by Meg Bonney
“Creepy much?” I asked.
“We heard a ninja shot out a window and saved you from drowning in the pool!” Tommy from my gym class shouted over the other voices.
“What? Tommy, you were there, you moron. That didn’t happen. I was fine.” My heart was beating faster. I needed to go. I needed to get away from them.
“Maybe it was someone from the Palm City High School track team trying to take out the competition!” one girl theorized.
I shook my head, not sure who was even talking anymore. “It is so hot,” I said, and fanned myself. Sweat had collected on my upper lip, and a slow drop rolled down my temple. The voices were fading in and out now. I felt like I was spinning in circles, trapped in an endless loop of predatory stares and uncomfortable questions.
“No, they pulled her out of the pool!” Tommy yelled back to the girl.
“Are you going to able to run this weekend, Maddy?” another gawker asked.
The skin on my arms started to prickle, like goosebumps, but sharper somehow.
“Madison, not Maddy,” I muttered, wiping my face.
I waved my hands, urging the crowd to disperse. I felt the heat rising inside me like I had just chugged hot coffee and stepped into a sauna.
“Must you always have an audience, Ms. Rosewood? Be on your way, students,” Principal Grayson said condescendingly.
“No, I…” I wiped my face with my hands again and started billowing my shirt back and forth as I tried to cool off. I wanted to scream for him to help me. I was on fire—something was wrong. I felt sick and dizzy. This wasn’t normal. I need help!
“Go on!” Mr. Grayson ordered the thinning crowd as he turned to face me.
He had a full head of neatly kept gray hair and wore a suit every day. He would make a good banker, or maybe even a ruthless dictator. He certainly had the chops for it.
“Ms. Rosewood, be on your way. I have enough of a mess to deal with today thanks to you,” Grayson said.
I scoffed and started fanning myself even faster. “Yes, my god! I apologize for nearly drowning! I was pushed! How rude of me! What a frickin’ saint you are!”
“Quiet,” Mr. Grayson said dismissively.
“Are you warm? It’s so warm,” I pulled a half-empty water bottle from my bag and started chugging it. “And I won’t be quiet. Shawn pushed me. He did!”
“That is enough, Madison. Nobody saw Milton push you in the water. Now, go on your way. I believe you were excused for the day. Keep this up and I will write you up.”
“Sure thing, sir!” I rolled my eyes, not even listening to him anymore. I felt like my skin was going to bubble up and melt off. Grayson was the least of my concerns. I had to get out of here. Something was wrong. This wasn’t anxiety; this was something else.
To my relief, the crowd of people had left, and Grayson’s focus shifted to a couple attempting to vertically make a baby against the trunk of a tree out on the lawn.
More sweat ran down my cheek. It was warm out, but not this warm. In an attempt to cool down faster, I lifted the water bottle above my head and poured the rest of it on my face.
“Woo-hoo! Yeah, baby! That’s what I want to see!” a boy’s voice yelled to me from a few yards away.
I angled my head back down as the ineffective water trickled down my face. It was Shawn frickin’ Milton. Without hesitation, I walked the few yards to where Shawn stood.
“I know it was you, Shawn.” I clenched my jaw.
Shawn laughed and ran his tongue across his teeth.
“Admit it.” I clenched my fists at my sides and continued to glare at him. Shawn and his buddies, who flanked him on either side, all wore plaid shorts and polo shirts in different colors. The three of them looked like a really terrible boy band.
“I just like seeing you wet.” Shawn winked one of his beady eyes at me.
This pleased the boy band wannabes, and they all started cackling.
I couldn’t contain my anger any longer. My fist met his nose with a rather satisfying crack. Shawn’s large, muscular body crumbled to the ground like a flimsy piece of wet paper as I stood over him.
“You bitch!” Shawn yelped through his bloody hands.
I shook my hand out. “It’s what you get, scumbag!”
It only took a few seconds for Principal Grayson to notice and run back over to where I stood.
