The Prologue (4 page)

Then I smile at Jenny as I gather up my purse. “All I’m saying is, a guy like that doesn’t usually come to his friend’s sister’s dance practice out of the kindness of his heart. Does he meet up with Zeke here often?”

Jenny doesn’t meet my eyes as she swirls the ice in her drink around again. “Pretty often,” she allows.

“See? That’s a total girl thing to do, guys aren’t like that. I bet it’s because he wants to see you. I’ve got to go though, I’m meeting up with Tony and his parents. I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow night.”

“I hope you’ll be ready to break it down on the dance floor!” Jenny calls after me, and I give her a wave as I walk out. I definitely won’t be dancing tomorrow and I know that will annoy Tony, even though it’s his fault, not mine.

I’m careful not to look at Koby or Zeke as I walk out, but I can still feel their eyes on me. It’s unnerving, and I walk out as quickly as my aching ribs will allow.

Ezekiel

4

Evie Parker leaves the dance studio, and I nudge Koby. “Now’s your chance, man. Go bus her table. Impress her with your Windexing skills or something.”

Koby doesn’t take his eyes off Jenny. “You. Are. A. Dick,” he says, clearly and articulately.

“Yeah,” I agree easily. “Why don’t you just go talk to her?”

“Cause she’s out of my league?” he asks.

“And? Bet you your shift tomorrow at that wedding that you won’t go and talk to her, right now,” I challenge, just because I’m bored.

Koby’s head whips around. “What?”

“If you go talk to that chick right now, and, I don’t know, get her to laugh at your amazing wit, I will take your shift at the wedding tomorrow,” I spell out, knowing he won’t do it.

Koby’s gaze returns to Jenny, contemplative. “A whole weekend off work,” he muses. “You do realize we talk all the time in class, right? I’m not some stranger off the side of the street. One time,” his eyes turn dreamy, “she even asked to see my homework to reference hers.”

“Wow,” I say, as sarcastically as I can. “So, when is the wedding?”

He elbows me, hard, and I rub my ribs as I nod to the clock. “Dance class is over in ten minutes, you’re almost out of time.”

Koby sits for another moment, and then to my disbelief, he stands up and strides over to the table, taking Evie’s empty seat. Jenny looks up, surprised, and I scowl as she blushes at Koby’s greeting. Who would have guessed she might return his crush?

I watch them closely, praying with fingers crossed that he won’t get her to laugh. I’ve been looking forward to my own weekend completely off work. I’m apparently completely out of luck, because just as the class ends and all the girls stream out into the waiting area, Jenny lets out a loud laugh, and continues to giggle as she and Koby stand up and part ways. Cindy reaches my side just as Koby struts up, looking as though butter won’t melt in his mouth.

“Have fun at the wedding tomorrow night,” he says, a smug smile on his face.

“I freaking hate you,” I reply, scowling.

Cindy reaches up and takes my hand, looking between the two of us. She’s grinning too. “I thought you didn’t have to work this weekend,” she says slowly.

“You really ought to tell your brother not to gamble,” Koby says, still smiling at me. “Especially since he’s such a sore loser.”

I roll my eyes and usher Cindy out the door, while Koby splits up with us to go to his own car and join the other guys down at the bridge. Since I now have to work tomorrow, I figure I should get a head start on my homework, and I’m glad for the excuse to stay home. We pull up to the house and the unlocked door tells me that my dad is home already.

“Daddy?” Cindy calls, and runs toward his voice.

Our apartment is small, three bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, living room, and dining room, but it’s been home ever since I can remember. Our backyard pretty much consists of our porch, and my bedroom is little more than a closet since I gave up the big one for Cindy so she could practice dance, but I spend so little time here that it doesn’t really matter.

I find Cindy seated at the kitchen table with Dad, with dinner already in front of her as she talks a mile a minute about her day—mainly her dance lesson, as always. My dad listens as he moves around the kitchen, and I stand leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded over my chest. When Cindy has finally chattered herself into silence, I shake my head and begin to turn away to go to my bedroom, but my dad’s voice stops me.

