Page 9 of Walk on the Wilde Side
I take a step back. At fourteen, I've passed him in height, but he still outweighs me in muscle, strength and meanness. A loud crack of thunder outside startles me and reminds us that thunder clouds are hanging low over the town.
Dad's already in a bad mood from the phone call. I can almost see orange flames from his nostrils as he takes a step into the room. I'm done for either way so I tell him.
"Got suspended for telling the physical ed teacher to fuck himself. He deserved it. He made this kid wipe up the bathroom with his shirt because he couldn't do a pull-up."
Dad shakes his head, smooths his hair back with his palm and throws his fist. I turn my head, and it lands on my jaw. I bite my tongue so hard it's spurting blood. "Get out," he says.
I'm trying to catch the drops of blood, so I don't get in more trouble for dripping blood on the floor. I look at him, confused. The room is spinning. My entire mouth hurts, and pain is shooting through my skull.
"Get your shit and get out. I told you no more suspensions, and next time, let the kid with the toilet-stained shirt fend for himself. You've got an hour, then I start throwing your crap out the fucking window."
He walks out. I wait for him to get down the stairs, then I race to the bathroom to spit out the blood and rinse my mouth. The pain in my jaw and the rush of blood down my throat cause me to puke. I wash my face and plod back to my room. I dump the school shit out of my backpack. Won't need it when I'm out on the road, and I tell myself more than once that getting the fuck out of here will be the best thing that ever happened to me. I shove some clothes and some money I have saved into the pack. My coat is downstairs in the boot room. The distant thunder tells me it's going to be a rough night. I'll need the coat. Before leaving, I step into the bathroom. A bruise is forming on my face, and my lip is swollen to twice its regular size. I gulp down two aspirin and tromp downstairs. I'm just as glad not to see the fucker again. Far as I'm concerned, I'm walking off the ranch and never looking back.
I'm pissed that I meet up with him as he's coming back from the bike shed. He pushes keys into his pocket. "I paid for those bikes. You can walk."
I stare at him and keep walking. He crosses his arms and stands there, apparently, to make sure I leave the property. The joke is on him because I'm happy to get the fuck off his land.
The sky over the road is charcoal gray, and the clouds are so thick and heavy with rain it looks like they might fall out of the sky. The first drops hit my face. They're heavy enough to remind me that my face is swollen. I realize once I leave the road that I've got no fucking place to go. My friends aren't out of school yet, and most of them have parents who don't like any of us Wilde boys hanging around.
I get to the small park at the end of town and take shelter under the massive shade tree. Today, it's protecting me from the downpour. I'm sure somewhere in science we learned not to sit under a tree during a thunderstorm, but there's a picnic table and bench underneath, so it's the best place I can find. The thick branches keep some of the rain off me. I'm already soaked, and the cold is starting to settle into my bones causing me to shiver. My chin joins in, and it causes sharp pain in my jaw. The aspirin didn't do shit.
I search in my backpack for the granola bar I shoved in there this morning. The bar is too hard and crunchy for my sore jaw and ripped up tongue. I throw it on the ground. It takes only five seconds for a squirrel to run down the trunk of the tree and snatch the granola bar. He carries it back up to wherever he's sitting out the storm in the branches.
The downpour slows to a drizzle, but a sharp, cold wind has followed the storm. I zip up my coat, plop my backpack on the table and climb on top of it to stretch out. The backpack stuffed with clothes makes a decent pillow. I close my eyes, hoping the ache in my head will stop and hoping that I never have to see my fucking old man again.
five
Nev
Then
I'm exhausted and totally annoyed. The debate team met after school to practice for a big county debate, but we ended up debating each other on which were the best debate tactics to use for our topics. It's never easy when you get a bunch of strong-minded and even stronger-willed bookish nerds together in a room. We got nothing done, and by the time we left school, it was pouring outside. Nana's car is in the shop … again, so I'm stuck walking home. I usually don't mind, but the thunderstorm and the annoying hours with my debate team left me in a bad mood. I just want to be home, warm and dry in Nana's kitchen, eating a cookie and washing it down with milk.
The first half of the walk, the rain is so heavy I worry that a flood of water will wash me down the sidewalk. Now, an annoyingly cold breeze and drizzle are hanging around to dampen my mood more. I walk past the small park at the end of town. It's a place Kinsley and I used to ride our bikes. I miss those carefree days of bike riding, playing tag and easy homework.
My face is down to avoid the cold wind. I pull the hood of my coat up farther, but the wind knocks it right back off. I'm reaching for it again, and my face lifts and turns toward the park. Someone is sleeping on top of the picnic bench under the mulberry tree. His long legs and big feet dangle off the end of the table. I recognize the black high-tops. The right toe has been duct taped together because it split open. Zander's dad refuses to buy him new shoes until the ones he's wearing are disintegrating. It seems that's not far off.
I hurry across the wet grass to the table. "Zander?" I say quietly, but he doesn't stir.
I touch his leg. He sits up with a gasp and then immediately presses his hand against his jaw. "Ow, fuck, what'd you do that for, Nev?"
I shrug. "Just making sure you're alive. I guess you are, so I'm off." I start to leave, only I know the boy sitting on the table behind me is in trouble. I saw clothes sticking out from the unzipped pocket of his backpack. I turn back around. "Wanna come to my house? I'm sure Nana can help with whatever the heck is going on with your face." I keep a smile to myself thinking even swollen and bloodied, he's swoon-worthy. Zander is probably the most common name doodled on girls' notebooks in school. Not mine but then I tend to doodle weird things like dragons and aliens.
Zander sits up fully. He gets taller every time I see him. Even with a swollen face, he manages a smile. "Why you out so late, Nevvie? You shouldn't be walking home alone. There are a lot of creeps hanging around."
"You mean like the tall one with a bloody lip and bruised face who's sleeping at the park?" I ask. I look pointedly at his backpack and then back at him. I feel like I've known Zander Wilde my whole life, and everything about him is still such a mystery. One thing I know for sure is his father is a jerk. "Did you get kicked out of the house?"
He reaches back and moves his backpack out of view.
"I can see your underwear sticking out of the pocket," I say.
He turns to look back at it and I laugh.
"Just kidding but I can see the clothes. Unless, I don't know, maybe you're secretly part of the drama club, and you were changing into costume so you needed a change of clothes."
This time his smile makes him flinch. "Shit, me in the drama club. That's a good one."
The light talk is over. I walk closer to him. There's dried blood in his hair and his bottom lip is swollen. A bruise is forming on this cheek. "Just come home for tonight. I'm sure your dad will call you to come back home later. Nana can fix your lip. She's making macaroni and cheese tonight."
