Rusty Knob

by Erica Chilson

  “I’m over you adopting me against my will, because I get it.” I speak the words, but they sound hollow. For the first time, I realize I might actually have an issue with Royce adopting me like an unwanted, throwaway puppy. “I’m dealing with all my freedoms being taken away for my own protection. But what’s been eating me is how you made me feel like a predator– some kind of stalker.”

  With the edge of my fork, I slide all the bacon on Bren’s plate, and then the eggs on Willa’s. I’ve been eating too much because I end up throwing most of it back up and I’m trying to keep on some weight.

  “Wynn.” Royce uses his sympathetic voice, but it only makes me feel pitiful.

  “It wasn’t… I didn’t…” I stumble over my words, not wanting the kids to hear the word I need to use. “I’m humiliated. Mortified. I didn’t want to play carpenter with Kade.” My voice breaks from trying to finally release my bottled-up emotions. “I wanted to get to know him. Not know him like I did when I was a kid, but how two grown men know each other, but more than that.”

  “I know,” Royce starts in, but Bren cuts him off. “That wasn’t the problem. Kade is older than you. He’s frustrated, and it’s making him ornery. He was looking at you like carpentry was the only thing on his mind. Ya feeling me, here? He wanted to nail you. Hard.”

  Blushing bright red, I hide my head in my hands and sputter between my splayed fingers. “Not that I would have minded none, but I’m sure your imaginations are running wild.”

  “The only innocents at this table have Gillette blood flowing through their veins.” Bren swats the back of my head so I’ll look at him. “My well-honed carpentry skills can spot an easily manipulated friend, and I’d put Kade in that category too. He has the knowledge but he’s never put it into practical use.”

  “Bullshit,” I blurt out.

  “Language!” Willa smacks the back of my hand with the spatula again, causing the twins to giggle. We’ve all had our asses tanned for cursing.

  Wincing, I try to rub the sting away. “That’s gonna bruise.”

  “I agree with Bren’s assessment of Kaden,” Royce says brusquely. “I suggest we change the subject.”

  Ignoring his dad, “I know you’ve been ghosting in the group,” Bren accuses me, and he’d be right. It’s been almost two months, and I’ve yet to type a single word in the group, but I’m always there. Lurking… watching.

  “I tried to get Kade to tell me the juicy shit when he’d come home on weekends from Penn State, but he’d clam up and get embarrassed. So we’ve all been working together to get his story for you. But he just keeps calling himself a late bloomer, and leaving it at that.”

  “I was watching when he brought up the college roommate.” I can’t help the feeling of violent jealousy that strikes my gut. I grit out in a nasty tone, “Kade’s not innocent.”

  “Subject change,” Royce repeats. “Wynn, I don’t want you walking Hayley and Hayden to their second grade classroom. Stay out of the little school.”

  “Are you shitting me?” I raise my hand before Willa can smack it. “Don’t even think about hitting me. No one could censor themselves after that horseshit.”

  Royce grabs my hand, spreading my fingers against the tabletop. He stares pointedly at my sister. “Nah, I think I’ll let those go,” Willa drawls. “That was a real shit move on your part, Royce.”

  Recoiling, Royce lets go of my arm. His brown eyes look to be swimming in his head, but his lips are upturned at the corners. Willa’s never talked back to him before, and it’s having an odd effect on the man.

  Hayley turns to Bren. “Well, shit… am I allowed to say shit now?”

  “As long as it’s not at school, sure.” Bren releases an evil snicker. “Why not? What’s the big f’n deal?”

  “Kade is coming over for Sunday supper, so that is not why I said that.” Royce glares at all of us, probably wishing he’d never dreamed of a huge, dysfunctional family. “I want the kids to be more independent. What I meant to say… I want you to deliver them to the little school, and they are to find their own way from there. It’s not so you won’t see Kade. It’s because they are old enough to do it themselves.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, ashamed. “I feel like an ass… Oops.” I reach over to grab Willa’s spatula, and then I whack myself. “I earned that one.”

  “I think you earned this.” Hayden steals the ketchup– kid sauce –from his sister, and passes it to me.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so… awful.” I blink a few times, forcing my eyes to appear dry.

