Chapter 11
"What're we doing today?"
"The devil's making us play a game of volleyball." Holly Dae chewed obnoxiously on her gum.
"Lighten up," Nik said to us. "Volleyball's fun."
"Easy for you to say, babe." Holly Dae poked him.
We got into teams and I got stuck with all the students who took high school gym class a little too seriously. I was not gifted when it came to anything related to sport. I usually just tried to blend into the background.
I got called to serve the ball. I stood with my feet apart. Nik across the gymnasium gestured for me how to hit the ball. More difficult than one might expect. I held the ball in my palm, tossed it into the air, and struck it with my other arm. It flew to the right and almost knocked down Coach Keller. "Sorry!" I grimaced as he yelled at me.
The game continued on and fortunately nobody paid much attention to me. Being short in some cases came to an advantage.
"Max!" Nik called to me. The ball was in his hands, and I was standing right at the front.
I got this. I got th—
I rolled up on my tiptoes and the volleyball smacked against my face. It fell to the floor with a resounding thud. The force of the impact sent me staggering backward against the wall. My eyes started to water and I howled in pain. Bones and his friend Garret burst into a round of hearty laughter, like they found my pain a source of entertainment for them.
"You're supposed to catch it with your hands, not your face, Max." Coach scowled.
"I know," I whimpered. "I think I'm just going to sit this one out." My headache was getting worse. I dragged my feet to the benches and thudded down.
"Your eyelids are purple, hon. Might want to get that checked out," Genevieve said to me as she sashayed past. She gave a bright and suspiciously phoney smile over her shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me. A cutie's waiting for me."
She walked out the gymnasium despite Coach Keller threatening to expel her.
We all knew he wouldn't dare.
* * *
I grabbed the bag of frozen peas and firmly pressed it against my eyelids.
Dad looked at me over the rim of his newspaper. He asked, "What happened there?"
"I got hit in the face with a volleyball."
Dad laughed.
I slumped back in my seat and tipped my chin up, holding the bag of frozen peas to my forehead.
"You all right, kiddo?" Dad had taken off his glasses and was looking at me with a frown.
"I'm fine. I just have a bit of a stomachache."
"Menstrual cramps?" Dad tried to whisper.
Growing up in a household with all men made me weirdly more comfortable with discussing such matters. "No, it's not cramps. Probably just something I ate."
"Are you OK with working later today? If not, I'll tell Miles to cover your shift."
I looked at the clock hung on the walls. My shift didn't start for another two hours. "Nah, I think I'll be fine at work today. In the meantime, I'll go rest." I went straight to my room after walking around the table and kissing Dad on the head.
I couldn't be bothered changing into a fresh set of clothes, so I slipped on one of Montgomery's basketball shirts, grabbed the store keys, and left. I said hi to a couple of my neighbours on the way there. A car in the distance was doing burnouts across town. It zipped past me, buzzing like a swarm of angry hornets. I recognized that car. It belonged to a friend of Harry's, Garret. Bones was sitting in the passenger seat. He saw me walk along the sidewalk and hollered out, "Hey, blondie!"
As they zipped passed, the sound of their wild laughter echoed up the street. It's a wonder they didn't get pulled over. They arrived at the store before me and loitered around in the alleyways. It was their favorite hangout spot, not that there was much of that in this town. Most days, I take the car and just drive around aimlessly.
I unlocked the store and went inside. It smelled dusty, Dad's been putting off cleaning. I hopped behind the counter and began to read a random magazine.
14 Creative Ways to Have Hot Chocolate This Season!
I flipped the page.
Studies Reveals That Your Cat is Basically a Tiny Lion.
I read a total of three articles: one about useful life hacks for school, one on Paris week, and another one talking about the benefits of hyaluronic acid for your skin.
I heard the sound of muffled laughter from outside the store while I was in the midst of reading. I looked up from the magazine in my hands. Bones and his friends had sauntered into the store. I watched as Bones took a can of beans from the shelf and peered at it, wrinkling his nose, before putting it back.
"Can I help you?" I said flatly.
"Just picking up some things for the game," Bones said. His friends went to the refrigerators at the back.
