Tap Out (21 page)

My heart pounds in my ears, but I strain past it to listen for the noise I just heard. Nothing in the room is out of place, but the noise snaps again. I stop. It's coming from the back. Maybe it's just a mouse or a raccoon? Fuck, I hope it isn't an opossum. That happened once. But, shit, none of them sound like this, like a cabinet opening and closing.

I step down the hall and the noise grows, clearly coming from the back of the house. I pass our bedrooms and the bathroom, holding my breath and keeping the knife tight to my side. I stop. There's light from outside. But there's no window here, just the back door, which we never use, because there aren't any steps beneath it.

A breeze kicks up and the door pops open and then quickly it snaps shut. It's been cracked along the hinges. A chill runs up my spine. I turn to my room and flick the light. All is as I left it. The same in the bathroom. I hesitate before my mother's room and have to swallow before I throw on the light.

Her bed is immaculate, as I left it, untouched. But every drawer has been emptied. Her dresser, her nightstand, the TV cabinet in the corner, all hang open as if they've puked up their belongings. What the fuck was he looking for? I know it was Cam. That smell must have been his. Something rotten. He's been gone long enough for me to not recognize it. But he's back now. So are those bikers. Fuck, it doesn't seem like anything's missing. But it's not as if I did a fucking inventory of her room. I cleaned and then got out. But what if he left before he had the time to find what he wanted?

I bolt from her room and to the furnace nook behind the
bathroom. It's just a closet filled with the boiler and hot water tank, but she keeps a screwdriver and a hammer and shit in here. The shit her boyfriends have left behind. A roll of duct tape rests in the corner. I grab it and head back down the hall.

If there's something here he wants, he'll be back. This duct tape isn't going to save my ass, but it's all I got.

I rip off a length of tape and stick it over the hinges. I rip section after section until the door is sealed shut. There's no more light, and when the breeze blows, it doesn't flap. That noise would have kept me up all night. That is if I could actually sleep. No, I'll be up, because I want to hear him coming. As if that will make a difference.

I
'm exhausted, couldn't sleep and have no fucking interest in school, but I'm here because it's safe. How fucked up is that? I stayed up all night waiting for Cam. Or Dave. Neither showed. Maybe Cam found what he needed, but my guess is whatever it is wasn't here at all. I'd put money on the fact that he'll be back and that Dave will get even with me. Here or at home. It's just a matter of time.

Rob's fight's tomorrow, and Fridays are when Cam usually gets tore up, so I've got to get my head straight.

The wall-eyed janitors are watching TV, looking stoned. Neither even flinches when I bang around with a sweeper and dustpan. Franks isn't here, probably stalking kids in the hall, so I take off to the English wing. I'll sweep there and over in Bio. If he wanted more, then he should have been here to tell me.

The English hall's as boring as Lance's class, a whole lot of teachers talking and kids melting in their seats. I peek in Myers's room, and she's sitting at her desk reading a stack of papers, red pen in one hand. It'd be fantastic if she read my essay while I'm out here. I'd love to see her freak out. I sweep by and nothing happens. I pass by again and she's just reading and writing notes.

The Bio hall still reeks, but at least there's more action.
Some lab's using the burners. I pass by and a kid takes the tubing from the glass piece and lights it, waves it at his partner. They laugh until the teacher turns around, and the partner slams into the glass piece, which smacks the ground and turns into shards. The first kid turns off the gas and is looking all innocent at the ground by the time the teacher approaches.

I step into the room. The teacher's about to speak, probably to give them hell, but stops when he sees the sweeper. “Did someone call for you?” His head's wrinkled in confusion, and I feel a little bad for him. All these years around douche bags like us and these pickling chemicals, bet his brain's shot to shit.

“Just passing by.” I point at the mess. “You want me to get that?” I don't know why I felt the urge to help, but I look up from the pile and the lab partners stare at me like I'm Jesus.

“Yes. Yes, thank you.”

“No problem.” I twitch my wrists and set the head flat, then twist and slide the bristles around the pile and scoot the mess into the hall. I push it forward and hear the teacher behind me, “Now, what were you two doing?”

“Look at the grease monkey turned janitor.” Dave moves away from the classroom he's left. “You trying out all the cocksucking jobs until you find the right taste?”

I grip the handle to steady myself. He steps and I can see that from the edge of his chin to the middle of his forehead is an oval bruise, dark purple and swollen. Some of my fear dissolves. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Always knew you were a cocksucker.” He steps closer and I watch his body, see how he's angling me, just like on the mat. I move the sweeper, cutting off his line of attack. No doubt he wants to settle the score. He stares down at the handle and nods. “Yeah, I'll pass it around, just like that little cunt, Amy.”

My mouth drops, and Dave smiles like he'd punched me in the nuts.

“Too bad your bitch-boy Rob doesn't know how to pull out. She don't mind getting sprayed.” He laughs again, and I don't bother to ask how he would know. That's what he wants. I messed with him, and now he's trying to get in my head. Fuck him.

Dave steps to my left, against the lockers, and I turn with him. “That's right, don't give me an in.” He lowers his body. “Seems like that trailer-trash head of yours has some brains in it after all.”

The glass crunches beneath my feet as I swivel and step, keeping my guard up. “Seems like you don't mind using us trash when it means you get a cut.”

Dave drops his hands and stares at me like he's trying to see inside. “From what I hear you could use another cut of your own. Those hospital bills ain't cheap.”