  Bren elbows me in the side. “You need to blow off some steam. Trust me when I say it’s like taking a happy pill.”

  “Seriously?” Having the patience of a saint, Royce rolls his eyes. Since Willa’s giggling, Bren doesn’t get into trouble for conversing about oral sex at the breakfast table. “Y’all have too much time on your hands. Willa’s joined Rusty Knob Volunteer Fire Department Auxiliary. So from now on, we’re all going to be helping from time to time– get into the community spirit.”

  Chair almost clattering to the floor, coming to his feet, “We have practice starting next week!” Bren shouts. “Then we have games. I don’t have any time to myself as it is. I went from being an only child to…” Bren’s hands flutter, pointing at all of us surrounding the table. “To this!”

  Unfazed by Bren’s theatrics, Willa asks, “Don’t you always have practice?” But she does look confused. “Am I missing something?”

  “That was preconditioning,” I explain to my sister. “It’s just to keep us in shape. Regular practice is torture. Coach Nichols beats the shit out of us.” I yank my hand from the table. “Shit’s an approved word now that you’ve used it. Fair’s fair.”

  “This is nonnegotiable,” Royce declares as he pushes away from the table. “I know your schedule better than you do, so you can’t pull any shit over on me.” He stalks over to the kitchen island, grabbing the kids’ sack lunches. “Since it’s a Friday, I’ll extend the curfew until one a.m. Fair?”

  “I’m not complaining!” Bren claps excitedly. “Sign me up for the next chicken barbeque if you’re willing to extend curfew every weekend. Craft Fairs? Car Shows? Sign my behind up!”

  “You’re hopeless.” Chuckles flow from my lips as I reach for my backpack. I feel freer than I have in months. “Ready, little ones?” I call as I walk toward the door. “Sorry about breakfast, Willa. I was being a shit.”

  “No problem,” Willa calls back. “Have a good day at school!”

  “Wait, Wynn,” Royce collars me before I get a few feet out the door. “You need this.” He hands me a to-go cup of some kind of gray sludge that is probably one of Penny’s recipes. Confused, I just stare at it. “It’s a protein shake so you’ll get some quick absorbing nutrients.”

  My heart constricts. Royce knows. Speechless, all I can do is nod my head. But I’m positive he reads what I’m feeling directly from my thoughts.

  Down the sidewalk, Hayden’s voice flows to my ears. “I’m pretty sure the word shit is gonna get overplayed.”

  Invaded

  Walking into the gymnasium, I draw up short. “Why is Francis doing cartwheels?”

  Franny is short, with a curvy behind and muscular legs. He’s got a waist that indents like a girl. The kid’s shorts ride up every time he lands on his hands, showing off his jockstrap. This isn’t out of the ordinary for him, but it’s still not something I see every day.

  “If Franny’s not careful, he’s either gonna get beaten or violated.” I shake my head, worried about the guy. Jack shudders next to me, not sure if he’s getting turned on or is going to be sick.

  “I don’t understand Franny.” Jack shudders again. “He’s so normal when we hang out. But then he goes and ruins it by being sexy.”

  I raise an eyebrow at my best friend, finding it odd how we’re complete opposites. “You find Franny sexy? If I had a type, I’d think it was burly.”

  Jack snorts. “No shit. You have no id
ea how you and Kade look side by side. Intimidating and hot as fuck. I’m into someone who can’t break me in half. I only weigh a hundred and thirty pounds, and Kade would suffocate me.”

  Out of nowhere, Bren puts me in a headlock, jumps on my back, and starts shouting, “Giddy up, brother! Giddy up!” I struggle to throw him off, but he’s too strong. Light as a feather, though, which is probably why Jack is sniffing around him. “Giddy up!”

  “Are you high?” Jack asks for me.

  Letting go, I decide to act carefree like Franny. I break into a run. “Fuck it!” I shout as I charge across the gym with Bren on my back, with Franny as my destination.

  “Clarification,” Jack shouts as he runs after us. “Are you both high?”

  “I’ve got exciting news!” Bren shouts into my ear. “Oh, good! Franny’s protecting himself,” is his odd explanation for our scorekeeper displaying his assets on the basketball court.