“Madison, what did you do?” he demanded.
I watched as a few students and Mr. Grayson crouched down to check on Shawn, who was rolling back and forth on the ground, almost in the fetal position.
Grayson’s face was red. He waved his hand, and the security guard started to run toward us. I felt a tiny twinge of guilt as Shawn stood and more blood gushed from his face, but not enough guilt to regret it. He could have killed me, and someone needed to teach him a lesson.
Grayson grabbed me by the elbow. “What is the matter with you, young lady?”
“Me? He tried to drown me. You weren’t going to do anything about it, and then he made a pervy comment.”
“And you think that your own vigilante justice is the way to solve this?” Grayson tugged my wrist sharply.
I met his angered stare. “It’s better than no justice.”
“It’s broken!” Shawn shrieked from the ground.
Grayson huffed. “Why can’t you just behave like a nice young lady for once? Girls do not get into fights!”
“Last I checked, genitals didn’t dictate behavior,” I said, still very angry. Thankfully, the hot flash seemed be going away now.
“Don’t use those swear words with me!” Grayson pointed his finger in my face.
I raised an eyebrow. “What swear word? Genitals?”
Did he just say genitals was a swear word?
“Marcus! Take her and escort her off campus. She’s suspended,” Grayson instructed the security guard.
Marcus was a former student and just a couple years older than me. He was also the assistant track coach, and he looked pissed. He walked up and grabbed me by my wrist to pull me away from the scene.
“Hey, Mad Dash! I heard some guy had to give you mouth-to-mouth in the gym! Lucky dude!” a guy from my English class said as he walked past.
I balled my fist, ready to break another nose. “Eat sh—”
“Knock it off,” Marcus snapped. It was hard to tell if he was talking to me or the guy from my English class. Marcus had the type of anger that just radiated out to anyone near.
I adjusted my bag as we wove in and out of the trees and students who lurked in small groups on the lawn.
“You are in a lot of trouble, kid. Better start taking this seriously. I mean, really, Madison, what was that back there?” Marcus asked as we reached the property line of the school.
I chewed my lip. “He pushed me in the pool and I almost died.”
Marcus let my arm go. “So that makes him a jerk. You punching him puts the wrong right back on you. You need to think about that stuff, or you’re going to get in some real trouble someday.”
I didn’t dare roll my eyes as Marcus towered over me.
“And what about the track meet this weekend? There’s no way Coach will let you race after that crap you just pulled. You’re benched, Mad Dash.”
Perfect.
I placed my hand on my bag, which held the very important papers I would be filing during the meet, and tried not to smile.
CHAPTER 4
I managed to escape the remainder of Marcus’s rant and start my walk home. My coach would not be happy with the news, but I didn’t really care. Even though we had almost two weeks left before school ended, I was mentally done with high school and ready for the next chapter of my life.
I tried my best to fix my hair as I walked down the sidewalk. I tied the half-dry, half-wet cluster of curls up on top of my head in one big messy knot. At least I didn’t have anything I needed to look presentable for today.
Even with Marcu
s’s glower burning through my skull, the rest of my birthday could still be salvageable. That is, until I had to face Aunt Ruth—my very unfunny, unforgiving, un-shenanigan-loving Aunt Ruth.
Who cared? Shawn Milton deserved all the broken noses I could give him.
I shook my head and sighed, thinking of the endless lecturing I would surely endure when Aunt Ruth came home. My aunt had spent the better part of the last decade scolding me for something. Sometimes for things I hadn’t even done. I rubbed my forehead with my palm.
Thankfully, at this time of day, she wouldn’t be home. Ruth owned a fitness center here in town and also taught a self-defense class for women in Palm City, the next island over. Aunt Ruth had better luck with the folks in Palm City, which was bigger than Greenrock and saw much more crime. Her classes there were always packed with women learning how to throw a mean right hook. Ruth loved teaching them that. That’s right: my aunt, who was going to yell at me for punching someone, was the woman who taught me how to throw a punch in the first place.
