“Dawn!” Sean yells, bursting in.
“I could’ve been naked, you know,” I say.
“Can I borrow some pants?” Sean asks.
“Since when do you fit into my skinny jeans?” I ask.
“They’re for Kris,” Sean says. “She just needs to borrow some leggings.”
“Borrow as in you’ll give it right back, or borrow as in you’ll take it and never give it back?” I ask.
“Borrow as in she’ll give it right back.”
“Okay, top drawer.”
I get up out of bed and get my shoes on.
“Oh, and P to the S,” Sean says. “Patrick is coming over to watch you guys while Kris and I are out.”
Patrick is one of Seans friends. Patrick is this really scary guy in our town. Almost everyone is scared of him, and if you’re not, then you’re probably a Kelson.
“Brody, Simon, and Kelsey are coming over, is that okay?” I ask.
“Sure, yeah, I don’t care,” Sean says.
“Make sure that I get those pants back- I like those,” I say. “And if I don’t get them back, I’ll put your tiny body over my shoulder, and throw you out the window.”
“Got it,” Sean says, grabbing leggings from my drawer. “Patrick should be here soon.”
“Have fun!’ I yell, as Sean walks out.
Sean leaves, and Andrew, Kelsey, Simon, and Brody start watching National Geographic, while I go grab some snacks from the kitchen.
The door bell rings, and I ask, “Can someone get the door?” No one answers. “Fine. I’ll do it.” I walk out of the kitchen and to the door. “Yo, Patrick, come on in.”
“Patrick!” everyone but Andrew yells, bunching together in fright.
“What’s wrong with you guys?” I ask.
“That’s Patrick the gang-banger,” Kelsey says.
“And?” I ask
“He’s… scary,” Simon says.
“Okay, well Patrick the gang-banger is babysitting us while Sean is out,” I say.
“What?!” they all yell.
“Guys, chill out,” Andrew says.
“I can’t chill out when Patrick the gang-anger is standing in the doorway,” Kelsey says.
“Patrick the gang-banger is inside now,” Patrick says.
“Ahh!”
“Chill, homies. I come in peace… for today,” Patrick says.
“So, Patrick, how’s Abuelita?” Andrew asks.
Patrick sits down on the couch. “Good. She’s out of the hospital now.”
“Oh, why was she in the hospital?” Simon asks.
“She had a heart disease, so she was in there for a few weeks. But now, she’s safe and back in jail,” I say.
“Jail?” Simon asks. “What for?”
“Murder,” Patrisk says. Everyone looks at him with fright.
“He’s kidding,” I say. “She was caught dealing.”
“Drugs?” Brody asks.
“No, french toast,” I say sarcastically. “Yes, drugs.”
“Wow, what kind?” Kelsey asks, coming back into the room with the snacks I had made.
“Oxy. Meth. Coke. Name anything, she dealt it,” Patrick says.
“How many more years she got?” I ask.
“Most, another year or so,” Patrik says. “But if she does something in jail, she’ll get time added on.”
“I can’t wait until she gets out,” I say. “That girl had the best weed.”
“You were 13 when she went in,” Andrew says.
“You’re 13, and you smoke,” I say.
“Fair,” Andrew says.
“Yo, I’m tired as hell,” Patrick says. “There a place I can sleep?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Upstairs, door all the way to the end.”
Patrick takes a few chip from the snack plate and makes his way up the stairs.
“He’s not as bad as I thought he’d be,” Simon says.
“I gotta go,” Kelsey says. “And FYI, Jordan is kind of mad at you, Brody.”
“Why?” Brody asks.
“He’s got beef with Alex,” Kelsey says. “If he can’t get his hands on him, you’re next on the list. I suggest you carry around a pocket knife.”
“My mom won’t let me have a pocket knife,” Brody says.
“You can borrow mine,” I suggest. “It’s in the junk drawer in my room. I’ve got, like, five in there.”
Brody goes upstairs and Kelsey leaves. Simon puts the snacks away, and leaves, too. Brody comes back downstairs with one of my knives, and then leaves.
Newt runs into the room with his dinosaurs and some small toy car.
“Wanna play?” I ask. He nods.
Today, I found out that Newt loves to throw things at your head, and leave you with a cut on your lip. Newt and I play with his toys for a few hours when Brody bursts in. I look up to see him coughing up blood, with a nice big red spot in the middle of hs chest.
“Brody, what the hell?!” I yell. “Are you okay?”
“He got me,” Brody says.
“Who?”
“Jordan.”
“Kelsey’s brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you use the knife?” I sit Brody on the couch and take his shirt off.
“I tried to. But I whipped the thing out and he stabbed me with it.”
“Where is it?”
“He took it.”
“What the hell, man? That was one of my good ones.”
“I’m bleeding- ow!- from my chest, Dawn.”
“Right, sorry. I’m gonna go get Patrick. Don’t die. Watch Newt.” I run up the stairs and burst into the room Patrick is sleeping in. “Patrick. Wake up. Now. Up!”
“What?” He asks.
“Get downstairs,” I demand. I run out the room and back downstairs to Brody. “You alright, Brody?”
“No,” he says.
“Do I need to kick someone’s ass?” Patrick asks, walking down the stairs.
“Yeah. His name is Jordan Mendez,” I say. “I’m gonna go confront that bastard. If I’m not back in 20, and he’s not already dead, you kill him. You hear me? You kill him or I do. Watch Newt, take care of Brody. I’ll be back.”
I grab my coat and run out the door. I walk down two house and pound on the door. No one answers, so I ring the doorbell and pound again.