“Gonna need you to stay in this weekend, Zeke.”

“What for?” I ask, turning back and biting back the irritation that threatens every time he speaks to me.

“Because I said so,” my dad says, without even looking at me. “There’s stuff I want to get done. Saturday, after I get home from my shift. And I want you to mow the lawns of the apartment buildings, since I won’t have time, or else we won’t get the break on our rent.”

“You’re the one that volunteered us for that,” I remind him.

“You’re the one living under this roof!” he snaps at me. “You want to keep living here?”

My lips tighten because it’s so tempting to leave, but I can’t. Not with Cindy depending on me. “Fine,” I bite out. “But I’m working Saturday night.”

“You told me you were off this weekend.” My dad stops moving and stares at me with narrowed eyes. Except for our skin tone, it’s almost like looking into a mirror. We’re exactly the same height, the same tall, stocky build, our faces the same shape and size with the identical light green eyes that Cindy and I inherited. The only difference is my dad is much darker, and there are many, many lines in his face that I have yet to acquire. “You aren’t trying to go out, are you? If you get picked up by the cops again, I already told you I’m not picking your ass up from that jail.”

“I have to work,” I say tightly, annoyed at his suspicion. “I’m picking up Koby’s shift at a wedding.”

“He and Koby had a bet,” Cindy says from the table, giggling a little. “Zeke lost the gamble.” She’s trying to help dispel the tension, but it’s the wrong thing to say.

My dad slams Cindy’s dirty plate on the counter, so hard it actually breaks. “Oh, so it’s not enough that you drop out of art classes, start painting public buildings, take up smoking and drinking and sneaking out at night and are brought home by the cops. Now you’re gambling!”

“I’m not fucking gambling!” I shout back. “It was just a stupid favor that I owed Koby!”

My dad levels a hand at me, pointing in that gesture that I hate so much. “If you ever get into any more trouble, I’m not gonna be there to get you out of it. You can live here, but I sure as hell am not pulling you out of all these holes you’re digging for yourself! And don’t you give me that kind of language! You’ll talk to me with respect!”

“This is me showing your respect!” I say through gritted teeth. “As much respect as I think you should get!” I wheel around, knowing I need to get out of the house before one of us says something truly damaging. Cindy is shrunken down in her chair, her eyes wide, but I know that once I leave, my dad will calm down and be able to comfort her. He’s fine so long as I’m not around.

“You get back here when I’m talking to you, boy!”

I ignore him, thumping quickly down the steps and slamming the door behind me for emphasis. Blood is pounding through my body, and I can hear my furious heartbeat echoing in my ears. The emotions, all ones that I don’t want and I’ve tried not to feel, are pulsing through me and I want them out. Usually I can control my temper around my dad, because I try not to care about what he says.

Today, however, the false accusations are too much, and now I find myself full of
feelings
, and they’re disgusting, repulsive. They make me think of my mom, of all the disappointments I’ve received from people that have claimed to care about me. All I want is for them to get out of me. My hands are twitching like crazy, all the emotions begging to be released through my fingertips, and luckily, I know the perfect way to allow them to escape.

The long walk down Grandview Avenue, and then again down Fifth helps calm me down a little bit, but my hands are still trembling by the time I get to the bridge where Dublin Road turns into Riverside Drive, just before the houses start getting big and the people snotty. I’m nearing the bridge when I hear a muffled curse and someone whispering, “Quick, hide the beer.”

“It’s me,” I say, knowing they’re worried it’s an adult, or worse, a cop. “You can stop acting like a bunch of kids caught with daddy’s nudie magazine.”

