Spiral (20 page)

I’ll be dead before I get there
, I think to myself as I search the refrigerator for something to eat.

The front door opens, and Cherie walks in with Britney at her side. My sister sees me and runs over, arms outstretched and a smile just as wide.

“Jackie!”

“Hey, Brat, where were you?” I ask, catching her against my leg and patting her head. I raise my suspicious eyes to Cherie. Her hair is pulled up into a tight ponytail, and she’s wearing a loose shirt that hangs off of one shoulder. My mind pulls up the word “sexy,” and I immediately dismiss it. I’ve got to stop that kind of thinking.

She leans over the other end of the island and shrugs. “We just went for a walk around the neighborhood,” she says with a bright grin like everything between us is fine and dandy. “Uncle Jim’s at work and your mom is meeting with the principal at Britney and Brenton’s school.”

“A walk?” My mind begins conjuring images of stuffed bears covered in red paint littering the sidewalks and crazy stalkers in black ski masks hiding in the bushes while paparazzi snap pictures of my little sister and Cherie, who walk by, blissfully unaware. “Alone?”

Her eyes narrow. “Yes, alone. We were getting some girl time in.” Tons of replies are forming on the back of my tongue, but I can’t seem to get any of them out at the moment. My mind races with all of the things that could have happened to either of them while they were out.

“What are you up to?” Cherie asks finally, noticing I haven’t spoken. Britney looks up expectantly, as if she’s hoping I will offer to be part of whatever it is she and her new best friend are up to next.

“Going to the gym,” I reply stiffly, trying to shake horrific images from my head. Britney frowns and gives up on me, moving to Cherie’s side.

“Don’t you usually workout at night?” Cherie’s voice is soft and almost genuinely interested in what I have to say.

I don’t have a desire to be kind back and harrumph, “I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs.”

“I’m not;
don’t flatter yourself,
” she bites back, sarcasm suddenly dripping from every word. Britney senses the tension between us and wisely chooses to disappear upstairs.

Cherie is oblivious and continues her mean assault. “Something about seeing you awake before noon makes me feel like I’m in an alternate universe.”

I shake my head. “Whatever. I gotta go.” As I gather my water bottle and banana, I look up at her again and point toward the stairs. “And don’t go out alone with my little sister anymore. I don’t want her surrounded by those paparazzi morons or those nutcases who obsess over you.”

“No one was there, it was just us – ” she begins to argue.

I hold up my hand to stop her. “I don’t care; just don’t do it.”

“Why are you being such a jerk?” she demands.

I shake my head and say, “Just stay away from my little sister.”

Cherie glares at me, folds her arms and juts out one hip, challenging me with her pose as she says, “I’ll do whatever I want; you don’t make the rules.”

My blood begins to really churn into a froth. I stalk forward and stand within feet of her. She steps back, intimidated, and that’s exactly what I want her to feel.

“When it comes to Britney, I do make the rules. Keep away from her.”

“Or you’ll do what?” she needles smugly.

I glare down at her and warn in a low growl, “You haven’t seen me really angry yet, Cherie.”

“You don’t scare me, Jack.” She swallows hard but tries to maintain the confidence in her words. I keep my gaze locked with hers for what feels like a full minute before I finally have to tear myself away. I walk past her and head through the front door.

I’m glad I’m driving to the gym now because I can’t wait to punch something. Hard.

“Hey, my dude!” Mica shouts from the water cooler in the center of the gym. The machines match the hard, cement floor: mostly gray and black. I am out of my league in age and size, big time. If it weren’t for Mica, I would have turned and run back to the parking lot.

But Mica is all smiles as he comes over and pulls me into a bro-hug like we’ve been friends for years. “You came, huh?” I’m confused why this impresses him so much.

I don’t have time to ask because he’s already off and running with a very clear agenda.

“C’mon, let’s show you ‘round, introduce you to some regulars,” he says, and walks ahead of me with a cool, confident sway to his stride. I’m calmed and intimidated all at once. I follow him through the gym like a lost puppy, trying not to stare too long at the burly men violently dancing in the center ring, swinging at each other with graceful venom.

I’m only half-listening as Mica rattles on about the different guys working out through the free weight area. They eye me with suspicion, neglecting to wipe beads of sweat from their brows and upper lips. Occasionally, one will nod or give a half-smile, half-grunt. I return the gesture, mindful of my distance from Mica.

“So, whattya wanna do first, Hansen?” I jerk to attention, and Mica is waiting for me to take an interest in any particular area of the gym.

“Uh, boxing, I guess?”

He almost laughs at me. “Still got that aggression to get out?” He pats me on the shoulder and gently nudges me toward a closet.

He reaches inside and pulls out a black jump rope, handing it to me with a sly grin. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

An hour later, I’m annihilated, lying flat on my back on the gym floor, as the throbbing of my muscles dominates my senses. Mica leans over me, laughing.

“My dude, you alive?”

I close my eyes and croak, “Yeah.”

“One more set. C’mon, you got this!”

