. It’s almost as though the asshole behavior is what makes him so attractive.
Alright, my life is messed up, but I don’t need to mess it up further by developing an attraction to someone who needs help on a basic math exam. I’m pretty sure I learned all that stuff during my first year of high school at my last school, a prestigious private institute. The stuff they teach here is stupidly simple, and some of it is even wrong. Good luck pointing that out to the teachers and having them listen, though.
I pull myself out of my weird fantasy land where Flint actually has a brain, and I focus on the path ahead of me. It’s hot, and I didn’t bring any water. I didn’t think I would need any because I wasn’t planning on walking four fucking miles back home in the sticky heat. I can smell myself already, and it’s not lilies and sugar.
I unzip my hoodie, but I don’t remove it. Even though I’m off school grounds, I don’t want any passersby to see my filthy clothing. The blood on my neckline is dried to a rust color, and whatever gunk that was on the bathroom floor is still stuck to the front of my wrinkled shirt. It looks like I rolled across the road instead of driving to get to school this morning.
The trees rustle in the breeze, and the sky begins to turn gray as my feet slowly take me to my destination. I’m about a mile in when I hear a loud crack, followed by shouting. At first, I think it’s the faint sound of lightning, but I realize that there are some people just around the bushes further down the road, shouting profanities at each other.
I proceed with caution, slowing my pace as I near the sound of the voices. It’s two men, probably guys that go to Blackstone High. One of them has a very deep voice that makes me afraid, and the other one sounds like a squeaky chew toy.
I peek around the bush at the clearing beside the sidewalk since I have to walk past it anyway, curious to know who the voices belong to.
I’m surprised to see Flint standing with a skateboard to his side, staring down a lanky man with a broken skateboard at his feet.
“You’re the one who snapped it, cocksucker, so you need to replace it,” the lanky guy says, thrusting the two pieces of the board toward Flint.
Flint appears to be nothing more than slightly annoyed by the guy, raising an eyebrow and tapping his foot on the graffiti-laden ground of the skatepark. “I’m not giving you mine, but I’ll get you another one tomorrow. And I suggest you watch your mouth.”
“Tomorrow? Dude, I was practicing my ollie.”
“You’ve been skateboarding for two years and you still can’t do a basic ollie. I think you can wait until tomorrow.”
I start walking, trying to slip by them without begin noticed.
I have no luck. The second a take a step through the clearing, I hear the lanky guy shout, “Hey, it’s Amber.”
Fuck, how does he know my name? Did Flint tell him?
I turn my head, flashing a halfhearted smile at the pair.
; “Yo, come tell this cocksucker that he owes me a new skateboard,” the lanky guy shouts at me.
Flint shoves him with moderate force, but it sends him stumbling across the pavement.
“You guys have fun,” I shout back, continuing my walk.
“Wait up,” the lanky guy says, running toward me after he finds his footing.
Oh god, what did I do to deserve this?
Flint jogs behind the guy, making feel a little safer, not that the lanky guy seems especially threatening. He looks like he escaped from prison and has been hiding in a port-a-potty for a week without food. I imagine he smells the same, but I don’t let him close enough to catch a whiff. I take a step back as he comes to a stop in front of me.
“You’re Amber,” he declares.
“Yes, that’s right,” I reply, unsure what he’s getting at.
“I’m Blake,” he says, holding out a skeletal hand.
Flint walks up from behind him and pushes him out of the way, stepping up to me with his skateboard dangling at his side. “What brings you around here?” he asks, his voice deep and commanding, like he’s a military general or something. He has the voice of a grown man, but I swear he’s only nineteen, max.
I pull my hoodie tightly around my torso, trying to hide the mess beneath it. “I’m walking home. Someone destroyed my car.”
Flint raises both eyebrows knowingly. “The black sedan?”
“Did you do that?” I ask, leaning forward. I can already feel the heat rising to my cheeks at the thought of him fucking up my car over some stupid test.
“No, but I know who did,” he replies.
“Who?” I demand, unable to veil the aggression in my voice.
Blake jumps back into the scene, a goofy smile on his face. “We’ll tell you if you give us something.”
Flint looks like he’s about to push Blake out of the way again, but then he pauses, rubbing his square chin. “Yeah,” he says, a smile creeping over his face. “Helping people is cheating, remember?”
“Really?” I ask, equally surprised and irritated at his statement. “The people who destroyed my car were probably the same ones who beat the shit out of me. Tell me who they are,” I demand.
“Why’d you let them beat you up?” Flint asks, as though any of this were my fault.
“Why would I let them beat me up? Are you capable of using your brain at all, or are you really that stupid?” I ask, shaking my head and crossing my arms.
“Maybe she likes to the pain,” Blake chimes in, a goofy grin still plastered on his oily face.
I roll my eyes. “Alright, thanks for nothing.”
“Wait,” Flint barks, sending a jolt through me. “Let’s make a deal.”
“I don’t want to,” I reply, but I don’t walk away. I’m curious as to what’s on his mind, and I’d really like to know who did all this to me.
“You’re still here,” Flint state, “So you must want to make a deal.” Meanwhile, Blake looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin at me.
“Just get on with it,” I grumble, crossing my arms tightly and pressing my lips together in disapproval.
“Okay, so for two-hundred bucks, I’ll give you the scoop,” Flint announces.
“What?” I exclaim. “Are you nuts?”
He shrugs. “Deal or no deal?”
“No deal,” I reply. “You think I have that kind of money?”
“You obviously do, rich girl,” Flint replies.
“Don’t call me that,” I say, turning away.
