I stood up again. “What do you care?”
He threw his hands into the air suddenly. “Fuck, dude, don’t be so defensive!”
“It’s you, Teslowski,” I snapped. “What am I supposed to be?”
He looked everywhere but at me. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sorry about that.”
I didn’t trust my own hypersensitive ears. “What did you say?”
He looked at his designer sneakers. “I said I was sorry. I’m not gonna be doing that stuff any more.”
“You’re not.”
“No.”
“Thursday, you tried to peg me with a milk bomb.”
“Dude, it missed – like you knew it was coming.”
“I did. I heard it.” I crossed my arms, smug.
I expected him to look surprised. Instead, he just nodded. “Yeah. I figured. I always knew there had to be more to you than just lookin’ funny.”
“Fuck you.”
He sighed. I saw his Adam’s apple move, and he looked like he didn’t like what he just had to swallow. “Sorry. But you do look different from everybody. You always have.”
That was the second time I ever heard Byron Teslowski apologize, and it hadn’t even been a minute. It was enough to relax me a little. I sat down on the edge of the table, which brought us to just about eye level.
“So, what’s your point.”
He scratched behind his ear. “I was wondering. What can you do?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, like with the milk bomb. What else?”
“Why?”
“I just want to know, okay? No strings.”
“No strings.” I didn’t completely believe him, but what the hell. He’d apologized.
“You have a cat?”
“Uh, yeah.”
I said, “Everything your cat can do, I can do.”
He squinted, snorted. “What, like land on your feet all the time?”
I looked at him.
“Oh.” I watched him think it over. “Dude… that’s... boss!”
“Whatever.” Lina sure thought it was, but I told myself I didn’t care what this idiot thought.
He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “So, if you’re like that, how come you never tried out for any sports or nothin’?”
“I didn’t like the crowd.”
He got that one right away. “Oh. Yeah, right.”
We were both quiet for a minute.
“So,” I said, “why did you want to know all this stuff? Why have us meet here?”
“Well…” He stepped closer to me. His eyes darted around like he expected the Candid Camera crew to leap out of the bushes.
“I think I’m one of you.”
Before I had a chance to digest that bombshell, Terrance Felder and the rest of Teslowski’s Wingmen came up into the park.
“Kick his ass, Byron!”
Teslowski’s eyes widened. “What are you guys doing here?”
Felder cracked his knuckles as he sauntered up. “We saw your car, thought we’d see what was up.” He sneered at me. “Looks like we were just in time.”
I slid off the picnic table and stepped sideways to get some space behind me. “You’re a real shithead, Teslowski.”
“I didn’t…”
Felder scowled. “What’s the deal, Byron? Get on with it!”
Maybe it was my night with Lina. Maybe it was William Donner turning the Washington Monument into a negative image. Maybe I was pissed at myself for actually starting to believe Byron Teslowski.
Whatever. I was done with backing down.
“Yeah, Byron.” I spat at his feet. “Get on with it.”
He came up with a lie. “Dude, I didn’t even know you were gonna be here.”
“Bullshit. You asked me to be here, and unless it was for a date, let’s go!”
Terrance Felder and the rest of the Wingmen were shocked into silence. I had never, ever, stood up to Teslowski before. It was a new world, after all. One where I didn’t run.
Teslowski mouthed, “Shut up,” and shook his head at me.
I took a step toward him.
“You’re a pussy,” I said.
His buddies howled. Teslowski reddened. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it in Felder’s direction. I heard Felder catch it.
Teslowski made fists. “Whatever, dude.”
The Wingmen made a circle around us. I waited.
Teslowski started bobbing. “Put ‘em up, Charters.”
I kept my hands at my sides, fingers slightly curled. The hooting taunts of the Wingmen faded as I seemed to automatically focus in on the sound of Teslowski’s breathing.
In the distance, Terrance Felder said, “Just hit him, Byron!” I hated that pudgy bastard more than Teslowski, right then.
