I shrug, leaving her alone before the teacher has a problem with me.
The air in the room is stale and musty, like always, as I stroll up to the teacher’s desk and lazily toss my completed exam onto the one that’s already sitting there. I don’t bother to look at the teacher or any of the other students before walking out of the classroom. This was my last class of the day, and now I’m free to leave.
The second I step foot into the dimly lit hallway, I hear Blake calling my name. Jesus, the guy doesn’t relax for a second. He was probably waiting outside the classroom for me. I turn around to greet him.
“Yo, you ready?” Blake asks, jogging up to me with a skateboard clutched in his hand by the metal truck that holds the wheels in place.
“Just about,” I reply. “I gotta go to my locker and get my board and my bag.”
“You still sleeping by the creek?” Blake asks.
I shrug. “Until Dean jumps off a bridge, yeah, I guess I am.” I refuse to call my stepfather by anything other than his first name, but Blake already knows that.
“We could jump him,” Blake suggests as we walk across the hall to the lockers.
“He’s twice your size,” I reply, laughing at the image that pops into my head. Blake is like a bundle of wires, while Dean is a porky man with a bad attitude and a short temper.
Blake scoffs at me. “Dude, there’s two of us, and you could probably bench press that loser. What are you scared of?”
“He pays the rent. I gotta think about my mom, so can you shut up about it already?” I reply, yanking the bag that’s stuffed in my locker out along with my skateboard. My bookbag is full of essentials for outdoor survival. I have a sleeping bag, a bit of food, and a wicked sharp knife in case any punk wants to fuck with me. I don’t play.
“All that weed you smoke hasn’t calmed you down one bit,” Blake points out. “Maybe you should give it to me.”
I laugh, turning around and punching him lightly in the chest. Any harder and I might break his brittle ribcage. “I ain’t giving you shit.”
“I’ll just buy my own then,” he replies, pulling out a crumbled pile of cash from his front pocket. He seems proud to show it to me, but it’s only about ten bucks.
I raise an eyebrow, reaching behind me to close my locker. “You expect me to be impressed by that?”
He frowns and shoves the cash back into the pocket of his ripped jeans. “You were wrong about Mr. Leeson’s stuff, but the way. I sold a quiz cheat sheet to some sucker in the bathroom a minute ago. But get this, it’s for last week’s quiz.”
I shake my head. “You’re going to get your ass kicked doing that shit.”
“Nah, I sold it to some skinny guy.”
“Skinny guys can tote guns too, my man,” I reply.
Blake’s eyes widen. “You think he’d shoot me?”
I laugh. “Let’s go before it gets too dark out. Nobody can afford a gun here anyway.”
“You had me worried for a second,” Blake says, following after me as I make my way down the hall.
We walk to the exit, stepping through the metal doors that shut us inside of Blackstone High for eight hours a day. We’re greeted by the warmth of the sun across our faces, and the gentle hum of cars in the parking lot as students begin to leave for the day.
A gust of black fumes sweeps past us. At first, I write it off as the usual diesel exhaust sputtering out of the yellow-orange school buses, but it smells more like a fire. I look over to the parking lot to see a group of cheerleaders throwing burning rags into the broken windows of a vandalized car. They’re going to set the whole lot on fire that way.
“Hey,” I yell at the cheerleaders, my voice deep and agitated. People here are poor, and I doubt whoever’s car has been smashed up is going to be able to get it fixed up so easily.
Edyth, the head of the cheer squad looks over at me with her trashy entourage mirroring her movements. They drop the flaming rags, probably concerned that I might report them, and scatter like cockroaches in the light. They’re opportunistic in their delinquency and would never square up one-on-one with anyone, much less try to come up against someone as big as me.
“Those were Edyth’s girls, huh?” Blake asks, craning his head over to them.
“Certainly were,” I reply, continuing to walk away from the school.
“Hold up,” he says. “What if there’s something valuable in that car?”
“Do you ever stop stealing?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Not really,” he replies, quickly catching up to me again and leaving the car behind. It’s not worth having the vandalism pinned on him later because he stole an air freshener out of it and tried to sell it at the school. I think he realizes that.
Blake and I walk down the road toward the skate park together, leaving the sorrowful world of Blackstone High behind us for now. Tomorrow, we’ll be back, but right now we’ll forget that school ever existed.
I pull out a pre-rolled joint and place it between my lips. God, it’s good to be free.
Chapter Five
Amber
I limp out into the parking lot, annoyed that it took me so damn long to finish the math test. It’s difficult to fill in those stupid bubbles properly when my hand is throbbing in pain. I remember it being stomped by some nasty old sneakers against the tile floor when I was ganged up on and attacked in the bathroom.
My joints ache now, but at least I don’t have to walk home. I live four miles away from the school, and the walk back would be a nightmare. I still have the car that my father bought for me before the divorce. I treasure it because it’s the only thing I have left from him.
I clutch the thick straps of my bookbag, sulking out into the yellow afternoon sun while other people run around me to flee the dreary school building. They could’ve made it out of brick like any other normal school, but the outer walls are solid concrete, just about as prison-esque as they could manage. It’s depressing.
I look up as I get to the parking lot, scanning the shabby cars parked in disarray on the unmarked lot. My eyes land on a spray painted abomination of broken glass and scratched and dented metal sitting among the other cars.
It’s my car.
“What the fuck,” I say aloud as I run up to it. My bookbag bounces on my shoulders, slowing my run as I approach my defaced vehicle.
“Fuck,” I shout as I stop in front of it.
The car has been keyed about a hundred times. All the windows, including the front windshield, have been smashed to bits, and the word SLUT has been spray painted in bright pink across the side. Even the tires weren’t spared, not that I could drive it with the broken windshield anyway. All four of the brand new summer tires were punctured and flattened. This hunk of steel isn’t going anywhere.
I would kick the tire, but my feet already hurt enough. The girls who attacked me didn’t miss a single part of my body. They made sure I was hurting from head to toe, and they got my car too. I’m certain it was the same people.
I look around, suddenly becoming aware that I could be jumped again, but I don’t see anyone who looks threatening. I look back at my car, feeling heat behind my eyes as I fight back tears.