Come on, Amber. Don’t be a pussy.
I take a sharp breath in, reaching through the broken window and yanking the dangling angel pendant that I keep hanging from my rearview mirror. It came with the car, since my dad got it used, and I never took it out. It makes me feel safe, even though I’m especially religious. I just like having it there when I drive.
I tuck it into the pocket of my hoodie, turning away from my wrecked car. If I have to walk home, I might as well get started now. I’m not going to make it back any faster by moping around by my car. My mom is going to be pissed that it’s wrecked, no doubt blaming it on me. I don’t even think I’ll tell her about it yet. It’s not like she’d be able to help me fix it. My dad was the one with all the money, and because I’m an adult, she’s not getting any child support.
I feel sick in my stomach. It’s an anxious nausea, the type that I felt when my parents used to argue all night long. The funny thing is, it almost feels nice to have it again, like my parents are still together, shouting at each other in the other room while I try to sleep. It’s fucked up that I would ever want that back.
I avoid making eye contact with anyone as I leave the school grounds. I pull my hoodie over my head, yanking the drawstrings to hide my face. I don’t want anyone to know that I exist. I want to be forgotten.
I walk as quickly as I can down the tattered single-lane street, beginning the long journey back home. This town is so small that practically everything is contained on a single stretch of road. All I have to do is walk down it for the next two hours to get to my trailer. I don’t even have to think about where I’m going.
Good. I don’t want to think.
I want to slip off into my safe daydream world that I enjoy so much. Nothing exists there, save for a few cute guys and a nice warm bed.
Speaking of cute guys, Flint is cute as hell, but in a scary way. He would be much more pleasant to daydream about if he wasn’t a total dick. I try to conjure up an alternative version of him in my head, something safer and more at ease, but it doesn’t have the same effect. It’s almost as though the asshole behavior is what makes him so attractive.
Alright, my life is messed up, but I don’t need to mess it up further by developing an attraction to someone who needs help on a basic math exam. I’m pretty sure I learned all that stuff during my first year of high school at my last school, a prestigious private institute. The stuff they teach here is stupidly simple, and some of it is even wrong. Good luck pointing that out to the teachers and having them listen, though.
I pull myself out of my weird fantasy land where Flint actually has a brain, and I focus on the path ahead of me. It’s hot, and I didn’t bring any water. I didn’t think I would need any because I wasn’t planning on walking four fucking miles back home in the sticky heat. I can smell myself already, and it’s not lilies and sugar.
I unzip my hoodie, but I don’t remove it. Even though I’m off school grounds, I don’t want any passersby to see my filthy clothing. The blood on my neckline is dried to a rust color, and whatever gunk that was on the bathroom floor is still stuck to the front of my wrinkled shirt. It looks like I rolled across the road instead of driving to get to school this morning.
The trees rustle in the breeze, and the sky begins to turn gray as my feet slowly take me to my destination. I’m about a mile in when I hear a loud crack, followed by shouting. At first, I think it’s the faint sound of lightning, but I realize that there are some people just around the bushes further down the road, shouting profanities at each other.
I proceed with caution, slowing my pace as I near the sound of the voices. It’s two men, probably guys that go to Blackstone High. One of them has a very deep voice that makes me afraid, and the other one sounds like a squeaky chew toy.
I peek around the bush at the clearing beside the sidewalk since I have to walk past it anyway, curious to know who the voices belong to.
I’m surprised to see Flint standing with a skateboard to his side, staring down a lanky man with a broken skateboard at his feet.
“You’re the one who snapped it, cocksucker, so you need to replace it,” the lanky guy says, thrusting the two pieces of the board toward Flint.
Flint appears to be nothing more than slightly annoyed by the guy, raising an eyebrow and tapping his foot on the graffiti-laden ground of the skatepark. “I’m not giving you mine, but I’ll get you another one tomorrow. And I suggest you watch your mouth.”
“Tomorrow? Dude, I was practicing my ollie.”
“You’ve been skateboarding for two years and you still can’t do a basic ollie. I think you can wait until tomorrow.”
I start walking, trying to slip by them without begin noticed.
I have no luck. The second a take a step through the clearing, I hear the lanky guy shout, “Hey, it’s Amber.”
Fuck, how does he know my name? Did Flint tell him?
I turn my head, flashing a halfhearted smile at the pair.
“Yo, come tell this cocksucker that he owes me a new skateboard,” the lanky guy shouts at me.
Flint shoves him with moderate force, but it sends him stumbling across the pavement.
“You guys have fun,” I shout back, continuing my walk.
“Wait up,” the lanky guy says, running toward me after he finds his footing.
Oh god, what did I do to deserve this?
Flint jogs behind the guy, making feel a little safer, not that the lanky guy seems especially threatening. He looks like he escaped from prison and has been hiding in a port-a-potty for a week without food. I imagine he smells the same, but I don’t let him close enough to catch a whiff. I take a step back as he comes to a stop in front of me.
“You’re Amber,” he declares.
“Yes, that’s right,” I reply, unsure what he’s getting at.
“I’m Blake,” he says, holding out a skeletal hand.
Flint walks up from behind him and pushes him out of the way, stepping up to me with his skateboard dangling at his side. “What brings you around here?” he asks, his voice deep and commanding, like he’s a military general or something. He has the voice of a grown man, but I swear he’s only nineteen, max.
I pull my hoodie tightly around my torso, trying to hide the mess beneath it. “I’m walking home. Someone destroyed my car.”
Flint raises both eyebrows knowingly. “The black sedan?”
“Did you do that?” I ask, leaning forward. I can already feel the heat rising to my cheeks at the thought of him fucking up my car over some stupid test.
“No, but I know who did,” he replies.
“Who?” I demand, unable to veil the aggression in my voice.
Blake jumps back into the scene, a goofy smile on his face. “We’ll tell you if you give us something.”
Flint looks like he’s about to push Blake out of the way again, but then he pauses, rubbing his square chin. “Yeah,” he says, a smile creeping over his face. “Helping people is cheating, remember?”
“Really?” I ask, equally surprised and irritated at his statement. “The people who destroyed my car were probably the same ones who beat the shit out of me. Tell me who they are,” I demand.
“Why’d you let them beat you up?” Flint asks, as though any of this were my fault.