Page 8 of Genesis

I laugh and shake my head. “You’ll figure it out.” I look over at my best friend Johnny. He doesn’t do yard work, so his clothesareshit, but we wear the same size, so I let him borrow mine sometimes when his are looking really rough. Today, though, we look alike––no shirt, cut-off jean shorts, and high-top Reeboks that we three bought for him.

“I’m next,” he states.

I lift my lip.

That’s my boy.

No one has even asked us any questions about Johnny’s old man burning up in that house a few days ago. The fire department called it an accident. Said he probably passed out with a jar of moonshine and a lit cigarette. Everyone knew his dad was the town drunk and he loved his smokes.

Fire and one hundred proof alcohol isn’t a good combo––just saying. Everyone is relieved Johnny wasn’t in the house asleep, too. It’s a big deal in the neighborhood. All the moms have come by Ma’s to check on Johnny and bring plates of food.

It’s been a good couple of days, but unfortunately, that’s all going to change. Ma says child services are going to come get Johnny. He’ll be put in the system, but that doesn’t matter. We’ve already talked about it. We’ll figure out a way for him to come back here.

I kick off the pavement and place my other foot on the board, lifting my arms out for balance. The wind licks my sun-kissed skin and I grin because, holy shit, this is fun. Flying down the hill, I near the bottom at lightning speed, feeling the trickle of water rain down on my bare shoulders and back as I grow closer to the fire hydrant.

I shut my eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of flying, and then I slam into something hard and bony that knocks the oxygen from my lungs.

“Shit,” I curse as I flip over the hard object and slide on my back, feeling the pavement rip me to shreds.

I struggle to take in air and wince at the burn coming from my torn flesh.

“How did you not see me?” a girl’s voice says, sounding as if she’s in agony, too.

I blink my eyes and look over at the girl in a flowery bathing suit getting up from the soaked ground.

Bexley.

She looks at her busted elbow and touches her bleeding jaw.

“How didyounot see me?” I ask, turning and placing my palms down so I can stand up. Tiny pieces of gravel dig into my palms.

“Oh snap,” Johnny says, running up. “You all right, man?”

“No,” I reply, looking at Bexley as I wipe little rocks from my hands.

She’s not crying like any other girl would, and it makes me even more curious about her.

“It’s you again,” he says.

“And it’s you again,” she throws back. I look past Johnny as my brothers come running up. They can’t know we’ve already met; there will be too many questions.

“You don’t know us,” I say to her in warning. She doesn’t respond, just blinks at me.

“What did I tell you about hitting girls?” Paul says as he and Samuel join us at the bottom of the hill. He whacks me on the head. I wince, swatting my arm at him. “I don’t hit girls. She jumped in front of me.”

“You all right?” he asks her, ignoring me.

“Totally,” she says sarcastically.

Paul’s fifteen and the oldest of all of us. He’s also a con artist. He’s making Bexley think he really cares because he doesn’t want me to get into more trouble. I get into enough.

“Why don’t you come to our house and I can fix you up? We have butterfly stiches. That’ll probably do the trick. It’s not that bad.”

“As if,” she says. “I’m not going with all you boys.” She turns on her heel and heads to the house next to ours. The moving truck that was parked there a few days ago is gone. She’s officially our new neighbor.

Paul shoves my shoulder. “How did you not see her?” he says.

“I closed my eyes for one second.”

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