I put down the magazine and went to the backdoor to get a broom and dustpan, rolling my eyes. Bones dragged in a whole lot of dirt inside the store with his boots.
I returned to the store and began sweeping the back of the store, where Bones and his two friends were. They were all drinking from cans of Dr Pepper. They better pay for that. The vast majority just walk out without paying. That was all too often the case.
I started moving the broom down the front and saw Bones behind the counter. He wasn't aware I returned, and slipped a packet of cigarettes inside the pocket of his leather jacket.
"Hey!"
"What?" Bones leaned against the counter, chewing on the unlit cigarette in his mouth.
"Empty your pockets."
Bones put a thin brow up. "Why should I?" One of his friends snorted behind him.
I crossed my arms over my chest. He thought he was slick. "Because I just saw you put a cigarette packet in your pocket."
"I didn't take nuthin."
"You wouldn't have a problem emptying your pockets then, right?"
"You heard the girl," said his friend, snickering. "Empty your pockets."
I wasn't sure if Bones' face was flushed crimson from rage or shame at being caught. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack, which he then hurled at me. I grabbed it and slammed it against the counter.
With a crooked grin, I replied, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
Bones' friends all left the store. He was the last to leave, and on his way out he made sure to glare at me. "You will regret that," he said to me.
I pretended to flip through the dusty magazine on the counter. "Oh, I'm terrified."
He shook his head, chuckled and muttered something under his breath, then walked off — but not before giving me a look that sent shudders down my spine.
* * *
"God, Miles, stop stinking up the goddamn bathroom!"
"You want my shit to smell like roses or something?" he called back from his room. I could hear the sound of his video game.
I sighed and flicked open the grimy windows of our tiny bathroom. It was pointless to argue with him. It was like playing chess with a pigeon. Sometimes, I wish Dad had a little bit of extra money so that we could afford a bigger place. All I wanted was a bathroom for myself. Miles never let me take my time in the bathroom most mornings. My showers were reduced to a maximum of five minutes before he began to bang on the door and scream at me to get out so he could style his hair.
I pushed down the toilet seat and remembered how, when I was eight years old, Miles would break the heads off my Barbie dolls and dump them right down the toilet. I remember crying so hard that I puked. When I got home from pre-school that day, Mom purchased me a new Bratz doll. I sobbed and yanked off its head. Barbie, and only Barbie, was all I wanted. Even back then, Dad had a better understanding of me than anyone else. I returned home the next day to find a brand new Barbie doll on my bed.
It's the little things that make me grateful for my decision to stay with him.
"Dad, I'm going to the store now!" I called from my spot beside the front door. I was hastily putting on my boots. "If you need anything, let me know."
"Actually, could you get me some—," Miles went to say, but I had already slammed the door shut.
Grey clouds started to roll in overhead. I tied my fleecy scarf tighter around my neck and jumped on my bike. When I rode my bike, it only took me about two minutes to get there.
I got off my bike and chained it to a pole down the alleyway, where Bones and his usual gang of stoner pals were hanging out. His look charred the side of my face and gave me the chills. I marched stiffly up to the store. The sight in front of me made my blood run cold.
The store was completely trashed.
The display windows were smashed and the door handle was broken. I went inside the store, looking around with a terrible sense of dread. Bits of glass crunched underneath my boots. The refrigerator was empty and cans of food were lying on the ground.
"Fuck!" Did I accidentally leave the door open? Was it that goddamn cat again?
I hopped over to the cash register and checked it. There was no money inside. Cats don't steal fucking money. Bile began to rise to the top of my throat. Who would do something so cruel?
My answer walked right through the door. Tucker, a friend of Bones, strolled in. His eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed slightly. "What the fuck happened here?" He laughed and pushed away a stray pack of pads.
"You don't remember? Course you don't." Bones peered over Tucker's wide shoulders at me.
It was a daunting task holding back my tears, especially with the way Bones was smirking at me, almost as if anticipating a reaction. Well, he was going to get one. I turned around and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the shelf behind me.
"Here." I chucked the cigarette box at him. It slapped against his chest and fell to the floor. "You got what you wanted."