Ruth was a hard-as-nails lady who you really didn’t want to mess with. She wasn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy mom to Lacy, but at least she was around, which was more than I could say for my own parents.
We didn’t have any other family, just us. I had lived with Aunt Ruth and Lacy for as long as I could remember. Lacy was her daughter; I was just the charity case. I decided long ago that she only took me in so that I could entertain Lacy, like how you don’t ever want to get just one cat because that cat will be lonely.
So here I am. Madison Rosewood, the companion cat.
I turned onto Main Street. We lived just off the main road, which was really just seven blocks that contained nearly all the businesses on the island. Our house was on one of the side streets that nobody drove down unless they lived there. The house was small but just big enough for the three of us.
There it was again—the noise. The ringing noise. I stopped suddenly when I heard it again.
“What the hell is that?” I asked aloud.
Before I could figure it out, I felt a buzz coming from my bag. It was my phone, showing a text from Aunt Ruth that simply read “GYM NOW.” I guess she didn’t want to wait until this evening to rip me a new one. Well, this should be as pleasant as a root canal.
“I thought you were in Palm City,” I texted back quickly.
She responded with a simple “Now,” and I groaned.
Lucky for me, the gym was on the way home. I hadn’t planned to make a stop there, but there was no denying Ruth’s orders. Seriously.
I kept walking down the sidewalk until the cozy houses turned to red brick storefronts. There wasn’t too much to this side of Main Street: a coffee shop, a diner, a bookstore, a doctor’s office, and my aunt’s gym.
I stopped in front of the building. The sign was plain with bold black letters. No fuss, no cutesy swirls or flowers like the rest of the establishments around it. Simple and to the point, just like Aunt Ruth.
I pushed through the door and the little silver bell chimed over my head. My eyes wandered around the empty gym. On the back wall, there were treadmills and two elliptical machines. In the middle of the room was a wide blue floor mat where Ruth taught self-defense classes.
This time of day, the place was usually dead. The lights were on, though, so Ruth must have just gotten back from Palm City—either that, or she came back just to rip me apart for breaking the nose of the mayor’s son.
“Hello?” I called out.
My bag dropped from my shoulder and fell to the floor in front of the metal lockers lining one wall. I always put my bag there, and my aunt always yelled at me for it. That never stopped me.
I opened my mouth to call for Aunt Ruth again, but before I could speak a word, something struck my back and I flew forward onto the blue mat. The lights in the gym clicked off.
“Seriously?” I huffed. Count on Aunt Ruth for a surprise self-defense drill—especially if she heard I was fighting at school.
My back stung, but I rolled to the side and hopped up into a low crouch. My heart pounded and the sudden darkness was jarring, but I searched the room for my assailant.
A foot drilled into my back, and I fell forward on the mat again. This time, I turned quicker to get a look. Still nobody there. I felt my pulse race as I grew angrier.
“Enough! Just come out!” I called, rubbing my sore back.
“If you had swept your leg around, you would have had me there. You are slow! Maybe if you spent more time training and less time causing trouble at school, you would have had me,” Aunt Ruth yelled. I spun to face it.
“He pushed me into a pool!” I protested.
“You didn’t need to punch him. That’s not self-defense,” she said. I tracked the sound of her voice.
“This is stupid!” I yelled and stood, but I kept my arms up in front of me defensively, knowing she could pounce at any minute.
“This is training.”
I groaned angrily. “Training for what? You keep telling me I can’t use my fighting skills unless someone attacks me. This is Greenrock Island. Nobody is attacking me on Greenrock Island!”
“Focus!” Aunt Ruth commanded. “Do it!”
I closed my eyes before breathing out slowly. I took a defensive position and listened, just like Aunt Ruth had taught me. In the corner, I could hear the plinking of water coming from the bathroom. I tuned it out and slowed my breathing further as I tried to listen for her, for any clues on her position in the gym. The faster I proved I could defend against her, the faster this would be over.
