by Tijan
I smirked.
He scratched his nose with his middle finger.
I laughed, and then coughed to cover it up when Taz frowned my way.
“So…” Zellman was clueless to everything, stretching his arms over his head. “Where’s the party before the street dance tonight?” He looked from Cross, to Jordan, to me, and back again. “Party? Right? Or are we doing something else?”
Cross was coming back, a coffee mug in hand. “Do we have damage control after what you did last night?” He nodded to Z, then switched to Jordan. “People know it was you guys who did the cars.”
Zellman harrumphed. “Fuck that. No way. Besides, that’s payback for all those years ago. We still hear about that shit with the Broudou brothers. It’s been a long time coming that we explode their cars.”
Cross frowned. “Except those guys weren’t from the Academy. They were from Public.”
Zellman shrugged, going back to spinning his stool around. “Who cares? They’re both the same.”
I picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “My future sister-in-law went there. They aren’t the same.”
He caught the pillow, incredulous. “Seriously? You’re vouching for the public school?”
“I’m not going that far, just doing my sister-in-law duties here.”
“And Heather is right chill, but she doesn’t go there anymore.” He raised his hand, rubbing his thumb over his two front fingers. “She’s busy making money now.”
Jordan coughed. “Back to the matter at hand.” He nodded to Cross. “I doubt we need to worry about payback. They were going to burn our school down. They got caught, and we didn’t. That’s on them.”
I laughed. “We’re better at being criminals.”
Jordan grinned before resting his elbows on his knees. He cupped his hands together. “I’ve never heard of anyone from the Academy being a problem for us. We’ll have to find out the truth, whether Alex set them up or not.”
Cross nodded, resting a hip on the couch next to me. “That’s what I was thinking. Alex said he had nothing to do with it, that he’s stupid but not that stupid.”
“You agree with him?” Race asked.
We all turned to him.
“Do you?” Cross asked
Race was silent a beat, his eyes downcast. “I don’t know. As much as I truly hate my cousin, he was twisted up about hurting Taz. The fucker tried to kill himself, and he would’ve if you guys hadn’t been there.”
One of our rare “good guy” moments. Let’s just forget the reason we went there in the first place. In the grand scheme of things, does that really matter?
“I can’t see him stewing over it in the hospital,” Race continued. “Drake told him he’d be back in the crew if he let you guys give him a beat-down for Taz. Then he went back on it and actually laughed in his face. That’s what I heard, anyway. If he was going to be pissed at anyone, I’d think it would be his brother. Not our school. Alex was king of the dipshits at Roussou.” He grunted. “He fit right in.”
I pursed my lips. Was there an insult in there? Then I shrugged. I somewhat agreed with him. There were a lot of dipshits at our school, just not anyone in this room.
Zellman was still spinning.
Well, maybe one. Though we loved him immensely.
“Okay,” Cross announced. “We’ll ask around and see what happens.”
Everyone nodded, and the matter was decided—for now.
Race and Taz weren’t in any hurry to leave.
They stayed until Taz’s phone, Jordan’s phone, and even Zellman’s phone started blowing up. The girls wanted to party, but there was a rule. Jordan’s parents were okay if he had our group here, but no big blow-out parties. So everyone was heading to Tabatha’s.
I’d never been there, but it was a big Normal party place, and once we got there, I wasn’t surprised. I had to laugh softly.
“What?” Cross asked, parking his truck.
“I always think of Roussou and Fallen Crest as an us-versus-them thing. We’re the poor ones, and they’re the wealthy ones.” I gestured to Tabatha’s three-story home. “But I think I’m getting it wrong.”
It was obvious Tabatha’s parents were doing well.
I knew Race’s family was wealthy, and Alex and Drake’s parents had a huge estate themselves.
Cross reached over and took my hand in his. “It’s a mix. A lot of the Normals’ parents work for companies in Fallen Crest, but yeah, I think it’s a little more evenly distributed than it was a few years ago.”
There’d also been a boom in business recently. I knew Channing’s bar was drawing in local college students from a town thirty minutes away.
My chest constricted, just the slightest bit. “Ever get the feeling you’re sitting in a car that’s not moving, and everything is traveling past you instead?”
Cross was quiet, studying me.
For a split second, I was back in my old house. I could hear my mom throwing up from the cancer treatments. I could hear my dad’s drunken yells. I could hear Channing cursing at him before the inevitable sound of something or someone being slammed into a wall, then feet stampeding, racing for the door, and that door slamming into silence.
Channing was the first to leave. Always.
My dad wasn’t long after him, heading to the bar, and then silence. Maybe an occasional puke sound from my mom’s bathroom before she crawled into bed, turned the light off, and went to sleep as if nothing were happening—as if our lives weren’t coming apart.
Only after complete silence had transcended would I get up from the corner I’d been curled in.
I would pad down the hallway in my bare feet and make a ball at the end of my mom’s bed, a blanket pulled around me. I’d stay there until my dad would tumble down the hallway, returning from the bar. Sometimes he’d trip over me and not know. Then I’d go back to my room, get in my bed, and wish Cross would come stay with me.
“Bren?” Cross ran his thumb over the back of my hand.
