All Kinds of Bad

by Rachel Rust

  “Is that the one Alex’s dad burned down?” she asked. “Something about the owners being foreclosed on and refusing to move out?”

  “Heard that rumor, huh? Yeah, Chris DeMarco probably did it himself. The guy’s an assbag, and he sure as hell hates me, so he’d gladly let me take the rap.”

  “But why would Lance lie and tell people you burned it down?”

  I hesitated, unsure of my own answer. “Maybe he thinks I actually did it.”

  Lydia’s eyes averted away from my face. I followed them as they looked around, every direction but mine. Her fingernails picked at one another. I knew she was friends with Lance. What I didn’t know was how that friendship was shaping whatever thoughts were floating around her head.

  “I didn’t do it,” I told her. “I’ll admit to the bank, and tons of other stupid shit around town, but I didn’t burn down a house.”

  Her eyes connected with mine. “I believe you.”

  I dribbled the ball again, taking her at her word, because I was done with the conversation. Done talking about Lance. Done talking about Alex’s asshole father and the house fire. After the next bounce, I caught the ball. I held it up, grinning.

  Panic ran across Lydia’s face.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She Shoots. She scores … a little.

  I froze as Nathan clutched the basketball with two outstretched hands, fearful he would throw it. My catching skills were abysmal.

  He threw the ball.

  I caught it. Barely.

  “One basket,” he said. “Then I’ll let you go home.”

  “And if I don’t make it?”

  “You can stay and help me clean horse stalls.”

  “Screw that.” I positioned myself in front of the basket, dribbled twice, and shot. It banked off the backstop and went in. Years of PE class had finally paid off.

  “Not bad,” Nathan said, retrieving the ball.

  “Can you spin the ball on your finger?” I asked as he walked over to me.

  Of course he could.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the house. “Do you wanna come inside? My aunt and uncle are home, but if you don’t wanna meet ’em you don’t have to.”

  “I, ah … I’d love to meet them.” My words used up every ounce of maturity inside me.

  Nathan led me through the side door of the house, into a small entryway of shoes, including a tiny pair of pink Mary Janes. Thin planks of dark wood creaked quietly under my feet. We turned right, into a large kitchen with white-tiled floors, white walls, and oak cabinets. It smelled of dish soap and coffee. A woman stood in front of the sink, about my height and petite all over with wavy brown hair past her shoulders.

  “Lydia, this is my Aunt Heather,” Nathan said. “Heather, this is Lydia.”

  Aunt Heather turned to me, her face home to nary a wrinkle and her huge hazel eyes sparkling in the indirect sunlight. I wasn’t sure what I had expected her to look like, but it wasn’t this. I only had two aunts—my dad’s older sisters. They were both over fifty with bad haircuts and incriminating attitudes about everything under the sun. They were not youthful or beautiful. Nor had they ever made me feel at ease. I liked Aunt Heather already.

  “Hi Lydia,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet you. Nathan tells me you’re fairly new to town.”

  “I am. We’ve only been here a year.”

  As we spoke, a man came around the corner from the dining area. Dressed in jeans and a button-down black shirt, he was the same height as Nathan with a similar bronze skin tone, and wore his long black hair in a low ponytail.

  “Ed, this is Lydia,” Nathan said. “Lydia, this is my Uncle Ed.”

  Ed greeted me by taking one of my hands in both of his. “Hello, Lydia. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  He was kind of handsome for an old guy. Not that he was super old—younger than my half-century dad for sure. Probably early forties at the most, but he wore every single one of his years in lines around his face. His stoic demeanor reminded me of Nathan, and the two of them had the exact same deep-set, almond-shaped brown eyes.

  A little head of dark hair peered around the far corner of the kitchen. A toddler stepped out, wearing yellow Spongebob pajamas and dragging a pink blanket behind her. I waved. She opened her mouth and split the air with a searing screech.

  “That’s my cousin Liliana,” Nathan said.