Bones went to pick up the cigarette box. I felt like I was watching over myself, while not actually being there. It was as if all the energy was sapping out of me. What will I tell Dad? I sunk to the floor and fell to my knees.
Through my blurry vision, I managed to spot Bones moving closer to me. He kneeled down before me and set the box of cigarettes in my lap. "Don't need it. I already got what I wanted yesterday." He glanced about the store, then his crystalline eyes met mine. "Have a fabulous time cleaning this."
He got up and walked out of the store. Tucker grabbed a Pepsi can from the ground and followed behind. I wiped my drenched face on my scarf, then got up to fetch a broom and dustpan from the back. Dad hadn't seen this yet. There was still time to fix things.
I began cleaning up and rearranging the shattered cans on the shelves. Tears welled up in my eyes. There was no way I could fix it in time. Dad would forever hate me. I couldn't even report Bones. I didn't have any proof it was him, and besides, he and Harry owned the fucking town. The most he'd get from the cops was a warning. I knelt on the floor and began sweeping the glass into the trash can. There was a lot of cleaning to be done. I had no idea where to begin.
The bell above the front door rung. Someone cleared their throat as I was frantically sweeping the floor.
"We're busy," I snapped over my shoulder.
"I can see that." That voice.
Carson entered slowly, stepping around the broken glass on the floor. With wrinkled brows, he inspected the sight before turning his gaze to me, crouched on the floor, feverishly attempting to mop up what I could.
I heard his voice behind me. "What happened here?"
"I said we're busy," I barked. The dustpan was full. I sighed and put my head in my hands.
Carson took a step closer to me and knelt to pick up the dustpan. He stood up and exited the store. I watched him toss the glass in the dustpan into a rubbish can through the shattered windows. Then I realized what he was doing. He was helping me clean.
I didn't know what I would tell Dad. He was going to be absolutely devastated. The more I sat there and thought of his reaction, the more exasperated I got. Tears ran down my cheeks. I hardly ever cried.
I opened my mouth and screamed. I snatched a few shards of glass from the ground and flung them out the window. One of the shards of glass got stuck in my palm. A horrible agony pierced through my body.
Carson had returned by that time. He most likely thought I was insane. "Don't take it out, it can worsen—," he tried, looking at my wounded palm.
I pulled the glass and burst out in tears at the mind-numbing pain that raced through my palm. "God! With my damaged hand, I punched the nearest shelf next to me and sobbed.
"Stop," Carson demanded as he stared down at me. "Get up."
"Shut the fuck up and go away!" Beads of blood spilled to the ground. I was a mess.
I got up and tried to step around Carson, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me to him. "You're bleeding," he said in my ear, and I felt lightheaded as he took my hand in his and carefully traced over the cut.
"I can see that," I hissed as I drew back my hand. I hated his hand on mine, and I hated him for coming in at this time. He had practically seen me at my worst.
"You need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding." He gestured to my palm, unaffected by my outburst. "May I?"
"Do I have a choice?"
He gave a gentle, rueful smile and said, "Probably not."
Carson reached for my hand again and pressed down on my wound. My temples were throbbing and I felt as if I was going to pass out. "Sorry, am I hurting you?" he asked when I hissed out in pain.
"No," I said through gritted teeth. It wouldn't stop bleeding. The sight of blood always made me feel queasy.
Carson pulled his Rolling Stones t-shirt and swiftly yanked it off his slim body. I saw bluish ink on the side of his ribs as he lifted his arms above his head. He tied the shirt around the wound on my palm after his eyes glanced doubtfully to me, almost as if asking for permission. I raised my eyes to Carson once again. I couldn't get the image of his tattoo out of my head yet.
He walked to the back of the store and returned, with a water bottle and cotton balls. "This is freezing cold, so it might sting a little at first," he said as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle. He soaked the cotton pad in a few drops of water and then began cleaning up my wound.
I just said nothing because he appeared to have a lot of experience in this department. Made me wonder just what kind of person he was. What a conundrum he was. Nobody in this town walked or talked the way he did.
Carson grabbed a bunch of tissues from the Kleenex box on the counter and patted the wound dry. "Do you guys sell antibiotic ointment?"