After years of limiting himself to psychological torture, Byron Teslowski finally took a swing at me.
He was so slow. I watched his fist slip past me, then I darted in and struck at his ribs with my fingers.
I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know how to fight. I just did what felt right.
He grunted and backed off. He shot me another reluctant look, but I shook my head. I was tired of being the loser.
The smell of his sweat made me hungry.
“Suit yourself,” he said. This time, he came at me with a combination, left and right, and he was faster. I twisted away, but there was no opportunity to strike back.
One of the Wingmen barked, “Stop squirming, freak!”
That word stole my restraint. I surprised Teslowski by leaping at him. We hit the grass and rolled. His fists registered as dull thuds I couldn’t feel. I jammed one hand under his ribs and swiped.
He gasped, and his fear bloomed in my nostrils. I swung for his face, but he blocked me with a forearm and pushed me off with his other hand.
It was my turn to be surprised. I was in the air.
Contrary to his earlier assessment, I didn’t land on my feet, but hard, on my right side. I actually slid a few feet before scrambling to my hands and knees.
Teslowski had a hand under his shirt. “Stay away from me!” His voice cracked. The front of his shirt grew a dark, wet stain.
Terrance Felder cried foul. “Fucker’s got a knife!”
I looked at Felder. I smiled, and the skin on my face felt tight and dry. I held my hands out for him to see: empty.
The fingers on my right hand were red and sticky.
Teslowski pulled his hand out from under his shirt. He looked at the blood on his own fingers – his blood – and winced.
“You shouldn’t have, dude.”
At the time, the real regret in his voice didn’t register with me.
The speed with which he leapt was as fast as anything I could do. He slammed into me like he was sacking a quarterback. The wind left my lungs. His fists moved faster than they should have. My lip split, wet and hot.
I panicked. I’m not sure how it happened, but we were apart again. I was on my hands and knees. Dazed, I stared at the blood from my face as it dotted the grass. I looked at Teslowski. He was on his back, clutching his crotch. His Polo shirt was glossy and wet and red.
The Wingmen rushed to his aid. They helped him up.
Terrance Felder glared at me. “You’re dead, dude.”
I looked at Teslowski, and our eyes met. We both got it.
This fight was over.
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Seventeen
The short bike ride from Romita Park to Mel’s house was zero fun. My lip throbbed. My ribs ached. My side burned where I’d slid across the grass.
What the hell had just happened?
The driveway of Mel’s house was empty, but you didn’t need my ears to hear the Psychedelic Furs blasting from Mel’s upstairs bedroom window. I leaned my bike against the side of the house and pounded on the front door.
I avoided using my right hand, where Teslowski’s blood was dry and tacky.
Mel apparently didn
’t hear me until the silence of the empty groove between two songs. He opened the door before the first verse of “Here Come Cowboys” was over.
Mel took one look at me and paled, which was a little scary. How bad did I look?
“Holy shit, Nate!”
I talked around my swollen lip. “Anyone else home?”
“No – my folks took Hermione to the mall.”
I stepped into the living room and leaned against the wall.
“Ice.”
“Right.”
I followed Mel into the kitchen, where he rolled some ice cubes in a couple of paper towels. I held them to my lips and closed my eyes.
“What the hell happened?”
If I’d been in better shape, the extent to which Mel was freaking out would have been funny. I just held up my hand for him to wait.
“Jesus Christ!”
I opened my eyes. Mel stared at my blood-stained hand, then looked rapidly around the room with perfect paranoia.
“C’mon. My room. If my parents came home and saw you like this…”
I followed him upstairs. My ribs ached with every step, and I allowed myself to wonder if they were broken. The thought made me sick to my stomach. Broken ribs meant a doctor. If my mother found out about this whole mess, I’d never be allowed to leave the house.
In Mel’s room, he brushed clothes off of his bed and I sat down. He stared at me.