  She was cute, but my eardrums made a mental note to thank my mom for getting her tubes tied.

  “Liliana, this is Lydia,” Nathan told her. “Say hi.”

  With her fingers in her mouth, she mumbled, “Hi Wid-yah.” She threw her blanket over her head and then disappeared around the corner.

  Nathan gave me a small grin. “She’s really good at being two.”

  I laughed as he took my hand.

  He led me out of the kitchen and into the foyer. I thought he was taking me to the front door where we would exchange chaste good-byes for the day, but he led me to the stairs instead. My heart beat faster with each subsequent step on the wooden stairs. Nothing chaste ever happened up a set of stairs.

  When we reached the second floor, Nathan opened a door to our right. Inside was another set of stairs.

  I followed him up the narrow stairwell. “You live in the attic?” It wasn’t clear if attic living was cool or creepy.

  His room was large with wood floors, sloping wood walls, and a gabled window. A little cool. A little creepy.

  His furnishings were simple: A black dresser near the door and a wood desk on the opposite wall. A full-sized box spring and mattress sat on the floor across from the window, covered by a solid blue comforter. I stared at the bed longer than necessary.

  Next to the gabled window, a huge TV hung on the wall, bigger than any of the TVs we had in our house. Cleaning horse stalls apparently paid better than working a cash register at the gas station.

  Under the TV, both an Xbox and a PlayStation sat on a table. Of course he liked video games. Guys were so predictable.

  Nathan opened a footlocker next to his bed and sifted through miscellaneous things: some old shirts, a stack of books, a square briefcase-type box, a ring of random keys, and some small white boxes piled up in the corner. I squinted, making out the small script on the white boxes. 9 mm.

  “Why do you have bullets?” I asked, fearing the answer.

  Nathan tapped a finger against the black briefcase-like box. “Because I have a gun.”

  My feet shuffled back. I didn’t mean to—it just happened. Guns were not familiar to me. My parents were very much anti-handgun. We didn’t even have any hunting guns. My grandpa owned a shotgun, and I’d seen him clean it once when I was about ten-years-old. Other than that my only experience with guns—and bullets—was the gas station shooting.

  “Do you—do you use it?” I asked.

  “Rarely,” he said. “Guns aren’t really my thing. I haven’t used it in over a year. Didn’t even bring it to Colorado with me.”

  Nathan grabbed a white envelope and then shut the footlocker. I was glad to see the gun case disappear from sight.

  We sat side by side on the edge of the bed, and Nathan handed me the envelope. Inside were three glossy photos. The first was a headshot of a baby with black peach fuzz on his head and almond-shaped brown eyes.

  “Oh my God, it’s you!” I laughed. “You were so cute!” I studied the picture, his smooth baby skin and shining eyes. Baby perfection. In the next photo, toddler Nathan sat on the lap of what looked like current day Nathan. The man in the photo had long black hair, and nearly the exact same eyes and smile as Nathan. “Your dad?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You look a lot like him.” I flipped to the next photo. My heart stopped at the sight of baby Nathan being held by a thin woman with light skin and shoulder-length brown hair. She was young. Not much older than me.

  “That’s my mom,” Nathan said quietly.

  My eyes couldn’t get enough of
her. She was pretty, smiling at something off camera. Her eyes weren’t like Nathan’s. Her hair and skin color wasn’t like Nathan’s. Her smile wasn’t like Nathan’s. Yet there was something to her—something about her face shape, her chin, and the way she was holding her head when she smiled. It was all Nathan.

  The photo was concrete evidence the woman existed and that, at least at one point in his life, she had been with Nathan and had taken care of him. One of her arms was latched tight around her baby. A wave of anguish washed over me at the thought that the security of her arms had been so brief.

  I placed the photos in the envelope and gave them back to Nathan.

  “I’ve never shown these to anyone before,” he said.

  “Why did you show them to me?”

  He shrugged. “Guess I wanted you to see them.”