I hated these stupid surprise trainings. There was no merit in them, but that wouldn’t make a difference to her, because it never did.
A clink by the door; a rustle on the back wall. She was trying to confuse me, which could only mean one thing. She was about to attack. I crouched down and balled my fists. And even though I hated being surprised by these stupid sessions, I couldn’t help but smirk. I loved the competitive nature of it all. It’s the only time I wasn’t punished for fighting.
Just then, she was on me. No weapons, just stiff jabs and punches that I blocked and dodged in the dark with ease until I misjudged her. I caught an elbow to my jaw and stumbled back. She never hit me with force during these trainings—just enough to highlight my weak spots.
“Good. Now find a weapon,” she said.
“You don’t have one. Why do I need one? This is a fair fight,” I argued.
“No fight you want to win needs to be fair. You take any advantage you can get.” Her voice, smooth and even, never seemed to reflect her generally stern personality.
I darted to a storage closet, pulled the wooden double doors open, and reached inside, putting my palms on the empty shelves.
“There isn’t anything here!” I turned back around.
“Do you think you’ll always be handed a weapon? Find one! Use your resources!”
I huffed again and sprinted to the far side of the dark gym. Three thick black curtains hung in front of the large picture window, blocking the natural light. How the hell would I find a weapon in a pitch-black gym? She hid them; she clearly had the edge. I tripped over the bottom of one of the stiff curtains but caught my balance quickly.
“Sloppy!” she noted. She was on the opposite wall now.
Without hesitation, I reached up and yanked a curtain panel down. Light poured into the modestly sized gym. I slid the black fabric off the thin golden curtain rod and the fabric fell to a heap on the floor, sending dust into the air.
And there she was. Aunt Ruth.
I spun the rod in my hand like an oversized baton and locked eyes with her.
She walked to the center of the gym, and her bare feet made a soft crunch against the mats on the floor. Her blonde hair was tied up in a secure bun on top of her head. Her lean muscles bulged in her tight black shorts, and her lime sports bra was bright against her pale skin.
“If you broke that, it will c
ome out of your paycheck.” Aunt Ruth pointed her long index finger and stared down her nose at me.
“You said to find a weapon.” I shrugged, unable to hide my smile. I pulled one end of the curtain rod and it came apart in the middle.
“Here,” I said and tossed the other half of the rod to her.
“I said it doesn’t need to be fair,” she said, catching it with a swift, effortless reach. I walked toward her and she stuck a hand on her hip, showing her usual annoyance with me.
“I prefer fair.” I gave her a nod. I swung the curtain rod around in front of me and it made a gratifying whoosh as it cut the air.
These stupid drills of her hers were nothing new to me. She didn’t really do it to Lacy, but any chance she got to catch me off guard, Aunt Ruth did.
She always said she was preparing me to defend myself. I think she was just bored and sometimes weirdly competitive with me. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do to get out of it. She was my legal guardian and the only parental type I had—for now, anyway.
I met her in the center of the floor and we both took a defensive stance.
“Did you break it?” Aunt Ruth swung her piece of the curtain rod and met mine with a ting.
“No, it slides back together.” I lunged, swinging my rod to meet hers.
“I know how curtain rods work. I was talking about his nose. Did you break Shawn Milton’s nose?” Aunt Ruth asked as she started to spar faster. I moved my rod to block each of her swings, but then I misjudged her and the curtain rod smacked my arm.
I took a few steps back and grabbed my arm. Most kids would see concern on the face of their family member at this point, but not me. Aunt Ruth’s face was as hardened as ever. She lifted her pointed chin and raised her rod.
“Did you break his nose?” she asked again.
I nodded. “He pushed me into the pool, and I almost drowned.”
Her eyes narrowed for a moment and she looked out the window. I capitalized on her momentary lack of focus, swung my makeshift weapon, and clipped her shin. She faltered, stepping back, but quickly caught her balance.
