Tap Out (11 page)

“He's one bad-ass motherfucker. Your mom all right?”

I shake my head. I wish I could explain, but from Amy's look I don't need to.

“Strung out?”

I shrug. “Yeah.” The word rips along my throat, and I grab my neck.

Amy's eyes pop wide. “Damn, what the fuck did he do to you, Tone?” Amy's voice is soft and caring, something I've rarely heard, especially from her. My insides well up, and I'm glad I can't answer. Crying would only make me look worse.

Amy shakes her head while taking a drag. “Them fucking bikers. Never bring any good, and now they're pulling in this shit.”

Rob appears in the distance, walking slow. His right leg drags behind, slightly, but he rolls up, smiling. “Mornin'.” Then he looks at me. “The fuck happened?”

“Cameron.” Amy points at me with her cigarette. “Tone can't speak because of him.”

Rob stares, open-mouthed and confused. I point at the hogs. When he turns back he seems to understand, but still looks unsure. We may all live in this park and share a lot of the same shitty, fucking situations, but none of this crew has it like I do. I'm like the symbol of everything people think when
White Trash
comes to mind. And they're right. And I know it. I take a deep breath, and it still fucking stings. Always will.

Greyson's got the laptops out, and three new junk cars at our disposal. “You've got to share the cars, but there's plenty of laptops. Remember, by the end of class you need to identify all parts of your system on one of these cars and then give me the pitch for your presentation.”

Kids nod and flip open packets for the project. Rob turns to me. “I'll get a computer. You go check the one in the middle.”

It's a beat-up Chevy SUV that's been stripped of all that made it pretty. Perfect for us. I pull on a pair of gloves, and a couple of other kids slide beneath, checking out the exhaust. I look in at the engine and find the easy parts: oil cooler and filter, the fan and radiator. I step over one of the kids lying beneath and tap the water pump and oil pump with my pen. The exhaust kids slide out, and I slip onto one of the creepers. It's painful to get down, but once I'm flat I feel fine.

The oil pan's simple to find, and right next to it is the transmission filter. I tap these as well, but instead of sliding out, just lie still for a moment. I like being beneath a car, in spite of how filthy the thing is. It's like it's so close to collapsing on me, but I know it won't. Something about the danger and the safety.

“Yo, you find everything?” Rob's voice filters through the metal.

I slide out. “Yeah.” My voice is busted, barely audible, but hurts less to get out.

He nods and gives me a hand up. “You think Greyson will be down with our plan?”

I look over at Greyson. He's talking to a pair, checking off their packets. I flip mine over and write on the back:
Whose truck do we say it is?

“We'll just tell 'im the truth. He knows we're too broke to
have our own. And we tell him about Coach; it may explain how fucked up you are.”

He's right. Greyson's been eyeing me since we tumbled off the bus. No doubt he's seen his share of jacked-up kids coming through here, but he isn't like the rest of the teachers who just look away. He's used to staring down the middle of a pile of shit and asking kids to come look. He's not afraid of the ugly, but I don't know about the truth.

Greyson joins us. “Boys, how we doing?”

“Not bad, not bad.” Rob nods and looks around. “Tone's got all the parts covered and we've got the presentation worked out.”

Greyson smiles. “Let's hear it.”

I point to the Chevy and walk over. I'm about to start labeling the parts, but Greyson's looking at me like I've got shit falling out of my pants. “What?” My voice sounds like a torn muffler.

Greyson's eyes dart between my injuries. “I thought I could wait until you finished, but I can't. What happened?”

I catch Rob shaking his head as I bow my own. “Nuthin'.”

“Don't lie to me. That's not nuthin'.”

My head flushes. The last thing I need is for Greyson to go poking into this and talking to Big O and getting CPS all involved. Who knows how that would fuck shit up? No, let's just stick to cars and Rob's plan.

“Practice got a little intense last night.” Rob's voice is strong. I look at him out of the corner of my eye.

“Practice? What practice? You two playing ball?”

“MMA. We fight mixed martial arts,” Rob says.

I stare at Greyson. His forehead wrinkles. “You mean like those guys on TV? The ones in the cage?”

“Yes.” Rob sounds proud.

Greyson chuckles and shakes his head. “I didn't even know kids could get into that crap. You know what they call it. The
sport
? Human cockfighting.” He clicks his tongue. “Cockfighting? You know what that is, right?”

We both nod, but Rob's twitchy and his face is red. I can feel his anger. He ain't saying shit, though. I don't give a fuck what Greyson says, so long as he forgets his question. He looks me over.

“And that's how you got these?”

“Yeah.” My voice is dry.

Greyson shakes his head. “Your life. All right, show me the parts.”

I nod and take my place again. Rob just stares at the space in front of him. I list each and Greyson says “uh-huh.” It hurts every time, but if Rob can do his part, then so can I.

I climb under and show him the pan and filter. He looks under while lying on his side. “Good. That's all of it.” He stands and I slide back out. Rob's with it again, looking calm. “Okay, the presentation.”

Rob clears his throat. “We'd like to bring in a truck for that.”

“Really?” Greyson crosses his arms over his chest. “Explain.”