  I moved a piece of his hair from across his forehead. “I know your parents probably aren’t your favorite topic, but you can talk to me about stuff like that if you need to.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad you showed me the pictures.”

  Without removing his eyes from mine, he leaned my way until the tips of our noses touched. His warmth hit my face, and my lips pressed soft against his. He pressed back. His hands crept under the thick fabric of my sweatshirt, as though they had been waiting all day for the opportunity.

  My hoodie came off with ease, leaving me in only a thin green t-shirt. Nathan and I glued together, falling onto the bed. The feel of him on top of me—the friction of our chest, stomachs, and legs—sent warmth radiating through my body. My legs hugged his hips as he kissed my neck. A strong hand moved up my side, and twinges of electricity flew through me. His fingers crept northward, then up and over my breast. The decisive touch rocketed through my body, drawing up a sigh from deep within me. His basketball-playing hands managed my B-cups with ease, moving slow and making no attempt to go under my shirt.

  Nathan’s lips found mine again, and it was difficult to imagine anything troubling could ever transpire in his vicinity.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He’s Got Some Shitty Luck

  Monday morning, I had a hard time ignoring the faces in the school parking lot. The usual timidity of classmates had been replaced with overt stares and a lot of whispers. With every step I made across the street and then into the school, eyes scrutinized me. Irritation grew with no damn clue what was going on.

  In the school foyer, a freshman crossed my path, nearly causing me to run into him. “Move,” I ordered.

  The boy shot me a nasty look but quickly moved out of the way.

  I rounded the corner toward my locker, only to see the one face I didn’t wanna see waiting for me.

  Lance.

  I ignored him and opened my locker.

  “How was your weekend?” Lance asked. “Heard you were hanging out with Lydia.”

  I tightened my muscles to keep from doing anything stupid at the sound of her name once again being mentioned. Behind me, a murmur of conversation passed by. “I wish they would just arrest him already,” someone whispered. I didn’t need to hear my name to know who they were talking about.

  After stashing my gym bag, I closed my locker. “What do you want, Lance?”

  “I want you to stay away from Lydia.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “She’s my friend, and she doesn’t deserve to get dragged down by your issues.”

  I straightened my spine, making the most of the six inches I had on him. “My issues? And what issues would those be?”

  Lance backed up and didn’t reply, but his face remained stern.

  “Here’s an idea,” I said. “Mind your own fucking business.”

  “Or else what?”

  I took a step toward him.

  Lance’s body twitched, as if begging him to run away, but he stood his ground. “You going to punch me, Nathan? Do it. I dare you.”

  My fists closed at the invitation.

  “Your Uncle Ed should’ve never taken you back,” Lance said, his voice trembling. “He should’ve done the town a favor and…”

  My eyes narrowed. “And what?”

  “And sent you away for good.” Lance swallowed hard. “Like your drunk old man did.”

  My elbow shot up and slammed into Lance’s chest, forcing him against the locker with a solid thud. The entire hallway gasped behind me. I leaned against Lance with as much force as I could find in my 200-pound body. Lance’s face reddened as he tried to twist his way out of my hold. But every twitch of his body was like a shot of adrenaline into mine.

  “Nathan, stop!” Alex rushed up and rammed into my side with his shoulder, forcing me off Lance.

  I barely noticed the half-tackle as my skin flushed hot, eyes zeroed in on Lance. I lunged forward once again, fist clenched. But Alex was too quick and shoved his hands against my chest. Despite seeing the push coming, the jolt forced me a few steps back. Unlike Lance, Alex was a formidable physical opponent—my same height and same weight, give or take a burger.

  Alex stepped chest-to-chest with me. “C’mon, chill out.” He looked back at Lance. “He’s not worth the trouble.”

  My fists clenched and unclenched. I took a deep breath to slow my pounding heart, but it did no good.

  Behind Alex, Lance regained his footing. Wide-eyed, he stared at me for just a split second before rushing off, disappearing past the crowd of student gathered around.