I look over at the jump rope, officially the new bane of my existence, and swallow hard. “I don’t know; I think I might puke.” Mica put me through a bootcamp far more exhausting than any football practice I had ever been to. Push-ups, squats, jump rope sets – those really did me in – basically, a constant circuit of cardio and strength training designed to kill me. He didn’t just watch me and coach me through them. He actually did every exercise alongside me.

And still Mica laughs, dragging me up onto my feet. He thrusts the jump rope into my hand. “One more. Let’s go!”

After my final set of jumping rope, he leaves me to catch my breath and rummages through the closet once again.

He hands me bandages for my hands, saying, “Here, wrap yo’ fists up – gotta support yo’ wrists.” When I’ve wrapped them tightly, he pushes two heavy gloves on my hands and makes sure they fit well.

I follow Mica back through the gym, and instead of leading me to the ring in its center, he introduces me to a giant punching bag.

“This here is the bag,” he says, gripping its sides like a girl he’s about to slow dance with. He sees my eyes flicker between that and the ring and almost laughs out loud. “My man, you can’t be thinkin’ Imma put you in the ring just yet! You gotta crawl before you can walk, son!”

I’m not sure I understand what he means, but I’m pretty sure he is telling me I’m not ready to spar with someone in the ring. “So, what, you just want me to punch the bag?”

“Yeah, just the bag,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Imma teach you a few moves and stuff before we get to hittin’ people.” He leans in and winks, “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Mica directs me to hold my hands higher, then not that high, then twist them a little straighter. Then I have to change the position of my right foot. Frustration starts to climb into my chest after his third direction to do something different with my stance. I wipe sweat off of my forehead with the back of my forearm.

“Let’s try some punches,” he says, sensing my impatience.

Mica makes me connect my fist to the bag in a slow-motion jab, then a slower-motion right hook, then a gentle uppercut. I have to do these over and over, mimicking every move he does. Finally, he tells me to hit the bag without direction. Unsure of myself, I give the bag a few thuds with my gloves.

“What in the hell is that?” he scolds. “C’mon, Hansen, hit the bag! Show me whatchu got!”

I grind my teeth together and release all of my frustration into one huge right hook, my go – to punch from my more violent days. Mica jumps back as my fist connects, and the bag rocks from the force. I surprise myself with the hit, too. It’s been a long time since I’ve thrown a real punch; maybe it’s the fact that I’m older, or maybe because I’m bigger, but I don’t remember ever having that kind of power before.

“Whoa! My man!” Mica laughs, his jaw a little slack. I steal a look around and see a few eyes on us. “Alright then. Alright. Now let’s do it again; but this time, we gotta watch yo’ form.”

“D
ress nice. Honeys there like ballers; can’t look like no chump if you wanna get in with the females.”

Mica’s words echo in my head as I look at the clothes in my closet, rubbing the aching muscles of my arms. Mica gave me the run-down of the whole high school, from the teachers to the students to the best place to sit at lunch. Now I just have to make a good first impression. If this were home, and if I was going back to the same old school with the same old people, I wouldn’t care what I wore. Tomorrow feels like the first day of the rest of my life for some reason, and I can’t help but deliberate over my limited choices.

I hear voices outside my room, and I move closer to the window, listening intently. There’s giggling and hushed whispers. Peering through the blinds, I see Danika, the twins, and Cherie sneaking around the perimeter of the pool in their bathing suits. My guard goes up immediately, and I’m prepared to face another attack. I look at the clock, which reads 11:50. Is this seriously the only thing they can be doing the night before school starts?

Oh yeah, Cherie doesn’t have to start school yet
. She hasn’t ever attended high school and won’t have to until next year, so she has all the time in the world to play around. I stare at the door, waiting for them to knock, expecting round three of Operation: Terrorize Jack.

But then I hear a distinctly male voice. More than one. I look through my blinds again, and I realize the girls have been joined by a trio of guys in swim trunks with towels draped over their shoulders. They all sneak into the hot tub at the pool’s far end, holding bottles in their hands that I can only assume are booze. I’m surprised the twins would participate in a potential hangover on the night before their first day at a new school. My instinct is to open the door and put an immediate end to their little party, but I withdraw from the window instead.

“Not my problem,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head.

I pause, conflicted.
But if something bad happened…

I shake my head again.
Not my problem and not my business.

I try to tune out the hushed laughter and horseplay that resonates right outside my room, concentrating hard on the closet in front of me. My mind, however, keeps wandering to the party in the hot tub, and I catch myself wondering who the guys are and what they’re all doing in there. Bigger question: Why don’t Jim and Mom hear any of this?

My cellphone is sitting on my dresser, begging to be put to good use. I could call Mom or Jim and just tip them off. That would bode well for me; the girls would get in trouble and no one would have to know I did it.

It feels cowardly, though. A small part of me wants to be big and bad and walk out there to chase the guys away. I might be bigger than those guys. I’m bigger than Caz Farrell. I throw a solid punch.

But then I’m reminded by a larger, sorer part of me that wants to avoid additional pain that there are four girls out there who don’t like me, and that they are accompanied by three guys who probably like them. My odds don’t look good in that equation, especially when I consider the things those three girls have been capable of doing to me this week without any extra help.

Nope, I’m not getting mixed up in any of this.