at Jason’s new home-away-from-home, especially now that I’d slapped him around. I had to see this thing through, for better or for worse.
I only gave a passing thought at that time to the fact that I was officially saying goodbye to my high-school life as I knew it. Looking back, I’ve wondered if I would have made a different decision, had I known what I was in for.
Chapter Thirteen
THE REST OF THE CAR ride to school passed with zero conversation and lots of loud music, mostly of the Katy Perry variety because Bobby is such a huge fan and my brain was too busy thinking about Jason’s fucked-up life to bitch about the lack of variety.
We parked in the farthest lot from the school, the place reserved for people who don’t have regular paid parking stickers. I was sweating and all the crankier for it, dripping wet by the time I reached the main sidewalk leading up to the closest building. I hate starting the day off with my shirt plastered to my body. Nothing good ever came of that in my experience.
It was terrible timing that we ended up walking just behind a group of football players talking in their normal, loud, nobody-matters-but-us kind of way.
“I’ll fucking kick his face in if I ever see it again,” said one of them, his swagger advertising to the world that he was just the man for the job.
“When’s the memorial for Coach?” another one asked. “This Wednesday, right?”
That’s when I knew they were talking about The Incident . The murder. Jason . My pulse quickened as did my pace.
“Yeah, it’s Wednesday,” said the future potential face-kicker.
“Did you guys hear that Jason might show up?” said a third guy. “That’s what Brittney said. She’s totally freaking out, poor girl.”
My jaw dropped open at that utter lie, and I was instantly fuming. Brittney seriously needed a boob punch in the worst way.
Bobby grabbed my arm when he noticed me speeding up even more. “Easy, sister. Just let it go,” he said in a quiet voice.
I yanked my arm away from him and ignored his advice completely. That was probably a stupid move, but I’d pretty much abandoned being circumspect at that point. I slap murderers around and then I stick up for them when they’re being maligned. Boom . That’s how I roll. Chaos? Yes, give me more of that, please.
“Hey, assholes!” I shouted, coming up behind the group of five football players. It was a little harder to breathe, the closer I got. I never talked to these types of guys if I could help it. Now I was calling a whole group of them out.
They kept going, in complete denial that I could be speaking to any of them.
Typical .
I could have stopped there and walked on with my head down, pretending like nothing had ever happened, and no one would have been the wiser except maybe Bobby, — who, for the record, looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit — but instead I raised my voice and gave it another try.
“Hey, assholes on the football team! Yeah, I’m talking to you!”
Several people walking nearby slowed down and moved to get in a better position for spectating. I’d thrown down the gauntlet, and I could tell it was finally sinking into the group’s collective football brain that I meant it for them, as they slowed and looked at each other in confusion.
The biggest one, the guy who issued the threat to kick Jason’s face in, turned around first.
“Say what?” he asked, and then he laughed. “Check this,” he said, hitting his buddy on the arm and then pointing at me.
They all stopped and turned around, facing Bobby and me.
I kept going until I was just feet away, shifting so that I was in front of Bobby. This wasn’t his fight; no need for him to get pummeled.
I had to look up to meet their eyes since none of them were less than a foot taller than me. The big one was probably six and a half feet, so a full foot plus a few bonus inches bigger. Talk about David and Goliath. All I could think when I stared up at his
I only gave a passing thought at that time to the fact that I was officially saying goodbye to my high-school life as I knew it. Looking back, I’ve wondered if I would have made a different decision, had I known what I was in for.
Chapter Thirteen
THE REST OF THE CAR ride to school passed with zero conversation and lots of loud music, mostly of the Katy Perry variety because Bobby is such a huge fan and my brain was too busy thinking about Jason’s fucked-up life to bitch about the lack of variety.
We parked in the farthest lot from the school, the place reserved for people who don’t have regular paid parking stickers. I was sweating and all the crankier for it, dripping wet by the time I reached the main sidewalk leading up to the closest building. I hate starting the day off with my shirt plastered to my body. Nothing good ever came of that in my experience.
It was terrible timing that we ended up walking just behind a group of football players talking in their normal, loud, nobody-matters-but-us kind of way.
“I’ll fucking kick his face in if I ever see it again,” said one of them, his swagger advertising to the world that he was just the man for the job.
“When’s the memorial for Coach?” another one asked. “This Wednesday, right?”
That’s when I knew they were talking about The Incident . The murder. Jason . My pulse quickened as did my pace.
“Yeah, it’s Wednesday,” said the future potential face-kicker.
“Did you guys hear that Jason might show up?” said a third guy. “That’s what Brittney said. She’s totally freaking out, poor girl.”
My jaw dropped open at that utter lie, and I was instantly fuming. Brittney seriously needed a boob punch in the worst way.
Bobby grabbed my arm when he noticed me speeding up even more. “Easy, sister. Just let it go,” he said in a quiet voice.
I yanked my arm away from him and ignored his advice completely. That was probably a stupid move, but I’d pretty much abandoned being circumspect at that point. I slap murderers around and then I stick up for them when they’re being maligned. Boom . That’s how I roll. Chaos? Yes, give me more of that, please.
“Hey, assholes!” I shouted, coming up behind the group of five football players. It was a little harder to breathe, the closer I got. I never talked to these types of guys if I could help it. Now I was calling a whole group of them out.
They kept going, in complete denial that I could be speaking to any of them.
Typical .
I could have stopped there and walked on with my head down, pretending like nothing had ever happened, and no one would have been the wiser except maybe Bobby, — who, for the record, looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit — but instead I raised my voice and gave it another try.
“Hey, assholes on the football team! Yeah, I’m talking to you!”
Several people walking nearby slowed down and moved to get in a better position for spectating. I’d thrown down the gauntlet, and I could tell it was finally sinking into the group’s collective football brain that I meant it for them, as they slowed and looked at each other in confusion.
The biggest one, the guy who issued the threat to kick Jason’s face in, turned around first.
“Say what?” he asked, and then he laughed. “Check this,” he said, hitting his buddy on the arm and then pointing at me.
They all stopped and turned around, facing Bobby and me.
I kept going until I was just feet away, shifting so that I was in front of Bobby. This wasn’t his fight; no need for him to get pummeled.
I had to look up to meet their eyes since none of them were less than a foot taller than me. The big one was probably six and a half feet, so a full foot plus a few bonus inches bigger. Talk about David and Goliath. All I could think when I stared up at his
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