Rob does, how we'll use the truck to show how the coolants and lubricants are added to the vehicle, how they run through and what they affect, and finally how to change them out.

Greyson puts a finger to his lips. “So why is the vehicle necessary? You could do that on a PowerPoint.”

Rob swallows. “Sure, but this is real. We can't fake knowing what we're talking about. We mess up, it's obvious.”

Greyson is still for a moment. He looks at Rob and then at me. “Where are you getting the truck?”

“It's mine.”

“Really?” Greyson frowns.

“Yeah.”

Greyson puts his hands on his hips and smiles. “It's a big risk, but all right. If you're willing to take the chance, it's fine by me.”

“So I can bring it in?”

“Yeah. As soon as you can. Just drop it off around back.” He turns away, but whips around. “And think about that nonsense fighting, will you? I can't see any good coming from it.”

“How the fuck are we going to get Coach's truck to the garage?” My throat is shredded as I speak, but I gotta ask. I've been thinking about it since class.

Rob kicks a rock, and it strikes a trailer. “We'll get it runnin' over the weekend. We can figure it out.”

I look down and imagine this: us with no tools and no fucking clue. “I don't know. Why didn't you just tell Greyson that it's Coach Dan's? He might have helped us work something out.”

“You heard what he said.
Human cockfighting.
No way he woulda let us help a guy who coaches that.”

He's right, but it doesn't change the fact that we're fucked.

“We'll talk to Coach tonight. Figure something out. You're still coming, right?”

“Yeah.” I rub my face, forgetting about the bruises and wince. Fuck, I'll go anywhere just so long as I don't have to be home. I have no clue how I'll deal with my mom when I see her. Or Cam. I thought fighting back was the answer.
Clearly it wasn't. I've got to try something else, but until I figure out what the fuck that is, I'll keep my promises. The ones I've made to Big O and Rob. If I back out, I'm even more of a pussy than I already am.

“All right, see you later.”

Rob takes off and I stand in front of my trailer. Last night comes back in quick scenes: my mother, the pipe, Cameron yelling, the first punch, the spitting. I've been here before, lumped up and having to return home, but this time feels worse. Maybe it's because Cameron is by far the craziest one yet. Not the most brutal, my father still holds that title. Regardless, I'm sick of it. I've had my ass kicked more times than I can remember. Can this MMA shit really help me now, or is it too late? I've got some natural skill, so Coach thinks, but I need more. I wish I knew just what. But even if I did, what would I do?

I climb the steps and head straight to my room, only glancing into my mother's as I go. Food containers from her work are strewn across the floor and dresser. Her blankets are heaped at the end of the bed, and the bottom sheet doesn't cover half of the stained mattress. I can't remember if it looked like that last night or not, but at least she's no longer in it.

I untie my shoes, place them under the bed, and lie down. My face and throat throb, my side is a dull ache. I doubt Coach will let me practice, but I'm going. Even if I have to just sit there. I close my eyes and start to drift off.

Pop!
I sit up. Gunshot?
Pop! Pop!
“Come on!” someone screams from outside. I go to my window. Up at Charity's place, her dad is holding the handle of his hog and looking at the bike like it just pissed on him. Two other guys lumber out of the trailer and join him. They all squat down and look.
Chaz tries to start it again and nothing happens. Fuck, meth-head bikers angry at a hog that won't run. I roll off my bed and don't know why I'm doing this, but head out the door.

All three look up as I approach, but Chaz gives me a long once-over. “The fuck happened to you?”

“A fight. It's nothing.” I shift my weight from foot to foot, feeling like I may need to bolt at any second. Why the fuck am I doing this?

“Damn. Looks like you got the shit of it.” Charity's dad laughs, and the others follow his lead. Their eyes are red-rimmed, and their mouths are caked-white in dried spit. Chaz is wearing the same clothes I saw him in the other night. They're beyond fucked.

“Yeah. Guess you can't win 'em all.”

Charity's dad smiles at this. “No. No, you fucking can't.” The air around us stills, and I know I'd better do something now. I can't just stand here looking like an asshole.

“Need some help with your bike?”

Chaz screws up his face like I just farted.

“I take Vo-Tec, Auto. I know some shit.”

He opens his mouth like he's gonna laugh. “No shit? Over behind the bus garage?”

“Yeah, with Greyson.”

A smile breaks out beneath his grizzled goatee. “Took the same classes back in my day. Fucking Mr. Prucell. Mean son of a bitch, but knew his shit.” He looks back at his bike and then at me. “Fuck, an extra pair of eyes can't hurt. Have a look.”

I swallow. My throat is still raw, burning from all the talking, and my heart's beating inside it. We all squat, and I ignore the pain. Charity's dad straddles the bike and tries to pop it, again. The bikers eye me, but I stay focused on the bike. It sputters and does not turn over. Chaz gets off. He
wobbles on his feet, and the other two seem to have trouble staying still. “The fuck you think?”

I don't know much about bikes, and jack shit about hogs, but I know a fair amount about fucked-up people. They don't think straight. Don't remember to do shit, like buy food. Or pick their kids up at school. Or wake up for work. Or fill the tank. “Got a gas can?”