Tap Out (3 page)

“Thank you.” Her voice is low, and she does not look at me. I sit next to her, and she cleans her face, and we both seem to tune out whatever the fuck he's screaming out there, something about his dick. “I thought he was different, honey. Really.”

I open my mouth to speak because I can't imagine what she saw in him that was any different from the others. He's a fucking loser with a dead-end job, who drinks until he passes out, and when he feels like it, beats the shit out of her. But I keep my comments to myself. She's still wearing her work uniform. He must have followed her or have been waiting.
Maybe it's not her fault—this time.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “At least I know who you are.”

I nod but not because I'm agreeing. I don't know what else to do because I don't know that who I am is as solid as she thinks. Up until five minutes ago, I never once stood up to any of the men in her life. It's not as if she has ever asked me to, but with what she just said, it makes me feel as if she's been waiting. Unreal. Even my own mother thought I was a pussy. But maybe, just maybe, I'm not.

I
pop up and sit in bed. All is quiet, which is good, because I tried to stay on guard all night, listening for Cameron outside. His voice came and went, but he didn't do anything, so I drifted off around 2:00. Hope that was enough.

I climb out of bed, and my head crackles with the lack of sleep. I'm used to it, though, and know I can just catch up in school. It's early, 5:45, which means there's still time to drag the garbage out, since I couldn't last night. I slide into my shoes and goose bumps rise along my arms because of the chill in the air, but from something else, too. The echo of his voice saying my name.

The shit hole is the same, disheveled. I head down the hall, past my mother's room and into the kitchen, where I tie up the bag, then hesitate before unlocking the door. Did I really stand up to him last night? Lock him out? Fuck, I did. Shit, what the fuck was I thinking? This is gonna get ugly. But if I want something better, something more than this, maybe it has to get ugly first?

Outside is damp and cool. I shiver and walk around back to the can. A fly darts off my ear and I swipe at him. Then another. The fuck? The bag bounces off my calf, and the stench hits me. “Shit!” I toss the bag to the ground, and it joins the shredded mess. The can's been dumped and the
bags ripped. Cameron's stomped on the contents, so wrappers and food are half buried in the ground or mashed to a pulp. Flies pour out of a Styrofoam carton. I step away and slip on something black and greasy. The stench overwhelms me, and I head back inside.

The door slams behind me, and a moan comes from my mom's room. I don't give a fuck if I've woken her up. I first wipe off my sneaker on the doormat and then grab the dustpan and another garbage bag from the cabinet. When I turn she's leaning on her doorframe.

“What's up?” She pulls on the ends of her extra long T-shirt. Her hair's a tangle and looks unwashed, and the greased pattern it falls into does not cover the bruises from last night. They're as bad as ever, and I feel ashamed for being pissed with her.

“Nuthin'. Taking out the trash.”

“Oh.” She looks away, as if somewhere far. Like we've got a double-wide or some shit.

“Yeah. Cam fucked it up out there. Needs to be cleaned.” I don't know if I expect her to do something because I've said this or that I wish she
had done
something differently so that I wouldn't have to take care of this, but either way, I'm still pissed. “
Somebody's
gotta do it.” My voice doesn't seem to register with her. She just keeps staring.

“Oh. Okay,” she finally says and turns back into her room and snaps the door in place.

“Stupid bitch.” I say it low, to my chest, and it makes my face hot. I know Cam did this, not her, but in a way she's responsible. She brought him onto the scene. I know I wasn't just talking about cleaning up this mess. There's so much that needs to be done, but who's going to do it? Fuck, I can't go there right now. I head out the door and set to work.

I dry heave once, but manage to get the shit into the bag, and then the can out to the road. Cameron did this once over the summer. It was the first sign that things were turning between them. June was a scorcher, hot and humid, so by the time I got to the garbage, maggots were crawling everywhere, and I did hurl, and then had to clean that up. At least this isn't as bad.

I head back in and go right to the shower. The water takes a while to heat, so I sit on the toilet and wait. Six months. She's been with this douche for half a year, which means she'll go back and forth for another three months before she dumps him. Or he puts her in the hospital. Same as with Karl. And Steve. And Jake. And all the rest whose names I can't remember. Or just won't. Oh yeah, and Number One himself, Tony Senior. I wish she could just . . . fuck, there's just too much I wish she'd do.

I shower, scrub until it hurts and my skin is red, but I don't mind the pain. It's only superficial. I dress in a plain gray tee and my black jeans, cuffed at the ends because they're too long. I slide my sneakers back on, making sure all of whatever the fuck I stepped in is gone, and then throw on my hoodie. Amy keeps my hair close-cropped with the clippers she's got from Vo-Tec, so I slide a hand over my dome and dry the remaining water. Then I rummage for food. Never did eat dinner last night, and there's nothing in the house except some crusty bread and fruit punch. Mom must have eaten that spaghetti. I drink a glass of the red liquid and take off.

“That motherfucker never quits.” Amy's already smoking, sitting on her steps. She stands and I turn away. “Seriously, Tone. He was out here till like one, two?” I shrug, but she doesn't seem to notice that I don't want to talk about this bullshit
and catches up with me. “You shoulda called the cops.”

“Wouldn't have helped.” The pigs don't like to come inside the park, so unless someone's getting murdered, they don't do shit.

She takes a drag and exhales. “Maybe. I don't know. But you gotta do somethin'.”

I look at her out the corner of my eye. It's like she was reading my mind, and I don't like the feeling. She's short with big tits and nice hair, but already going old. Like her mom. Some parts young and hot, but the face, it's like a Halloween mask. What the fuck does she know? She's never been in my shoes. Not exactly. “Why? Why do
I
have to do somethin'? Why can't
she
?”

