A Girl Like Me

by Ginger Scott

  “That’s enough!”

  Mr. Wilshire’s booming voice fills the room, and most of the boys step away, but Wes and Zack keep attacking one another.

  Our school’s wrestling and football coach, Mr. Wilshire splits time up in the gym with my dad. He’s twice my father’s size, but my dad’s authority rules with a heavier hand. He can crush a kid with the right words, and fights—they don’t happen in front of my dad. I wish he was here now.

  “Wes…Zack…stop it!” I shout, grabbing the end of Wes’s T-shirt and holding it in my fist so tightly that it rips as his body lunges forward.

  “Please! Please just stop!” My voice shrills, and Wes swings his arm with half strength at Zack, getting up from the floor and tugging his shirt, ripping the strip I tore from the bottom and throwing it on the ground between him and Zack.

  “You don’t say shit like that!” Wes’s eyes are wild as he paces, taking long strides toward Kyle then back to the ground where blood now spreads. This time, he points before he speaks. “That’s not okay. You don’t say shit like that. Not to her.”

  Zack’s chest heaves, his eyes wincing with the deep breaths. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of his ribs was broken.

  “Wes, it’s okay,” I say.

  “No,” my boy says, turning to me with the sharpness of that word. His eyes hold mine and he pants as his muscles start to relax until the fist at his side finally uncoils. “No,” he says again, the word quieter this time.

  “You’re right,” I say, stepping closer until I can touch him. I move my hand to his arm slowly, my fingers eventually grasping around his bicep, hot from having been so filled with rage. “It’s not okay, but I’m used to it. And I don’t care about Zack. I don’t care what he thinks about me, about my dad. Zack’s an asshole who can’t catch a ball—so they made him a lineman, even though he’s too small to stop anyone.”

  “Fuck you, Joss!” Zack shouts, finally standing from the floor, spitting as he moves to the other side of the weight room.

  “No, I’m pretty sure today it’s fuck you, Zack. In fact, fuck you all,” I say, backing from the room, dragging my finger through the air and pointing to the people in here who know nothing about me other than the stories they heard and memories of one afternoon in my front yard when we were all kids.

  “Office,” Mr. Wilshire says, tugging on the shoulder of Zack’s sleeve. “Both of you…now!”

  Waving his bulging arm, the man armed with a whistle and a six pack turns red in the face as he ushers all of us out of the weight room, throwing out threats he has no intention of following through on, like closing the weight room for good.

  My dad will just open it again. And closing it won’t stop people from being assholes. It won’t even slow them down.

  My friends and I all follow Wes and Zack to the office, and we wait outside, taking turns staring through the slender window in the door that stands between us and the dean’s office.

  “Can you see anything?”

  I’ve had my face pressed to the glass the longest, my eyes straining to look around the corner where the dean’s office door is open.

  “No, but he’s been in there for a while. Zack is still sitting in the hallway,” I say.

  Zack flipped me off the first time he saw me looking at them. I ignored him, like my parents always told me to do with bullies. It’s the only time I’ve heeded that advice, and I only did it because I have no use or time for Zack.

  Kyle’s shoulder rubs against mine, so I move an inch or two to the left to give him room to look on with me. We both stand in silence while Wes’s brothers and Taryn whisper, replaying everything as they saw it, getting their stories in order to make sure none of this lands on Wes.

  “He deserved it, you know,” Kyle says.

  “Probably,” I respond.

  “No probably. He did. And Wes was right. You don’t say things like that…” he says, swinging his arm into me. I turn just enough to catch my friend’s eyes. “Not to you. People don’t get to say things like that to you anymore. I shouldn’t have ever let them get away with it in the first place.”

  The right side of my mouth tugs up in response, and I lean into him.

  “I can take care of myself,” I say, and Kyle lets out an airy laugh, his eyes flitting from me back to the glass in front of us.

  “He’s coming,” Kyle says, backing away.