  Alex placed a hand on my shoulder.

  I knocked it away.

  “Calm down, Mr. Stone,” an all-too familiar voice called out.

  Ten feet down the hall stood Chet Rollins.

  “Fuck,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes. The guy had a knack for showing up at the worst times.

  “Get outta here, Alex,” Rollins said. “Nathan and I need to have a little chat.”

  Alex walked away without another word. Rollins stepped in front of me. “You had an interesting weekend, didn’t you, Mr. Stone?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Follow me.”

  I exhaled and held my breath for a few seconds. I followed Rollins, knowing I had no other option. We walked to the foyer, through the main school office, and into Principal Jackson’s office. Jackson didn’t stand or even acknowledge me as I walked in.

  “Sit,” Rollins said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of Jackson’s desk.

  I sat, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything to either Rollins or Jackson about their sexcapades.

  Keep quiet and get the hell outta here as soon as possible.

  Another body entered the small office and sat in the other chair next to me. Coach Donnelly. The interrogation scene was like a bad case of déjà vu. I had spent many hours in that small office answering for spray paint and busted windows. Most of it was my own doing, but I took the rap for Daniel a couple of times, too.

  Rollins shut the door and wasted no time. With a hip leaned onto Jackson’s desk, he crossed his arms and zeroed his eyes into mine. “Where were you last night, Mr. Stone?”

  “Home.”

  “Shadville?”

  My eyes rolled Rollins’s way. “My home is not in Shadville, so no.”

  “Who was home with you?”

  “My aunt and uncle.”

  “Were they with you all night? Sitting in your bedroom alongside you all night as you watched TV or played video games or jerked off to whatever shit gets you off?”

  Donnelly shot Rollins an irritated look. “Jesus, Chet.”

  I tamped down the rage gathering in my core. “They were home, but I was in my bedroom alone. Is that what you wanna hear?”

  “Nathan,” Donnelly said, his gruff voice soft. “If you were in Shadville, please be honest with us, we—”

  “What happened in Shadville?” I asked.

  Jackson, Rollins, and Donnelly exchanged glances.

  “Where’s your practice jersey?” Donnelly asked.

  I t
hought for a moment. “In my bag.”

  Rollins dug his phone from his pocket and after a few flicks with his finger held the phone out. On the screen was a picture of my practice jersey, the blue number thirty-three stark against the white jersey. It laid crumpled on a slab of concrete, surrounded by shards of glass.

  “Where the hell was this taken?” I asked, my eyes trying to soak up as much of the image as possible before Rollins pulled the phone away.

  “The Shadville High School was hit last night,” Donnelly said. “Windows busted out, some things spray painted … and your jersey found inside.”

  Rollins grinned a bit. “Now, tell us again, where were you last night?”

  “Home. Whatever the hell happened in Shadville, it had nothing to do with me.”

  “Then how did your jersey end up there? It walked out of your bag on its own, flung a brick through the Shadville gym doors, and then jumped inside?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  “Mind your mouth,” Principal Jackson said.

  I glared at her.

  “When was the last time you saw your jersey?” Donnelly asked.

  “Few days ago … I don’t know.”

  “Convenient,” Rollins said.

  I laughed. The absurdity of the entire moment was overwhelming. And it pissed me off that they’d think I was stupid. “If I vandalized the Shadville school, why would I throw my own jersey into it? Why would I incriminate myself like that?”

  Jackson and Donnelly said nothing, seeming to have no good answer.

  But Rollins smiled slyly. “You used your own jersey so you could sit here in front of us and ask that exact question. It’s the perfect cover because only an idiot would use their own jersey, right?”

  “This is ridiculous.” I motioned to the closed door. “Are you gonna question the other basketball players too? Anyone in that damn locker room could’ve grabbed my jersey.”

  “We’ll be talking to everyone,” Jackson said.

  I scoffed. Yeah right. The only reason Rollins would talk to the other players was to dig up more dirt on me.