“I have a better deal,” Blake yells as I’m about to turn away.
“God, no more deals,” I say, shaking my head.
“This one is good,” Blake says. “We’ll tell you who did it, and in return, you get on your knees and blow us. You have to swallow, no spitting.”
“Fuck you,” I reply, turning and charging off down the sidewalk. I’m so done with these two clowns. Flint is a money-hungry idiot who thinks I’m rich, and Blake is just a pervert.
“You fucked it up,” I hear Flint say to Blake as I walk away.
Indeed, they both fucked it up.
Chapter Six
Flint
I would’ve been happy with a hundred dollars. I don’t see why Amber didn’t want to bargain with me. I probably would’ve settled on twenty bucks if I had to, just so I could buy a cheap rain jacket. I need one because it looks like it’s going to rain soon.
I sent Blake home after he scared off Amber, and now I have to get ready to spend the night on the streets again. Sometimes I like to sleep at the skate park, but the creek is going to be a better bet in the rain. I’ll have a bridge to cover my head. I just hope the water levels don’t get too high and soak my sleeping bag.
Broken car or not, Amber should be thankful she has a place to lay her pretty head. I’d love to have a busted up car that I could spend the night in away from the rain. Instead, I have a moldy bridge that sprinkles dirt on my head every time someone walks over it.
It’s going to be a while until the sun sets, but I need to get under the bridge before the rain starts to come down. I place my skateboard on the ground, kicking at the smooth cement to propel me out of the skatepark. It’s a shame I couldn’t stay longer and practice, but the weather has more control over my schedule than anything else.
I haven’t smoked my joint yet, despite having it hanging from my lips the entire way to the skate park. The problem with Blake is that he’s always trying to get something from people. And if I smoke it in front of him, he’s going to want a hit. He doesn’t understand that I need this shit to sleep. The ground is hard and unforgiving under my back and weed relaxes me to the point where I don’t mind the rocks and sticks so much.
I don’t really give a shit about the cops around here. They barely do their jobs, so it’s no issue for me to light up as I walk down the sidewalk in the same direction as Amber was headed earlier. I swear I can still smell her perfume in the air, but that’s soon going to be replaced by the rich smell of potent weed.
I have a love hate relationship with the stuff, but it keeps me from having too many outbursts. Nobody but my mom has seen me completely flip out. The last time it happened, I had to transfer schools. I ended up breaking someone’s arm and it was all over after that. I have to stay chill now.
I spark my lighter, lifting a flame to the end of the white joint hanging from my lips. I take a drag, suppressing a cough as the thick hot smoke fills my lungs. The irritation is welcome, like what Blake said about Amber enjoying pain. He might not have been right, but he’d be right if he said it about me. There’s something satisfying about it, like it’s a reminder that I’m still alive.
I let out the smoke, blowing it ahead of me and walking through it like a portal into another world. I’ll be there soon, and it’s a better place than I am right now. It’s an escape, really, and one that I take often so that I can get a break from the pressure of the real world. I think everyone practices escapism, but I do it more than others.
I have more to escape from.
The words of my stepfather echo through my head as the first tiny droplets of rain urge me to walk faster to the creek. He told me that I was worthless. I know he just wanted control of the entire house, and that included me. Never mind that I’m an adult, capable of governing my own life. I just wish that Dean understood that.
I doubt he cares, though. People like him only care about themselves.
One day, that bastard is going to get what’s coming to him. I’m going to have my own place, and my mom is going to move there with me. I’m going to have my own auto repair shop, and I’ll fix up cars just like Amber’s. I like to work with my hands. It gives me an outlet for my frustrations.
But I can’t start my car mechanic training until I graduate high school. They don’t accept dropouts in any of the local apprenticeship programs. I was turned away the first time I went over there last year, when I had wanted to call it quits on school and get a head start on living my life.
As it turns out, there are no shortcuts to freedom. You have to put in the work to get the prize.
People like Blake don’t get that. Hell, people like Amber don’t get that either. The poor are confined by their negative thought process and bad environment, while the rich are confined by their reliance on money to solve their problems. I doubt Amber has ever had to lift a wrench in her entire life.
I don’t really hate Amber, as different as she is, but I know that she’s uppity. I can’t help but to think that she did something to deserve that beating and car trashing, but I can’t come up with anything solid to hold over her head. She would almost seem innocent if I didn’t know better. Her kind never are.
I shake off the droplets of cold rain as they hit my jacket, not wanting them to soak into the fabric before I can make it to the creek. I start to walk faster, puffing on my joint like it’ll keep me dry. A drop of water splashes onto the tip of it, knocking the cherry out onto the sidewalk at my feet.
“Fucking bullshit,” I exclaim, throwing the joint down onto the ground and charging forward. I have about ten seconds before I get totally soaked, judging by how quickly the rain is starting to come down.
I was wrong. It was five.
I make it to the bridge a split second before a heavy sheet of rain passes through the air, turning the once pleasant spring evening into a torrential downpour of cold rain. I move deep under the bridge, as far away from the rain as possible. Unfortunately, the bridge isn’t very wide, and mud splatters from the edges onto my sneakers as I stand hunched underneath it.
I hope it doesn’t rain like this all night. I’ll be covered in mud, buried alive while I sleep. A little rain, I don’t mind. It soothes me and I often sleep better when it’s sprinkling outside, but the storm ahead of me tonight is anything but soothing. It’s so loud that I can’t even hear myself shout ‘fuck’ again as I watch the creek fill up with water. This whole bridge is going to flood and drown me if the rain doesn’t slow down.