I pulled the ice off my lip and said, “Teslowski.”
Mel darkened. “I figured. Son of a bitch. He jump you?”
I shook my head, which made my lip hurt. I touched it with my tongue, which made it hurt. Since I couldn’t avoid the pain, I gave in and told Mel the whole incident.
“So… you cut him with your bare hands?” Mel didn’t look at me.
“I guess I should clip my nails.” I tried a laugh.
Mel snorted. “Probably need wire cutters.” He crossed his arms on his chest and tilted his head. “You think he was telling the truth?”
The ice was pretty much worthless at that point, so I tossed the soggy, bloody mess into Mel’s waste basket.
“About not wanting to fight?” I frowned; it hurt; I stopped. “Yeah. I practically forced him into it, which was not the brightest thing.”
“I mean about the other thing,” Mel said. “He said he thought he was a Sovereign.”
“Yeah. That too.” I thought about it. “When we started fighting, he was, like, slow, like any norm…” I cut that off. “Like anybody. But he got faster, real quick, and stronger, too.” I shook my head. “When he pushed me off him, it was like I was flying.” I indicated my broken lip. “By the time he did this, he was at least as strong as I am – maybe more.”
Mel whistled. “No wonder.”
I shrugged, confused.
“No wonder he’s such a jock,” he said. “Testosteronski’s a Sovereign, but he’s like, super-jock, or something. How else could he be so damn good at everything involving a ball of some kind?”
Not to mention track, and swimming, and wrestling… he’d been involved with, and excelled at, every kind of sport they offered, since junior high.
“Super jock. Great.”
Mel smiled. “And you, my friend, kicked his super-jock ass.”
“Sure – and I’m not exactly all fucked up, here, myself.” I sighed; it hurt; I stopped. “It was a draw. Plus, don’t forget he didn’t really want to fight me.”
I had, though. I felt like an idiot. “I’m gonna have to talk to him.”
Mel nodded. “Yeah, huh.” He cringed as I leaned back on the bed. “Hey, Nate, your hand…”
I jerked upright before I could think about how that would hurt my side. Wincing, I said, “Sorry. I’ll wash up.”
Mel scooped a U2 concert shirt off the floor. “Here. Your shirt’s a mess.” He tossed it at me.
“Thanks.” I caught it with my cleaner hand and went into the bathroom across the hall from his room.
I got a look at my lip in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it felt. I could have laughed, but for the thought of what I had done to Teslowski. I realized I had no idea how deeply I cut him.
It made me sick. I barely made it to the toilet.
Throwing up drained me in more ways than the obvious. Adrenaline had brought me far, but my metabolism would allow no more. I was exhausted.
I flushed the remains of breakfast, washed my hands and face of Teslowski’s blood and my own, changed into Mel’s shirt, and stumbled back to his bedroom.
He raised an eyebrow. “You gonna be alright?”
“I’m whipped.”
He knew how I was. “Crash for a while. I’ll be downstairs.”
“Thanks.” I fell back on the bed and was out in no time.
~
I woke when something touched my face. I opened my eyes and saw Lina hovering above me, face scrunched and squeamish.
“Yikes, sorry..!”
I sat up on Mel’s bed. My side felt a little better, and the sight of Lina was enough to almost ignore the pain in my lip.
“Hi!”
“Hi, yourself.” She took my chin in her hand and moved my head left and right. “You gonna live?”
“You should see the other guy,” I said with no humor whatsoever.
Behind Lina, Mel said, “I told her all about it.”
“I came over to see if there was anything I could do for my tough-guy boyfriend.” Lina somehow conveyed her general disapproval with a thin smile.
“Boyfriend?”
Mel and Lina exchanged a glance. Mel pointed his index finger at his temple. “Shell shock,” he stage-whispered to Lina.
“Bite me, Mel.” My eyes fell on the clock on Mel’s nightstand. “Shit. Tell me it’s not six thirty.”