  My face scrunches as I come to a dead stop. “The fuck?” I drop Bren on the floor, but he takes it in stride. Jumping to his feet like a demented Jack-in-the-box, I begin to wonder whether or not he really is high.

  “I overheard Coach Nichols.” Bren rubs his hip and mouths, “Ouch… Anyway, you know it’s my favorite pastime.”

  “I thought being a whore was your favorite pastime,” Jack grumbles, still feeling a bit bent out of shape. We’ve bonded the past few months over being spurned by our crushes. “I’m positive you pay for it.”

  “Wait,” I put my hands out, stopping them both. “A whore is the one who gets paid, right? Are you saying Bren’s so good he gets paid?”

  “Thanks for the compliment, Duncan.” Bren puffs out his scrawny chest. “So, anyway, we’re getting visitors, so Franny is being frantastic!”

  “High,” Jack says at the same time I say, “Nucking futs.”

  Coach’s shrill whistle has us all flinching. “Git yer asses on the bleachers! ASAP!”

  Like a small horde, all twelve of us run across the court, and then sit our asses on the courtside seats. Coach Nichols can be a scary sonofabitch– he reminds me of what my daddy would be like if he was only thirty and sober. We’re all sitting prim and proper, with our hands folded in our laps, when the side doors open.

  Leaning into me, “Are we being invaded?” Jack breathes in my ear.

  Smirking with arrogance, “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen,” Bren whispers back.

  “Oh, wow…” My mouth hangs open, catching flies. “Unreal.”

  In a wave, Furrow Creek’s Hornets flow from the boys’ locker room, both the JV and Varsity teams. At the same time, Hillock Corners’ Tigers escape the girls’ locker room. Both sides glare at each other, like they don’t know what the hell is going on either. It’s almost comical; they turn to us, register they’re trespassing, and then take a quick step back.

  “Alright! Alright! Alright!” Coach Nichols claps sharply while shouting at us. “Every fucking year our rivalries get in the way of making it past districts.”

  “Where’s Willa’s spatula when you need it?” Bren snickers in my ear. “We are still on school grounds, right?”

  “You cocksuckers annihilate each other on the court, and then invade territories, until we’re so off kilter, we can’t play worth a shit. We’re done.”

  “What Coach Nichols is so eloquently trying to say–”

  “Well, pardon me,” Nichols sings in a haughty tone while pulling a face. “You just go right ahead and cut me off on my own court, and speak for me while you’re at it. Hillock Corners is filled with sanctimonious bastards and inbreds!”

  “RAMS!” We shout as a unit, just barely edging out Hillock Corners’, “TIGERS!”

  “Silence!” Coach Danvers screams above the insult slinging. “Jasper, you’re instigating the same rivalry we’re trying to eradicate.”

  Coach’s name is Jasper?

  “You talk like a tool, Crispin.” Nichols sneers at the more intelligent man, but then he shuts up.

  “Crispin?” Bren snorts. “Are we seriously going to listen to some little dude named Crispin?”

  “I’m going to get down to brass tacks,” Danvers starts again. “Unless Coach Smithers wants the floor?”

  “Why didn’t we get that man as our coach?” Jack whispers in my ear.

  “Nichols is a brute, but we’re better because of it,” Bren answers. “Danvers probably allows his team to make all the decisions instead of being their coach. Diplomacy is for losers.”

  “What’s that make Coach Nichols?” Duane leans forward, trying to talk to us a few guys down the bench. “A communist dictator?” We all shrug and nod in agreement.

  “Pretend Furrow Creek isn’t attending this train wreck,” is Coach Smithers’ response. “I want no part in this insanity.”

  “You’re only as good as your competition,” Danvers begins, and I decide to respect the well-spoken man. “We spend pre-season and post-season practicing with our own teams. We play against other teams a few times a week during the season. But that isn’t enough to learn, to grow, not only as a team, but as individual players.”

  “Danvers?” Duane calls from courtside. “So if our team sucks, we can’t get any better, because we’re practicing and playing against people who can’t play for shit?”

  “Winning against last place only makes you runner-up loser,” a lanky kid from Hillock Corners shouts. “We’re never challenged.”