Cameron, Dominic, and Koby step out first, followed by several others. There’s a huge stand of bushes on the left side of the bridge, and it’s one of Cameron’s favorite hangout spots to drink and smoke. Why we can’t gather in someone’s basement like normal people I don’t know. I think he gets off on the thrill of being caught at any second, and I have to admit, sometimes I like the dangerous edge too.

“Quain,” Cameron crows. “Made it after all, I see.”

Dominic and Koby are studying me closely, and I know they see that something is wrong, but I give a careless shrug as I push past them and grab a beer out of the cooler we keep there.

“How was babysitting?” Cameron asks, and gets the laugh he intended.

For just a flash of a moment, Koby meets my eyes, and he grins and turns away, while my scowl just deepens. I take a long pull from the beer, wanting to wash away everything, the memories of the fight with my dad, the emotions running hotly through me, and the image of Evie Parker’s eyes.

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” I say, and down the rest of the beer, then take another.

“Then let’s get going,” Cameron says. He picks something up off the ground and tosses it toward me, just like at school.

It clicks in the air, and I catch the spray paint to my chest and look down at it. I know that I shouldn’t. I’ve managed to avoid juvie or any serious charges, but I’ve been caught for vandalism a few times. Once or twice more, and I’ll be done for. But as I stare down at my hands, I see they’re still shaking, and I know that I have to do it. I need to stop feeling somehow, and this is the best way I know how, to transfer it all from my fingers and into the paint and then onto the wall in a design.

My hesitation apparently lasts too long, because Cameron takes a step forward, staring at me with granite-hard eyes. “Got a problem with my plans for the night, Quain?”

I look up at him, knowing my own eyes are just as hard. “Did I say I had a problem, Fuller?” I finish off the second beer and throw the can down on the ground, and then head for the side of bridge to once again leave my mark.

Evangeline

5

I’m standing alone, to one corner of the large reception hall when a big hand encircles the back of my neck. I shudder, fear rising up my throat like bile, almost choking me. I force myself to swallow it down and turn slightly. Tony is standing behind me, a smile on his face but a dark look in his eyes. It’s a look I’m all too familiar with, and I quickly arrange my own features into a large smile.

“Hey, baby,” I say, reaching out to put a hand on his free arm. “What’s up?”

The hand on my neck squeezes to a painful tightness, though it’s virtually invisible to everyone else at the wedding reception, hidden underneath my long hair. “You’re avoiding me.”

I swallow hard twice before I can answer. “I’m not, honey. I just don’t feel like dancing and I’m not very hungry.” I hope he can’t detect the shaky note in my voice. I can though, and I hate it. I hate what he’s done to me, what he’s reduced me to. And I hate myself for lying down like a dog and taking it, for the feelings I still have. “I wanted to leave you and Aaron and Josh alone, it looked like you were having a pretty serious conversation.”

Really, I just wanted to stand still and give my ribs a rest from all the motion. They feel marginally better today, a large ache instead of sharp twinges of pain whenever I move, and I’m confident they’re only bruised, not cracked or broken. Sleep, and lying motionless on the couch for the majority of the afternoon, has helped.

Tony broods for a moment, and finally he smiles and the hand is removed from my neck. I have to hold back my sigh of at the momentary reprieve. Tony gives me a kiss on the cheek and I force myself not to jerk away.

“Thanks for being considerate, babe. I appreciate it.”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Tony in our three-year relationship, it’s that there is only one way to keep his rage somewhat controlled, his temper from flaring. And that way is to feed his ego, provide fuel for his narcissistic fire.

I put a hand on the lapel of his sports coat and then fiddle with his collar. To anyone, I look like a typical girl who can’t keep her hands off her date. But really, I’m doing all I can to only touch his clothes and never his skin.

“I’m glad,” I murmur. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about all the stuff you wanted me to work on. I know one of the things was not getting in your way, so I was really trying hard tonight. I’m sorry if I came across as not wanting to spend time with you.” Because the last time I’d stepped up and joined a conversation, unintentionally interrupting him, he’d later pushed me into the wall so hard I’d seen stars.