She’s defending Avery.
She doesn’t even know Avery.
This is the Moxie he loves.
Griffin barely glances at her. ‘My cousin was in hospital for days after this bastard punched his face in. West is in so much therapy now. You know who this kid is? He’s a raging psychopath.’
Sam looks at his hands.
They shake.
He curls them into fists and he can feel the blood again, slick through his knuckles as he knelt on the ground in the school yard, one hand around West’s throat, the other coming down again and again
and again
and again again again again againagainagainagain—
There was blood.
Avery was screaming.
They’d slammed his arm in a door and broken it, those bullies. Those stupid, goddamn bullies.
That’ll stop you twitching.
All because Avery thought they were his friends. Following them around, talking nonstop, flapping his hands in excitement as he tried to fit in.
They strung him along and then cut him down.
Sam was going to kill them.
He was going to kill them all.
The lights on the beach flare too brightly and slam him back to the sand where this boy Griffin is red-faced and yelling.
Moxie turns to Sam. Her face is closed, unreadable, eyes obsidian in the dark.
Kirby mumbles something like, ‘Yeah, um, talking to this guy was a bad idea. I’ll get your brothers, Moxie.’ She runs off.
Moxie reaches out a hand, but Sam is so far away she can’t possibly reach him. She would need a boat and a bridge made of moons to find him again.
‘You should be in jail!’ Griffin shouts.
People are gathering now. Griffin’s friends flood around him, tall and muscular, eyes full of fury and hungry to punish.
Sam stares. His whole body pulses with the memory of blood on his hands.
‘He tried to – h-h-h-hurt Avery.’ Sam doesn’t look at anyone. ‘I was s-saving my brother.’
Griffin spits and turns to his friends. ‘Call the cops.’
‘No!’ Moxie cries. ‘What are you … how – Sam, talk to me?’ Fear trips over her face.
‘What else do I need to say?’ Griffin snaps. ‘He beat the shit out of my cousin and you’re defending him. Get the hell away, girl.’
Then Griffin grabs the shoulder of Sam’s waistcoat and smashes his fist into Sam’s stomach.
Moxie screams.
Sam drops to his knees.
Air explodes out of his lungs and doesn’t come back.
People shout and move around now, too close, too hot, too loud. Yells collide and someone calls out frantically for Moxie. The knot of people tightens.
Griffin towers over him, all coiled muscles and a watch that gleams gold in the flickering firelight.
Sam holds his stomach. He tastes tears.
Why didn’t you run?
Griffin grabs Sam’s hair and tips his head back, raising his fist again. For a second Sam just stares at those burning eyes—
And then Moxie shoves Griffin and knocks him off balance.
‘Don’t you dare hit him,’ she shouts.
Griffin staggers a few steps and then spins on Moxie.
Hands shoot out. Snatch at shirts. Stop is whispered.
Griffin closes the distance between him and Moxie with a step and a roar and he twists, ramming his shoulder into Moxie.
She gives the smallest cry.
And falls.
Sam’s world speeds up.
You do not touch Moxie. You do not ever ever ever touch Moxie.
He springs up in a churn of sand, his fingers curling to fists. To do what they know best.
And then he’s on Griffin like a shot, knuckles on flesh, on bone.
Hit.
He kicks Griffin’s legs out from under him and they fall, Griffin roaring, Sam deadly and silent. His fist comes down, his knees press into Griffin’s chest to pin him. He doesn’t think.
He hits.
In a very small corner of his mind he is dying.
The earth rushes around him, spinning fast, trying to throw him off into the stars.
Behind him a girl screams, her face a broken mirror of agony.
Stop.
He should. He has to stop. Save Avery. Where’s Avery?
‘Sam.’
He can’t he can’t he can’t stop
stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop—
Hands hook under the shoulders of Sam’s waistcoat and yank him off. There are bodies everywhere, tall as mountains that block out the light. There’s sand in his mouth, in his eyes. There’s blood. Sam tries to breathe but he hasn’t lungs any more.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Someone get help!’
‘Sam, what—’ The last is Jeremy, now clutching Sam’s arm.
Sam jerks away.
Griffin holds his broken nose and roars.
Their faces blur and spin before him. They are red teeth and burned-out eyes. They are horror and disgust and rage.
Sam shoves through them and they back out of his way.
Scared of him.
Just like he was so scared of his father.
Only one girl doesn’t move. Her dress is a flood of sunbeams and her mouth is a terrified twist.
He runs past her.
Run, just run. Just run for ever.
He scrabbles up the bank, his feet hitting the road so fast he trips and falls and rips his jeans. It hurts and he’s glad. He’s so glad. He wants to hurt. He wants someone to pin him down and beat the living daylights out of him.
He deserves it.
You despicable boy, his aunt said. She’s right. They’re all right. He’s just like his father. He should be in prison.
He picks himself up and runs down the road. Runs until his undone shoelaces twist about his legs and he falls in the long seagrass by the highway. He pulls out Avery’s phone. Fix all your problems. He’s shaking so hard he has to hold it with two hands.
The sea wind whips his hair and he tastes blood and salt and ruin.