  I freeze for a second, and Wes stops where he is, his eyes finding mine through the small window. Blood stains are on his shirt, and I know they aren’t his. I bring my hand up in front of my body, resting the tip of my finger on the glass as my head falls forward against it, and Wes’s eyes sweep shut, opening when his head dips down and his focus drops to his feet. I back away, letting my finger draw a short line down the glass as I move.

  Wes pushes the door open, and everyone stands the moment his hand curls around the door’s edge.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  His head turns slowly, his eyes catching his brothers’ first, then stopping on mine. His lips are a flat line, and his face is void of emotion, but his eyes tell the full story. It’s time.

  “Okay,” I say, reaching my hand out to grasp his.

  My step falls in with his as he lets the door close behind him, and I catch the glares from our friends as we walk past them toward the exit. They aren’t sure what Wes means, and they don’t understand if they’re supposed to stay or come.

  I nod my head toward the open hallway and level them with my gaze, trying to invite them without saying the words. After a few seconds, they follow. We all walk quietly through the silent hallway, classroom doors closed, the only sounds from muffled lectures as we pass each room.

  Wes pushes the door wide, and I step through with him, holding the edge long enough so Kyle can catch it to let Taryn, TK, and Levi come through next. Wes walks silently all the way to his truck, opening the passenger door for me. Our friends stop a few paces shy, brows furrowed and confusion scribbled across their faces.

  TK is the first to break the silence, “Are we…ditching?”

  “Yup,” Wes says, taking my hand to help me inside. I give him a crooked smile, and he shoots me one back, leaning in enough to brush his lips on mine before stepping back to shut the door.

  Our friends pile in the back, and Wes climbs into the driver’s seat, watching in the mirror until everyone’s sitting down and holding on. He fires the engine up, pulls from his spot, and drives timidly through the lot and out to the main road. Once the school is in the distance, though, his foot grows heavy on the gas, speeding us away from the weight room, from the dean’s office, and from dick holes like Zack.

  “Did they suspend you?”

  My voice is hoarse. I slide my hand along the seat until my fingertips graze his jean-covered leg, and he glances down, moving his hand to cover mine and giving it a squeeze.

  “No, just a good warning,” he says, quirking a lip and laughing once. “Being the missing boy who finally came home has its perks, I guess.”

  I smile, but it fades quickly. My heartbeat picked up the second Wes leapt at Zack, and it hasn’t really slowed down since. His secrets aren’t mine to tell, and I know that what he’s about to do is harder on him than it is me, but I have this selfish worry nevertheless. Things are going to change.

  Wes drives us beyond our neighborhood, rolling through stop signs until he turns off on a dirt road that winds behind the drive-in movie theater. His tires kick up dust, and my eyes search people who may see us. We’re out here alone, though.

  “Why here?” I ask, thinking about our last trip here, and what I did.

  “I came here a lot when I was gone,” he says, turning the wheel hard and parking the truck in the shadow of the largest movie screen. After breaking, he shifts to park and kills the engine, sighing hard as his hands fall to his legs and his back rests heavy in the seat behind him. His head rolls to the side and his eyes meet mine. “I had this fantasy that you’d come here to think too, and t
hen you’d see that I was okay, that I was watching you, and you’d understand and be okay with what I had to do.”

  “You know that’s crap, right?” I respond.

  Wes’s chest lifts with a short laugh.

  “Yeah, that’s why I said fantasy,” he says, his mouth resting in a tight-lipped smile.

  A heavy pound echoes about our heads, and we both twist in our seats to see Levi’s face as he squats behind the back window in the bed of the truck.

  “Did you bring us all out here to watch y’all make out? Or are we going to blow off some steam?” Levi’s head swivels, his eyes shifting from mine to Wes’s. I glower at him eventually and reach for the handle on my door.

  “You better run,” I shout, and Levi’s eyes flash wide.

  “Oh shit!” he shouts, kicking his legs over the edge of the truck bed just as I rush out of the cab.

  I sprint after him for a few steps, grabbing the bottom of his T-shirt, but losing my grip as he spins around, laughing loudly and feigning to be genuinely scared of me until his feet tangle underneath his body and he falls into a tuft of weeds.

  “She didn’t even have to touch you, dude!” TK says, stepping forward and holding his hand out to his brother to help him back to his feet.

