Now I feel something. Anger. Anger at him for ruining what had been the perfect friendship. Anger at him for ruining what should have been the perfect childhood. Anger at him for ruining my life and ending Joanne’s. After everything that’s happened, how dare he make me feel something? For him or anyone else. How dare he…
He looks at his bloody palms before lifting his eyes to me. Then he grins again, which is irritating enough until I realize why he’s doing it. This is his moment—one last time in the spotlight. He’ll make the local headlines tomorrow morning, thereby inscribing himself in the history pages of a small town teetering on the brink of extinction.
“You’re going to jail, Rich,” I say, but tears are welling in my eyes anyway. I can’t tell if they’re tears of pain, relief or anger. “For the murder of Joanne Lambert.”
He chuckles. “The hell I am.” He sucks in a deep breath before settling onto his back, his chest heaving as he struggles to draw air. “Kiss my grits, Triple A.” He clenches his hands into fists, grinding his teeth, groaning softly. “You don’t tell me nothin’.”
Presently, his fists open up, his fingers relax, and his breathing stops.
Kristie looks at me through the spider web windshield before burying her face against the steering wheel. The lights overhead continue to swing lazily back and forth, and outside lightning continues to flash as the rain continues to fall. There are cops everywhere. One is kneeling. Two are standing. All are holding guns, and all guns are trained on the deceased body of Ritchie Hudson.
Part IX
I continue to kneel, my hands locked behind my head. Around me, some are standing, some are kneeling, some are crying. Guns remain pointed, people whispering, people sobbing. The rain continues to fall beyond the gaping hole over my shoulder, thunder rumbling from far away like a distant warning.
I wonder what she’s thinking. Will she ever be able to forgive me? I wonder who she loves, or if she loves anyone at all. After everything that’s happened, and after all we’ve both lost, I figure she probably feels more hate than love, though even now as she sits pinched behind the steering wheel of her ruined car, blood running from her nose, her hair plastered to her forehead, she’s suddenly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
It’s over. The tears run over my cheeks. I smile, but it’s not for her. It’s for me.
The weird thing is, she’s smiling back.
Payton Hidden Away
Samuel and Ken keep kicking. I do all I can to defend myself, but there’s two of them, and they’re both bigger than me. I’m breathing dirt in through my nose and mouth, and it’s caking the back of my throat like mud, so I curl up and close my eyes, wishing they’d just leave me alone. I didn’t do anything. Not to them anyway. Mrs. Clymer gave us all the same assignment. I just did what she told us to. I must’ve gotten all the answers right, and they must’ve gotten ‘em all wrong, ‘cuz otherwise they wouldn’t be so mad.
I retreat to my safe place—that quiet space I think about at night when I hide from the monsters that lurk in the shadows. In my safe place, I’m beside a brook, and all the trees are green, and the stream is cold and clear like glass with little minnows hovering over colored pebbles hiding in the sand. But the kicking and the laughing doesn’t stop, and it hurts, and I can’t stay in my safe place. I don’t want to cry, but I’m scared, and they’re bigger than me, and—
Then the kicking stops.
The laughing stops.
The hurting stops too.
I look up to see Samuel and Ken fighting this other kid. The other kid’s all red-faced and chubby, but he’s big too, and eventually he hits Samuel smack dab in the face, and Samuel stumbles backward. He even starts to cry when blood starts spurting from his nose. And then the red-faced kid looks at Ken, and Ken freaks out and runs away. Samuel gets up and runs away too. The red-faced kid glares after them for awhile, his fists balled at his sides, before he turns to me, this big angry frown on his face. “You okay?” he asks.
I’m still crying.
“Are you crying?”
I shake my head.
“What are you, a big baby or somethin’?”
I shake my head again. I don’t want him to think I’m a crybaby. I want him to think I’m cool. I want him to like me. He just beat up two other kids, which makes him the toughest kid ever.
“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “Get up.”
I reach out, and he pulls me to my feet. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve.
“Who were those guys?”
I shrug.
“They’re assholes,” he says all tough like, and I realize that this kid must be cool. He swears, and kids that swear aren’t afraid of anything. “What’s yer name?” he asks.
“Anthony,” I answer.
“Anthony? You go by Anthony?”
“Yeah.”
“Anthony what?”
“Anthony Alexander Abbott.”
The kid scrunches his face. “All your names start with ‘A.’”
“I guess so.”
“You like baseball?”
I shrug. “It’s okay.”
“I’m gonna play in the pros one day.”
“That’s cool,” I say even though I kinda doubt he’ll make it. He’s too fat.
He’s studying me. “You got a best friend?”
I shake my head.
“You wanna be my best friend?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, it doesn’t really work like that.”
“Why not?”
I think about it for a second, but I can’t come up with a good answer. Maybe there aren’t any rules that determine how one goes about getting a best friend. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Ritchie.”
I just stand there.
“So?” Ritchie asks.
“So what?”
“So, you wanna be my best friend?”
“I guess.”
“Cool. So, why were those kids picking on you?”
I shrug. “Maybe ‘cuz I get good grades.”
“You know what you say to assholes like that?” He grins, and it’s a big, weird, toothless grin. “You say ‘kiss my grits.’”
I frown. “What’s that mean?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. My dad taught me.” Ritchie turns away, steps up on the curb and starts tight roping the razor’s edge, his arms out to balance him like wings. The sun is over his shoulder, making him look just like an angel. He walks along the curb, the sunlight bleeding through the trees and sprinkling him a weird halo-like glow. He continues to walk the line, one foot after the other, his arms outstretched to keep him from tumbling.
“Your dad?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Ritchie nods as he goes. “He’s the best dad in the whole world.”
Payton Hidden Away Page 30