"Yeah, it's down the back near the first aid stuff." I sniffled. Circumstances such as these I was glad Dad was a hoarder.
Carson headed to the back of the store to look for the ointment. I pulled myself up onto the counter and continued wiping the blood away. Carson returned and stood beside me, applying a tiny layer of ointment on my palm.
Then he put up two boxes of bandaids. "Superman or Spongebob?"
I just shrugged.
"Spongebob it is." Carson tore the bandaid open with his teeth, and then put two on to cover the wound.
"Are you done?" I asked, looking up from the floor.
His dark eyes narrowed, "What's up with your face?"
I sniffled, "Gee, thanks."
He grabbed my chin and titled my head to the side. "I'm serious. You look like you got punched in the face." He sucked in a sharp breath, a dark look overcoming his face. "Did... someone jump you? Because if that's the case, you need to tell me."
"I got socked in the face with a volleyball today. You would know if you actually showed up to class." That was a subtle dig at him.
If he was offended, he didn't show it. He looked like he was trying to hold back a smile. "Oh, that's right. Gen told me."
Gen? They were already on nickname basis? I didn't know why that thought really bothered me. "You guys talk about me? I'm flattered."
"You wouldn't like the things she says about you," he murmured.
"What is it that she's saying?" Now my interest was piqued.
"I will answer that when you tell me who did this to you," he said softly, holding my gaze.
I just sniffled and looked away. I could hear him sigh, almost defeated. "There," he said after a brief pause. He took a step back and took his warm hand away from my chin. "You're all set to go."
I hopped down and tried to walk away, but Carson side-stepped me and trapped me against the counter. I got a face full of his chest. He was so much taller than me that it was almost comical. "Move out of my way," I squeaked, a little intimidated by our close proximity. "I need to clean—,"
With a shake of his head, Carson expressed his dissatisfaction with the situation. "I'm afraid you're going to hurt yourself again."
Tears pricked at the back of my eyelids. "You don't understand." My voice sounded hysterical and snippy. "I can't let Dad down. Not again. He can't know, he just can't—"
"I understand," he said gently. "That's why I'm going to help clean up while you sit there, all right? We don't want you slicing your palm open again."
I wanted to thank him but my voice got caught in my throat. I remained huddled in a ball on the ground and tuned in to the sound of Carson sweeping the floors. It nearly lulled me to sleep. I wanted to sleep and never wake up.
Carson finally put down the broom after twenty minutes. "That's all I can do for now. The rest is not in my hands. Sorry about that." His cheeks had paled as he appeared out of breath.
I got up from the ground and wiped off my drenched face. "What did you come in here for?" It was back to business.
Carson approached the counter with a box of tampons in hand. "Was picking these up for my mom." He didn't look embarrassed by any means. "How much would that be?"
"It's on the house." I sniffled and stuffed the tampon box into a paper bag. I turned back and took one of the last cigarette packs from the shelf, which I stuffed inside the bag. "For helping me out."
"Sweet, much appreciated. I've been meaning to buy one of these." He pulled a cigarette out of the packet and put it in his mouth.
"You shouldn't smoke."
"Why's that?"
"It can kill you."
"A lot of things in life can kill you. Drinking too much water can kill you." He took out a lighter from his pocket and ignited the cigarette in his mouth. "Is it fair to say you're aware that around four hundred Americans die each year from accidental overdosing of Tylenol?"
I opened my mouth and closed it, desperately racking my brain for an answer. I felt like an idiot, because he was looking at me in almost an expect manner. But I'd never been intelligent or savvy enough to hold a conversation with anyone — much less a cute boy.
A minute went by and I still hadn't said anything. I was too interested with watching the way his mouth moved behind the cigarette to notice anything else. Carson's face was lit up with the tiniest of smiles. He looked so much younger when he smiled. He grabbed the paper bag, held it to his chest, and sauntered out the store with that godawful cigarette still lit in his mouth.
I took a peek around the store. Some cleaning still had to be done before I broke the news to Dad. Carson's bloody shirt was on the floor.
"Wait, your shirt!"
In that case, he was already gone.