  “If it wasn’t for basketball camp every year,” a short, stocky kid from Furrow Creek breaks in. “I’d only ever practice with my team.”

  “Excellent.” Danvers claps. “We’re getting along, and we’re understanding. Progress.”

  “Listen up, ya lazy fuckers!” Nichols shouts. “The practice schedule stays the same, with the exception that Hillock Corners and Furrow Creek will be bussed here every afternoon. You’ll have a different coach every day, in a rotation.”

  “No more rivalries,” Smithers finally speaks up. “No more sabotaging each other. During practice, you will be known as the Kentwood Area School District team. But during the season, you will play against each other as usual. You will know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, and how your minds work. It will make for a stronger, more challenging game.”

  “We hope this will lead us to victory.” Danvers claps again, and Bren snorts at the ridiculousness.

  “Yeah, but only one team can win districts,” a boy from Hillock Corners sounds as baffled as we feel. “Only one of us can move forward.”

  “Then I guess the better team will win, ya dumb fuck,” Nichols goes off at the mouth again. “Don’t be a pansy ass like your coach. Man up.”

  “Whichever team progresses shouldn’t matter.” Danvers turns diplomatic as expected. “You can take pride that your school district is representing us, and that you helped strengthen the team that makes it to the playoffs.”

  Duane turns to us, “We do anyway. What’s the big fucking deal? The Rams are ranked fourth in the state.”

  “Maybe we’ll win this year,” I pitch in. “We’re seniors. This is our last shot.” Cupping my hands around my mouth to project my voice, I shout loudly, “I’m in. Our boys are in.”

  “Well, if Gillette says he’s in, we’re in,” Coach Nichols blabbers, taunting me, and I know I’m going to regret it later.

  “You’re so belligerent,” Danvers sneers. “Are you off your meds?”

  “Oh, my God. Jasper and Crispin are going to kill each other,” Jack whispers, sounding sarcastic as all get out. “Awesome!”

  “What the–” Franny’s ass wedges between my hip and Jack’s.

  “They’re cousins,” Francis starts gossiping. “Coach Nichols and Coach Danvers. A lot of the kids on the opposing teams are related. Coach was calling his own cousin a pansy ass and saying he talks like a tool. How fun!”

  “Oh, fount of juicy information,” Bren purrs. “Please keep flowing.”

  “That lanky kid who had the balls to speak up from Hillo
ck, his name is Tyler Ross. His mom is the school board superintendent, and he’s one of the ghosts in our Facebook group. Of the fifteen kids in our group, nine of us are in our gym right now.”

  “More. More!” Bren gets overexcited.

  Head jerking up from his coach huddle, “Shut the fuck up, Kennedy!” Nichols demands.

  “Yes, coach,” Bren shouts back. “Sorry, Coaches.”

  Silent, Bren, Jack, Francis, and I start examining every player in the gym, wondering who knows our secrets. There’s five kids spread out between those two teams. After Josh outed us all on Facebook, everyone in the group knows exactly who we are. It doesn’t help that half of Franny’s ass is on my thigh, with all four of us huddled together. We might as well put an arrow above our heads. Bi. Questioning. Super Gay. Gay.

  Most of the guys are chatting within their teams, but the five kids stick out easily. All of them are staring at me with curiosity and fear, like they can’t figure me out and they’re worried I’m going to out them. Without shame, I just look back and smile.

  “Alright, douchebags!” Coach Nichols gains our undivided attention. “Y’all git yer asses acquainted, because yer either gonna get along, or I’ma run you into the ground.”

  “Jasper,” Danvers cautions. “Have some fun, guys. You need to remember we’re doing this for you. There is no I in team!”

  “Yer such a tool, Crispin.” Nichols smacks the smaller man upside the head, but he’s grinning like a villain. “I don’t care whatcha do or where ya go. The busses for Hillock Corners and Furrow Creek leave at nine. Git yer asses on the bus, or be stranded. I don’t give a fuck. Git outta here!”

  “You hillbillies got a bar around here somewhere?” Coach Smithers looks to our team. “You’re teenagers. You ought to know.”

  “Rusty’s,” Duane shouts. “Right on the main drag.”