Page 8 of Indigo Sky

He shrugged his bare shoulders, golden from the sun. "I dunno. But, like, Jim didn’t graduate high school, and he's doing all right … sort of."

Jim was Nate's mom's boyfriend. The one who had broken Nate's arm years ago, I guessed. Maybe he was the one who had left that ugly-looking bruise over his ribs, too, but I wouldn't dare ask. He'd just shut down and pull his shirt back on anyway. Nate never answered me when I asked about his bruises.

Anyway, Jim worked at an auto repair shop somewhere—a couple of towns over, I thought. I didn't know if you needed a diploma to do that or not, but he worked, so I supposed that was something. Someone needed to fix cars, and if you didn't need high school to do it, then why bother?

"You wanna fix cars?" I asked, the gears in my brain turning.

"I don't know that I wanna do anything," Nate replied, huffing sardonically. "I mean, why the hell bother? We're all gonna die one day, Rev, so who gives a fuck what we spend our time doing?"

There he went again, talking about death. What the hell was that about? I didn't like it; it gave me the fucking creeps, so I ignored the comment altogether, hoping he'd drop it if I didn't say anything at all.

"I could fix cars," I said, choosing to think about that instead. "Or maybe … I dunno. Maybe I'll—"

"You know what you should do? You should be a pirate."

That made me laugh and look at him sidelong. "What?”

“Yeah. Like, arealpirate.”

God, he was such an idiot sometimes.

“I can't be a freakin'pirate. What the hell?"

"No, no, no, hear me out." Nate was excited now, turning to face me as his hands moved animatedly through the air. "You could be, like … like friggin' Robin Hood or something."

"Robin Hood wasn't a pirate."

"No, I get that, but I mean, you could steal shit and—"

I shook my head and waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "Yeah, and have my mom kill me. Right. Good idea."

His lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Who says you have to tell her?"

"I think she'd figure it out when the cops called her," I pointed out. "And you think your mom and Jim wouldn't—"

"I don't give afuckabout them." His eyebrows tipped angrily. "Don'teverthink that I give a fuck about them. Got it?"

My lips pressed together tightly, shutting me up.

"Anyway”—the anger was wiped away as quickly as it had come, and he was back to looking excited—"all of those assholes who ever talked shit about you, you could go, and … I dunno … take something from them. Money or food or whatever. Doesn't matter. Just to teach them a lesson, you know? Wouldn't that be awesome?"

I thought about it, and on one hand, in theory, it kinda did sound awesome. The idea of doing something to retaliate after years of being bullied, in a way they wouldn't see coming, was thrilling and tempting. Honestly, it was messed up how much they got away with—the shit they said, the fucked-up things they did. It had lessened over the years, especially as they started spending their time doing other shit, like drinking or sex or whatever, but it hadn't gotten easier, and the thought of getting back at them …

Man, just the thought flooded my veins with a rush of adrenaline and power.

But the problem was, I had a conscience. And I knew enough about morals and the difference between right and wrong to know stealing wasn't right. Those kids might've gotten away with calling me names and writing shit on my locker, but could I get away with, what? Stealing a freakin' wallet? I knew better than to believe I could be good at something like that.

"Yeah, it'd be cool," I said more wistfully than was probably normal. "But … nah, it's fine. In a couple of years, I’ll never have to see them again anyway."

"So, you think it's okay for people to do fucked-up shit and get away with it?"

"No! What?" I shook my head, frowning. "I didn't say that. I—"

"People get away with shit all the time, and it's messed up that guys like you and me can't do anything about it. Don't let them tell you that's okay, Revan. Don't believe that shit. Theywantyou to believe it so they can keep doing it, but it's all BS. Okay? It's all fucking BS."

He stood up before I could reply, propelled by anger, and stormed into my parents' house, slamming the back door behind him. I watched him go, then turned back to the water, shaking my head and feeling like I'd just suffered whiplash.

"What the hell?" I muttered as Mom came outside.

---