“Dawn?” Kelsey asks, opening the door. I push past her and walk into Jordan’s room. “D, what are you doing?”
“Where is it?” I ask.
“What?”
“Where is the knife?!”
“What knife?”
“The knife Brody borrowed from me.” I take out Jordans drawers and throw them on the ground one by one.
“Why would I know where that is?”
“Because Jordan stabbed Brody with it, then stole it.”
“He stabbed Brody?”
“Where is the fuckin’ knife?”
“I don’t know.”
“Kelsey, so help me god, you tell Jordan that the second I get my hands on him, I will murder him! Nobody fucks with the Kelsons.” I take a picture frame from off the wall and smash it.
“Brody isn’t a Kelson,” Kelsey says.
“That’s like saying you aren’t a Kelson,” I say, walking out of the room and to the door.
“I’m not.”
“Not by blood.” I slam the door behind me and walk back to the house. I walk inside and slam the door. “You can kick his ass now.”
“Good,” Patrick says. “He’s gonna be okay. Just make sure he rests. Mendez will be dead by 6. See ya’.”
“Bye.”
Patrick walks out and Brody is asleep on the couch. I pick up Newt and bring him upstairs. I get him dressed into comfy clothes, give him his allergy gummies, and puts him to bed. I go back downstairs and head into the kitchen. I grab some Ramen out for when Brody wakes up. I grab some dirty laundry from off the floor in the living room and throw them in the washer. I grab a beer from the fridge and crack it open with the counter top. I take a few swigs when I hear something break in the living room. I walk in and see Brody trying to stand up, with a broken vase on the floor.
“Brody, what the hell, man? Lay down,” I say. “Are you high?”
“No,” Brody says, sitting back down on the couch.
“What did Patrick give you?” I ask.
“Something that started with… an O.”
“Oxy?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Want some Ramen?”
“Yeah.”
I go into the kitchen and turn on the stove.
“Where’s Patrick?” Brody asks.
“Dealing with Jordan,” I say. “Why?”
“I want some more of that stuff that starts with an O.”
“Oxy.”
“Yeah, that.”
I put the noodles in a pot and grab a blanket off the floor. “Cold?” I ask.
“A little,” Brody says, snatching the blanket from me. “What is Patrick doing?”
“I told you, dealing with Jordan.”
“I know that. I meant, how?”
“I don’t know. He usually uses guns.”
“I think everyone should have a gun. I mean, my mom doean’t want me to have one because she thinks I’m going to kill myself. But, it’s whatever. If I wanna kill myself, I’ve got kitchen knives.”
“You should work at a suicide hotline.” I pour the soup water into the sink and put the noodles into a bowl. I walk into the living room and set the bowl on the table.
“Is Jordan gonna die?” Brody asks.
“Probably,” I say. “Why?” I turn on the TV.
“I don’t want the guy to die.”
“Why not?”
“He was just mad at my brother.”
“Yea, and he stabbed you. With my own knife, which he stole.”
“Maybe he was high.”
“Jordan’s a violent person, but he doesn’t do drugs.”
“Maybe he was drunk.”
“Brody, he could’ve killed you.”
“Doesn’t mean he has to be killed.”
“You really don’t want Patrick to kill him?”
“No.”
“Can I kill him?”
“No.”
“Can anyone kill him?”
“No.”
“Well, Patrick is already out. And it’s 5:30, he said it should be done by 6.”
“Can you call him?”
“I can try, but he might be in the middle of killing someone.”
“What if he’s not?”
“Then he might be on a high and ready to kill. If I call him now, he might kill someone innocent.”
“Then tell him to kill a cat.”
“If he kills me, my blood is on your hands.” I stand up and pull out my phone. I dial Patrick's number and let it ring for a few seconds.
“What?” Patrick says on the other line.
“It’s a no-go, Patrick. Don’t kill Jordan,” I say.
“Why not?” Patrick asks.
“Brody is high on Oxy. When he’s high, he tells the truth, and he says he doesn’t want you to kill him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Brody suggests you kill a cat.” I take a sip of my beer. “But I suggest that you give Jordan a taste of his own medicine.”
“What’re you getting at?”
“Stab him, don’t kill him. Make him feel the pain Brody felt. Make him limp home in pain. Except he won’t have anyone to patch him up like Brody did, so if we’re lucky, he’ll bleed to death.”
“What would we tell Brody?”
“Jordan tried to kill himself. Depression.”
“Good plan, Kelson. Call you after.” Patrick hangs up the phone.
I walk back into the living room and turn on Brody’s favorite show, Wack-a-mole: a show where people have their moles removed on camera.
After an hour or so, Patrick calls me. I walk back into the kitchen and accept the call. “Yo.”
“Job is done,” Patrick says.
“He dead?” I ask.
“No, badly hurt. If he limps home and no one is there, he’s gonna be dead.”
“Alright. Thanks, Patrick.”
“No hay problema, cariño.”
I hang up the phone and go back into the living room. Brody is asleep and cuddled up with a pillow on the couch.
“D!” I hear Newt yell from upstairs. I walk up the stairs and into Newt’s room.
“What’s up, big boy?” I ask.
“Look,” he says, pointing out the window.
I go to the window to see Jordan limping down the sidewalk over to his house. He’s got his hand over his side around his ribcage. I smirk and pull Newt away from the window so he doesn’t see all of that.
“Alright, buddy,” I grab his stuffed giraffe. “You wanna go lay down with Brody?” He nods with his finger in his mouth. “Yeah? Alright, let’s go.”