  “I know my place, man. I know Joss could kick my ass. I’m not like you, all delusional and shit, thinking I’m a better ballplayer than she is,” Levi says, not quite fully standing as he speaks. TK’s smile contorts into a grimace and he pulls his hand away, sending his brother right back to his ass, which makes us all laugh hard—even Wes.

  I walk over to where Wes is leaning against the side of his truck, and I fold my arms over my chest and lean with him. We both watch his brothers and Kyle take turns kicking dirt at each other while Taryn sits on the truck’s hood, pointing and shouting out insults to them all. It’s the first time in forever that we’ve all felt young and stupid, and I let the feeling brand itself on my insides, because I know how fleeting it is.

  Eventually, his brothers stop wrestling, and an edge settles over us all. No one wants to be the first to ask what this is about, and I don’t want to break the ice until Wes is ready to share, so we all wait, uncomfortable silence ruling as we do things like kick at the tire of the truck, pick ragweed, and blow pollen into the breeze.

  “What are we doing here, man?” Kyle finally asks. His eyes remain steadfast on Wes, and I know that he has an idea of what this is all about. It’s why he’s not looking at me. My friend is playing along for the good of the rest of us. He’s playing along to make me feel okay, and so feelings aren’t even more hurt that I’ve shared the most with him.

  Wes breathes in long and slow, but exhales fast, his lips closed tight as the air escapes through his nose. His arms fall from their hold over his chest, and his hands find his pockets as he kicks a rock forward near where he stands, crossing his ankles and looking down at his feet. His hat hides his expression from our friends, but from the side, I see him struggling. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes blink while he searches for words.

  “I’m sorry that there are news trucks parked outside our house sometimes,” he says, looking up and bringing a hand to his face, his fingers scratching at his cheek while he draws his mouth in on one side and pinches his brow.

  “It’s all right, man,” TK says, shaking his head and shrugging.

  “No…it’s really not,” Wes chuckles, shaking his head and eventually covering his face with both hands. He rubs as he laughs, then stops instantly, his face tilting to the sky as he stretches his arms out, looking for answers.

  “Just tell them,” I say as his laughter dies down. Wes’s chin falls and he turns his head to me, his eyes heavy with uncertainty. “They’re your family. We all are.”

  Wes closes the small distance between us and cups my cheeks, pulling my head toward his and resting our foreheads together. “I love you something fierce,” he whispers, and for the first time in an hour, my pulse begins to slow.

  His lips brush against mine before he backs away, walking to the tailgate of the truck and flipping the hitch, lowering it so he can climb inside. All eyes are on him as he steps up along the rim of the truck’s bed, then climbs to the roof of the cab, his black Vans heavy as he steadies his feet. I can see his muscles twitch with nerves, and his hands go back in his pockets on instinct as his eyes scan the back lots of the drive-in.

  “When the bus rolled into the river and I jumped in to save Joss’s dad, I didn’t drown,” he says. The ground near me rustles as his brother’s shuffle their feet and fidget with their own arms. I glance to the side and catch them looking at each other; Kyle and Taryn are looking down.

  “I guess that’s obvious, because…ha, right…I’m alive,” Wes says, stretching his arms out to his sides. “What I meant, though, is…yeah…I got banged up good along the rocks, and I was caught in the undertow for…” He pauses, pushing out a short breath from his nose and smirking. “I was underwater for a long-ass time. I should have drowned. I should have been bloody, cut to shit from the rocks and glass, metal and branches…hell, the pieces of bus caught in the undertow with me. But I wasn’t. My body fought the current for miles.”

  “How many miles?” TK says, looking up to meet his brother’s eyes.

  There’s a long pause as the two of them stare into one another. Finally, Wes answers.

  “Maybe a hundred,” he says.

  TK’s chest lifts slowly, and I never see him exhale. Wes continues to look at his brother as he speaks.

  “When I climbed out, I went straight to Shawn’s,” he says, pausing to let his words really register. Both Levi and TK breathe out, and when I glance to their faces, I catch the way both of their jaws grow rigid with hurt and confusion—with resistance. “Not because I didn’t want to come home.”