I blinked, startling and coming back to the present. “Sorry. I…uh…” Yeah. My throat had swollen. “We gotta tell Jordan what Alex said about Drake.”
“I know. We’ll find the time.”
I nodded, still eyeing Tabatha’s house. This whole party scene was not my usual thing. But my old derision for the Normals wasn’t there, not as much anymore. It was more a flicker.
Things had changed.
“You want to talk about something?” Cross asked.
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
He rested his head against his headrest. “You want to drink on our hill?”
Yes. But I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t been back in so long. I didn’t want to feel the memories.
“No. Let’s go to a Normal party.” I grinned. “Words I bet you never thought you’d hear me say.”
“No, not really.” He smiled fondly, staring back at me. He cupped my cheek. “We can skip—the party, the street dance. J and Z have their girls. They’ll be fine. There’s no crew war now.”
I knew what he was offering: an entire day for me to wallow. We’d go to that hill, drink a bottle of whiskey, and I’d look for a ghost I was never going to see again.
I shook my head. “I feel like something’s coming, something big. We need to be with the guys until it hits.”
“Okay.” He leaned over, kissing me softly.
We walked side by side up to the house.
Tabatha greeted us at the door with a warm smile and glazed eyes. She was happy. She threw her arms around Cross, who stiffened and shoved her away. “The fuck?”
She blinked a few times, that sloppy grin turning sloppier. “Oh. Sorry.” Turning to me, her eyes brightened. She reached out. “Bre—”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Her arms dropped, and she laughed. “You’re so funny. I like you. I used to hate you, then I was just scared of you, but I like you now. I don’t think you’d ever hurt me.”
She was nearing d
angerous territory.
“You’re just all bark and no bi—”
Jordan stepped up behind her, his hand on her hip as he pulled her back to his chest. “Babe.” He dropped his head down, nuzzling her neck a second.
“Hmmm, honey?”
There were the nicknames again. Except it wasn’t cute this time because Sweets was pissing me off. I had a tendency to hate when people told me how I was, especially when I never asked for it.
He murmured, “Bren’s not on probation for having no bark. You might want to remember that.”
She jerked.
I waited. There was another thing she needed to remember: my hands on her. Violence might be distasteful to the likes of her, but it was our way—good, bad, dirty, or just bloody.
“Oh.” Her smile slipped.
She remembered.
She blinked a few times before edging back a step, further into Jordan. He folded his arms around her, lifting his head to wink at Cross and me.
“How about you and me go somewhere private?” he asked her. “I need some time with my girl.”
He pulled her away, nodding to us. “Z’s outside,” he said in parting. “He already did two kegstands.”
“Shit.” Cross’ jaw firmed, and he started forward.
There were people everywhere. It was nearing four in the afternoon, and I wondered when this had started. Probably this morning. Normally people moved back when they saw us. Not today. They were everywhere, running, jumping, dashing, falling back, stumbling. Drunken laughter and shrieks, and slurred conversations. We caught the end of one girl telling her friend to just do it, “break the ass seal.”
Cross shot me a grin over his shoulder.
I shook my head. Not solid advice, on any day.
Outside wasn’t any better. Tabatha had a pool and a massive backyard. A small white shed stood in the far corner, with a literal white picket fence around it. A tanned, athletic guy came through the gate next to the house, a bong in hand and a long hose for funneling. His hat was on backward, and he wore a tank over beefy muscled arms and swim trunks. Behind him were about twenty friends who looked just like him.
“Hell yeah! This is where the party is.” He bobbed his head. “Nice.” He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, and at first, no one paid him any attention, but he kept on. He walked into the backyard as if it were his own. “Who’s ready to party? We need to kick it up a notch. Yeah, man!”
Again, he wasn’t talking to anyone. His eyes moved over the group, and one by one, people started noticing him. His grin grew, his head still bobbing.
I checked, but there were no headphones in his ears.
He spread his arms wide. “So this is a Roussou party? Where are the greeters? Where’s the shots? Come on, people. I thought you all were so badass. I feel cheated.”
Cross stopped beside me.
Zellman was off by the keg, but he moved closer now, his eyes on this guy.
“What the fuck?” Zellman growled.
I almost blanched, the beer smell was so strong.
That’s when the Douche Guy saw us and did a double-take. He held up his funnel and pointed at me. “I know you. You’re Heather Jax’s sister, ain’t you?”
Another growl from Zellman, but deeper. He moved forward a step.
My eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I’m Zeke.” He bounced his chin up as he said his name, and then nodded toward his friends who had started to fan out around him. “These are my boys.”
Zellman went another step, one of his hands in a fist at his side. “You’re from Fallen Crest Academy.”
Zeke gazed at him a second, nonplussed, then his mouth broke out in another blinding flash of smile. “Hell yeah, we are. You heard of us, huh?”
Zellman, normally happy-go-lucky, just wants to drink and get laid, raised his head. His tone was ice cold. “I know you’re the fuckers whose cars I exploded.”
Had he…
No.
Wait.
He had. He went there.
I took a small breath. That cemented it. We were fighting.
Zeke’s smile slipped, and he lowered his head. “The fuck? That was you?”