I clench my jaw. That hurt. I could get a job and try to help pay, but it wouldn't make a dent. Dealing though, that pays. And Dave fucking knows it. And that's because Cam was in my house, rooting around for bills. Here I am, in another corner.

“Yeah. And I've got your piece of shit uncle to thank for that.”

“So go thank him. See what he says. Maybe you can get someone to pin him and then kick him in the head.”

I turn my back on Dave. If I look at him one more second I might go for round two. But I don't know if the outcome would be the same as last night.

“You tell Rob we might need him. And you, too. Busy season's coming.”

I turn back. “Fuck you, Dave. We don't need you.” My
words sound weak, and Dave smiles at them.

“Yes, you do. But it's not like you have a choice. The Front says jump, you're fucking jumping. If not . . . well, let's not go there.” He spits on the floor. “Missed a spot.” Dave laughs and walks away.

I lean against the wall and breathe. I can't get wrapped up in this shit, not with what Big O's put on the table. And there's no way Rob's getting near it. He's too close to something good. I've got to keep him straight, keep him away and focused on the gym. I need to be there, too. Fuck Dave and Cam and the Front. We'll survive. Somehow. I take one last deep breath and then walk back to the office. I do not clean up Dave's spit.

“Nice work getting on top of that beaker.” Franks is loading a pallet of paper onto a hand cart. “I'll make sure to pass that along to Big O. He likes hearing good things about his charges.”

“All right. Thanks.” I set the sweeper aside and empty the dustbin. Hold up, how the fuck did he . . . “How'd you know?”

“Mr. Nelson called to thank me.” He puts down a box and leans on the cart. “What, you think I'm psychic?”

I put the dustpan away. “Maybe,” I say and then mumble, “more like a stalker.”

He lets go of the cart. “What's that?”

“I said, no, just a janitor.”

Franks steps out from behind the cart, and my heart jumps at the size of him. He looks bigger without hundreds of pounds of paper hiding him. “Listen, because I'm only going to say this once.”

I give him my attention because his voice is raspy, just above a growl. Reminds me of too many men from my past.

“Yeah, I'm a janitor, but
you're
headed toward a garage,
not college. So you may want to rethink who you're calling out. And there's one thing I've done that you haven't.” He leaves the statement hanging there so I have to ask. This fuck must have wanted to be a teacher; his lines are like a fucking script.

“What's that? Grow up?” I jut my chin. “You're simply amazing.”

He laughs, a quick burst of hot air along my neck. I wasn't expecting that. “Grow up? No. Some people never do that. I'm not concerned with growing up, not how you think.”

My head's buzzing with thought, because I'm actually trying to figure his cryptic ass out. “So what are you saying?”

His face tightens, and the lines around his eyes grow deep. “Proving yourself. Being a man.”

Now
I
laugh. “You have no idea what I've done. What I'm doing. ‘Prove yourself.' I do that every single fucking day.”

“Jensen would have kicked your ass just now.”

I stop, completely. My words, my thoughts, gone.

“That's right. All your talk got you through that. Not necessarily a bad thing, but”—he jams a finger into my chest and I refuse to flinch—“he'll be back and what will you do then?”

“You saw that bruise then, right?”

His eyes dart but he nods.

“Who the fuck gave him that?”

“Some punk who kicked him when he was down.” He pauses. “
That's
what I heard.”

I open my mouth to speak but the bell rings. Franks waits to see if I've got anything else. But before the bell dies away, I'm out the door.

Big O eyes me as I walk down the hall, heading for the Vo-Tec bus. He doesn't say anything, just lifts his chin and raises an eyebrow. Him and the big fuck must be more than
old friends. No fucking way that broom-pusher knows what he does without a daily update. Although, Big O is all about nonviolent resolutions. At least that's what he always says. So it's hard to believe that this
man up
shit is coming from his mouth. Is Franks just saying what he thinks or what Big O wishes he could say? Either way, Franks is right. Dave's coming for me. One way or another, I'll find out.

The bus pulls up and I get on.

My fucking fridge is empty, seriously not one goddamn thing. I polished off the ketchup yesterday and had the last can of soda for breakfast. I have to go see my mom tonight and steal some shit. Enough to tide me over. But it's not as if once she's home we'll be going on a shopping spree. What the fuck am I going to do then?

I head to my room, grab my gear, and step outside to wait for Rob. I can't stand to be in this place for another fucking minute. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air, and I immediately turn toward Amy's. She isn't out; Charity is, sitting on the stoop, a full ashtray next to her. She stares at me and the twenty pounds she's lost is obvious along her jaw line. Just hard bone now. Her hand shakes when she brings it to her lips, but she looks at me, real steady. Rob's right about her eyes.

I kick a stone and walk over. “Hey, Char.”

“Hey, Tone.” Her voice is as hollow as the rest of her.

I look around, desperate for a topic. “So, uh, you whipping up anything good for Thanksgiving?” Char used to rock food prep, which is probably why she was so fat. She looks at me through a cloud of blue smoke. “Huh?”

I wave the smoke away from me. Damn she's out of it.
“You know, next week. Pumpkin pie or some shit?” I don't know why the fuck I'm talking about food, because now my stomach's gurgling.

Char looks between her feet. “That's next week?” She doesn't look back up.

“Yeah.”

She keeps staring, and I hear gravel crunch behind me. Rob rolls up. “Hey, Char.”

She maintains her position but takes a long-ass drag from her cigarette.

“What's the deal?” He looks at me like I'm up to something.

“Nuthin'. I asked her about Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.” He looks back at her and shakes his head. “Char, we're taking off now. Go inside soon. All right?”