  Wes swallows.

  “I just…”

  “You just what? You wanted to make us think you were dead so we could watch mom not eat for a week? Watch dad fumble trying to keep things normal, even though we could hear him consoling mom at night while she cried herself to sleep?” TK shouts, walking to the back of the truck and climbing into the bed.

  Wes shakes his head and turns, preparing himself to take whatever his brothers need to lash out with. I was in their shoes not so long ago. This path they’re on—it has to be walked.

  “Was this some fucked up joke then? I don’t understand Wes!” TK climbs to the rooftop to stand facing his brother, his hands to his sides, both in fists. He shakes his head slowly and his eyes narrow on Wes, and I step in closer, catching Wes’s gaze. He shakes me off, but I stay close. I’m pretty sure he’s not handling this smoothly, and no matter how invincible he is, it’s still hard to watch him get knocked down. And he’s going to.

  “You better make this make sense really fuckin’ fast, bro,” TK says, stepping forward and pushing at the center of Wes’s chest with both of his palms. Wes’s feet stumble a little, but his face never drops his resolve. He’ll take it all.

  “TK, let him talk,” Levi says, walking to the front of the truck, his palms on the hood next to Taryn, whose eyes are wide and darting from mine to her boyfriend.

  “Let him talk? We thought this asshole was dead, and instead, he was just having a sleepover at Uncle Shawn’s,” TK says, turning to face Wes again.

  “At my dad’s,” Wes responds, and TK’s eyes slit even more, his mouth closed tight, puckering.

  Wes’s feet are steady, but his body is relaxed, his shoulders sloping and his thumbs hooked in his pockets. TK’s nostrils flair with every breath he takes until he starts to shake his head, chuckling. Without warning, his arm lunges forward and his fist strikes Wes in the jaw, sending him back on his feet, his balance faltering and his body falling flat to the dirt ground by the driver’s side door.

  TK walks to the edge of the roof to look over at him, his eyes red and his fist still formed, ready to strike again. But when Wes stands up easily and brushes the dust from his jeans, rolling his sho
ulders a few times from the fall, TK’s face softens. This time, he’s the one who takes a step back.

  “I was at my dad’s,” Wes repeats.

  He and TK lock eyes for long, quiet seconds.

  “Shawn…” Levi starts.

  Wes looks over to his other sibling, shifting his jaw from side to side slowly before finally nodding once, a small lift of his chin. TK’s legs falter, so he kneels on the truck roof, finally sitting with his feet dangling over the edge. Kyle comes closer to me, leaning on the truck’s side and waiting patiently, never once letting on that he knows everything that’s coming. If only he did. There are so many things that I would never be able to explain. Only Wes can do that.

  “Shawn Stokes is my dad.” The words stumble out of Wes’s mouth slowly, almost as if he’s still trying to convince himself by hearing his voice say them.

  Levi’s eyebrows raise, and he blows out air as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “How?” he asks.

  Wes’s mouth grins on one side, but his eyes sag. He lets out a breathy sarcastic chuckle.

  “He paid a hooker to sleep with him. Knocked her up. She wasn’t the mothering type, so…” He swings his arms out to either side, presenting himself. I don’t care how he was made; I’m just glad that he was.

  “Okay, so Uncle Shawn…” TK begins.

  “Is my dad,” Wes finishes.

  The three brothers all stare into the same emptiness between them for several seconds.

  “Fuuuuuck,” TK says, breaking the brief silence, but only for a moment. They all go back to it, and while they stare at nothing, Kyle, Taryn, and I flit glances to one another.

  The air around us grows warmer from the rising sun. Fall in Bakersfield isn’t much of a fall at all—the temperatures rival most summers for everywhere else. It’ll be in the eighties today, and we’re all beginning to perspire from the stickiness, but no one dares to suggest we leave this place. Wes came here because he knew no one would come looking. He’s only just begun to share his story, and he needs the comfort of being somewhere secret. I knot my hair on top of my head and roll the sleeves of my T-shirt up over my shoulders.