Three of his friends shoved forward. I could almost smell the tanning lotion coming off of them. They looked like surfers who enjoyed lifting weights, a lot. Zeke could’ve been a linebacker.
One of the guys jabbed a hand at Zellman. “That was you?”
He took another step forward. “Yeah, fucker. That was me. You guys sent your pals to burn our school down.”
The big guy started to move forward, but Zeke slapped a hand on his chest, his eyes on Zellman before going to me, then Cross. “We didn’t do that. That little prick’s been dealt with, and he’s insisting one of yours made him do it. Your fight’s with one of yours.”
Zellman growled again as the patio door slid open with a hiss. Jordan popped out from it, a bunch of other guys behind him. I looked for any Ryerson crew, but there were none. We were surrounded by Normals. Still. The jocks from our school matched theirs in size and muscle. They just didn’t have clothing as bright as the Academy kids’. Those guys enjoyed their red, neon blue, and yellow shirts.
Jordan shoved through the crowd that had gathered to watch. “Get lost. You’re not welcome here.”
“Yeah?” Zeke’s nostrils flared. “Who the fuck are you?”
“This is my girlfriend’s house.”
Tabatha came to his side, her arms crossed over her bikini-clad chest. “This is my house. You’re not invited.”
Zeke’s eyes were still narrow, sweeping over Tabatha, Jordan, Zellman, Cross, and finding me.
Why me? Seriously?
A girl could only not fight back so many times before her parole office would get a call. I’d been good for so long.
“You,” he snarled.
Yeah. There went that peaceful record.
I moved around Zellman and Jordan, staring right back at him. “I don’t take kindly to being talked to like that. Change your fucking tune.”
He got one chance. That was it.
“Where the fuck do you get the idea that yo—”
That was it. I slipped my hand in my pocket, brought my knife out in a flash, and I was across the yard the next beat.
He stopped talking because there was metal against his flesh.
He froze, his eyes popping out.
I leaned forward, my arm locked in place. “You want to finish that stateme—”
But it was too late for me too.
I made the first move, so the rest had to back me up. They did. The guys near Zeke were shoved back. I didn’t look to see who grabbed who, but I waited until all the movement was done. Shouting. Curses filled the air. A girl yelled and harrumphed. All the while, I waited, my eyes locked with Zeke’s.
I was letting him see me, the real me. The me Tabatha Sweets forgot sometimes. Because deep down, no matter how much therapy and community service had rehabilitated me, there was still a feral animal in me. It took a second to come back up, but it was there.
It was stretching, waking up, and I was starting to pant from the effort it took to rein myself in.
“You reading me right?” I asked, my voice low.
Because while I was letting him read me, I got a look inside him too. And he was nasty. There was a good chunk of sliminess and mean in him, but over it was shock and fear. He was mostly scared right now, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up, pressing against my knife, nicking himself. A droplet of blood oozed out, sliding over the top of my knife.
I could get arrested for this. Right here. It was considered assault, and staring into this guy’s eyes, I tried to gauge if he was the kind to run to the police or not.
“You gonna tell on me?” I asked. “You gonna narc?” And since he’d brought up Alex, I added, “You know what we did to the last narc in our midst, right?”
Jordan spoke up, shoving a big meathead. “He spent weeks in the hospital. That’s what we
did.”
Zeke never looked away from me. His fear had faded, but he was absolutely still. “That was you guys too?”
I didn’t answer him, just tipped my head back. “What are you going to do today, Zeke? Are you going to tell your boys to turn and walk out? Are you going to run to your rich parents? Tell on us? Tell them a little girl half your size got a knife to your throat? Or are you going to turn around, leave, and party somewhere else today?” I pressed in, just an inch, before releasing him and stepping back.
As I did, so did Cross and Jordan on either side of me.
I couldn’t see Zellman, but I heard him behind me somewhere. “Walk. Don’t come to another Roussou party.”
Zeke swallowed, his eyes still on me. “We thought this was a District Weekend party.”
“District Weekend is a street dance for Roussou. Always has been; never been a private party before,” Jordan said.
“Then we’ll see you there.” Zeke’s eyes closed a second. He visibly shuddered, but when he opened them again, he found me right away.
“Zeke,” one of his buddies called. “Come on.”
They were leaving, going back through the gate.
Zeke tore his gaze from mine, scanning the crowd behind us. He paused, seeing someone he knew, and his mouth flattened. “This chick speak for you too, Gramblin?”
One of the Normals broke from the crowd, coming to the other side of Cross, a beer in front of him. “You guys tried to burn our school down. That changes things.”
“Thought you were better than your fucking stupid crew system.” Zeke’s tone was taunting.
Most of his friends had gone. Three remained, tense and eyeing the rest of us warily.
“That’s what you say anytime we meet you on the field,” Zeke added.
Gramblin rolled his shoulders back, one of his legs starting to tap. “Yeah. Well. I don’t remember a time we got to really chat on the field. We’re usually beating the shit out of you.”
Zeke’s lips thinned. “That right?”
That mean glint I knew was in there came to the forefront, rising, pushing aside the fear.
I knew what he was doing, but nope. Not going to happen.