“Your mom? Cuz it's Cameron you stupid shit. She can't do nuthin'. That whole family is fucked up. And besides, this is her thing, isn't it?” Amy laughs and ashes her cigarette.

I spit and kick a large stone. It sucks that my life is this obvious. Is it because we live in this shit hole, all on top of each other? What if we lived in town, or better, the suburbs? Would it be the same? Wish I knew. We walk on and Charity pops off her steps, joining us. She doesn't say shit, though, and looks as pale as a crackhead. She bums a smoke off Amy. Her hair's still wet and she's been chewing her fingers. One's bleeding. We reach the bus stop and Rob is already there. The girls split off and speak in whispers.

“'Sup?” Rob looks at the girls.

“Char's a mess.”

“Her fucking dad, I bet.” Rob frowns.

We've all got our shit. Rob with his mom that stays home all day while his dad works a thousand shifts to make ends meet. Amy's mom doesn't work either. My mom's used up. But Charity, her problem's her dad. He's one bad-ass fuck.
Harleys, heroin, and a gang. Whenever he rumbles through somebody ends up busted, in jail, or dead. He's always recruiting, though. Never seems to have a problem finding guys, either. It's the money, I guess. Or something else, I don't know. I steer clear.

I look over at Rob's sweatshirt. Same one as yesterday. He sees me and watches, but doesn't say anything. I take in the image: one guy standing, the other flat out. Amy's words run through my head, as do all the images from last night, and my mother's face, this morning. “So I can just drop by a class or some shit? Or do I need to come with you and wear like special gear?”

Rob tilts his head. “Fuck you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“Know I did.” He pumps his fist and laughs. “Nah, man. You don't need any special gear. This ain't fucking tae kwon do. It's fighting. But you should roll with me.”

I don't respond, but look away, back at the girls. Char's crying now, her face red and puffy. She's telling some story, pointing back at her place and shrugging her shoulders. Both girls are veiled in a cloud of smoke.

“Cameron up to his shit again?” Rob's voice has dropped. I nod.

“How bad?”

“Been worse.”

“But now you're thinking about if it goes that way, what are you gonna do?”

The fantasy swirls inside me, but in the light of this morning I consider Cameron: a rope-muscled construction worker and former safety on the football team who used to jack shit up. Still does, just off the field. And me? I'm everything besides. “I don't know. Just want to check it out. All right?”

“You know it is.” Rob smiles, and in the distance the bus's brakes squeal. My stomach growls, and Charity weeps.

Today I've only got two classes, history and math. Study hall third block and then back to Vo-Tec. I chill at my locker until the bell rings, not talking to anyone, and no one looking to. They're all checking texts and have earbuds hanging from their ears. I throw up my hoodie and pretend I'm alone because I want to be. And am.

The bell rings, and I head to Mr. Lance's. He's a fucking dick. Has us take notes for the whole class, but I just doodle. I turn the corner and Dave Jensen swivels and looks directly at me. My body clenches in fear when he smiles.

“My man, Tone.” He clears the distance between us.

I only know Dave because he's fucking insane. Pissed in a garbage can in front of the class one year. Threw a teacher off him when he tried to break up a fight. This might be his fifth or sixth year here. He's also a fighter, like Rob. “What's up?” I say and look around, wondering if Rob's part of this. Told Dave I'm a new recruit or something.

Dave snorts. “Heard you've been giving my uncle shit.”

My mind spins and I look away, but then it stops when I remember what Amy said about Cam's family. Fuck, no. I stop looking around and stare at Dave. His forehead's wrinkled, and his nose twitches. He's got his tongue pressed behind his top lip, just like Cameron.

“That true?” He leans closer.

My throat tightens, and my body tenses. I shift my weight back. Even though I know, I gotta bluff. “No, I . . . I mean. I don't know what you're talking about. Who's your uncle?”

Kids pass by and look over. They see Dave and look away, and he licks his lips. “Dude who's been boning your mom for the past few months.” He laughs, and it's ugly and evil and makes me feel dirty. More than that, I want to hit this fuck, almost as bad as I wanted to hit Cameron last night. But if Cameron is tough, Dave is unbreakable. Everything from my throat to my nuts clenches, and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes. Dave grips my shoulder. His hand's a fucking vice, and he increases the pressure. “You fuck with my uncle, and if he don't kick your ass, I will.” He licks his lips, again. “Clear?”

I nod but he grips my shoulder a bit more fiercely before turning away. The bell rings, and I look up the hall. Mr. Lance stands in his doorway, sees me, and taps his watch. Really? Is he fucking blind? Every teacher in this school knows Jensen. This douche can't pretend that he didn't just see our encounter. But he waves, a little, pathetic, underhanded move, and I walk up the hall and stumble into class. He says something, but I don't hear it. The sound of Dave licking his lips, followed by what he said fills my head. There's no fucking way I'm going anywhere with Rob.

“Pop quiz. Take out a sheet of paper.”

The entire room groans. I score a sheet from the kid behind me. Still don't know his name, but it's not like we do any group work or shit in here.

I write answers to the questions on the board:
Don't know. Don't care. He felt like it. His third birthday. Your mom.
Lance'll probably give me detention for that last one, but that's fine. Actually, that would help me avoid Rob without having to make up some bullshit excuse he'll just bust my balls about. Like he's done for the past year. Shit, but Lance won't read these until later. I need something, today, now. Not here, though. Next block. I have a plan.

I
'm set. I played the scene in my head while in Lance's. But even though I know I'm set, I can't look at Mrs. Sagehorn. This is going to fuck her shit up, big time. She loves math. I think she gets off on the way “Geometry is everywhere around us.” But she has no idea what I see in my world. I raise my hand to volunteer.