Mel scratched his head. “Actually, it’s only six fifteen. I set it ahead so I’m never late.”
Mel was always late.
“That’s still... my mother’s going to kill me.”
“When did you say you’d be home?” Lina asked.
“Fifteen minutes ago, Mel Standard Time.” I stretched carefully to test my ribs. I decided they weren’t broken.
Lina acquired a pout. “Can’t you call her and let her know you’re over here?”
Mel handed me his phone, and I dialed.
“Hello?” My mother’s voice was clipped and abrupt.
“It’s me.”
“You’re late.”
“I know – sorry. I’m over at Mel’s. Is it okay if I hang out over here a while longer?”
My mother’s new paranoia welled in her voice. “I don’t know…”
“We’re just hanging out – we won’t go anywhere.” I rolled my eyes in Lina and Mel’s direction.
“It’s a school night,” my mother said. “How late were you thinking?”
“I dunno, like, nine, I guess.”
“You have your bike?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m not sure I want you riding home in the dark.”
“Um, hello, mom, I can, like, see in the dark?”
“I am very aware of that,” she said with exaggerated patience. I wondered if I had pushed my luck. “Maniacs in their cars can’t, though, can they?”
“Lina’s here. She can drive me back.”
“Oh!” Her tone changed immediately, but I wasn’t sure I liked it any better. “So that’s how it is!”
“So, is it cool?”
“Stay out of trouble,” she said.
I closed my eyes and automatically touched the inside of my lip with my tongue.
“Oh, sure. I will. Bye.”
“You’re welcome, Nathan.”
“Thanks, mom. Bye.”
“Nine o’clock. Bye.”
I hung up.
Mel was already pulling black Creepers on his feet. “Okay! So what are we doing?”
“I’m really, seriously hungry,” I said.
“Got any money?”
“Uh…” La
st night had tapped me out.
Mel reached into his back pocket and flipped out his Rainbow wallet with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I can cover us for Anarchy Burger.”
I stood up and took Lina’s hand. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”
From The Journal Of Nate Charters – Eighteen
We called it Anarchy Burger because of the twenty foot red “A” on the roof. Lina, Mel, and I placed our orders at the counter, then took a booth in the rear. I sat with my back to the wall and fiddled with the little plastic number they gave us to identify our order. Lina sat next to me, Mel across the table.
Mel said, “So, what now? What are you going to do about Teslowski?”
The smell of broiling cow flesh gave me a real salivation problem. I swallowed repeatedly. “Assuming he’s not, like, in the hospital or something, I’m gonna have to talk to him.”
Lina raised an eyebrow. “If he’s as… capable... as you think, he’s probably not in the hospital.” She smiled at me. “He’s probably just moping over his wounds, same as you.”
I grunted.
“Besides,” she continued, “why bother talking to him? Didn’t he set you up?”
I shook my head. “The more I think about it, I don’t think he was there to fight me. I don’t think he knew Felder and the others were gonna show up.”
“How can you be sure?”
Mel laid a finger against the side of his nose like a New Romantic Santa. “The nose knows,” he said.
“Right,” I confirmed.
Lina shrugged. “He didn’t have to fight you.”
I frowned and looked at my hands. “Like Teslowski would back down from a fight. I practically forced him.”
Lina put her chin in her hands. “How long has he had it in for you, anyway?”
Mel said, “They’ve been enemies almost as long as Nate and I have been friends.”
“Has he ever tried to be friends with you before?”
I laughed. “I don’t think he’s looking to be friends – it was more like he wanted to compare notes. That, and he was… scared, I guess.”
“Well, he’s probably a little weirded out,” Lina said. “Aren’t you?”
The server brought our food and relieved me of the little plastic number. I willingly surrendered it in favor of a triple cheeseburger, which I set to devouring instead of answering Lina. I was too hungry for my throbbing lip to slow me down.
The Sovreign Era (Book 1): Brave Men Run Page 7
