Trailer Trash (31 page)

“Maybe we can even put the top down,” Nate said as they weaved through the school lot toward his parking spot at the end of the day. He had a notebook and his calculus book with him.

Cody, on the other hand, had nothing but a new pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He’d made it through lunch without one, but he was dying to light up now. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warned. “It could still snow tomorrow, you know.”

And after Logan’s accident, he was terrified of Nate being caught off guard, out in a snowstorm with only his Mustang. He figured he’d get over it someday, but not yet. Not when he still looked for Logan’s laughing face in the hallways. Every once in a while at the Tomahawk, he still found himself staring down at a sink full of soapy water with tears in his eyes.

“What the hell?” Nate said, stopping short. “I have a flat tire.”

Cody eyed the Mustang, slumped like an injured animal on the pavement. “Looks like more than one.”

They circled the car, going opposite directions, meeting again on the other side. “All four,” Nate sighed. “Guess it’s safe to say I didn’t just run over a nail.”

“It had to be Brian.”

“Damn it. I even talked to my dad. He said the bust had nothing to do with what I told him, but not like Brian will ever believe that.”

“Now what?” Cody eyed the school. “We could go ask to use the phone in the office.”

“My dad’s at work. I won’t be able to reach him until after five.” He glanced up at the sky. “At least it’s a nice day. Let’s just walk to your house, and I can call from there once he’s home.”

They started down the street. Cody tipped his head back to let the sun wash over his face. The trees were still bare, but birds chirped and sang, flitting from branch to branch. He and Nate stopped at the curb and waited for a car to pass before crossing toward the empty dirt lot behind the gas station where they’d first met. Cody shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. Cutting down as much as he had made him savor each one that much more.

“I forgot to tell you, that day when Brian tried to start a fight with you, I was in the library. I looked up Iowa.”

Nate glanced his way, looking hopeful. “And?”

“It looks good.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So, where do you want to go? Des Moines?”

“I was thinking more like Iowa City. It’s only three and a half hours from Chicago. They have a university there, and a community college. The book I looked at said the population is about fifty thousand.”

“That’s not very big at all.”

“It sounds enormous to me.” But in a good way. Not scary-big. Just refreshing-big. “It looks amazing.”

Nate stopped in his tracks, staring at Cody with bright eyes. “‘Amazing’ meaning you want to go live there?”

“Maybe.” But just the thought was making him smile. “If you do.”

Nate laughed. “Absolutely.” He looked happier than Cody had ever seen him. He reached out and took Cody’s hand as they started walking again, squeezing his fingers quickly before letting him go. “I’d kiss you right now, if I could.”

“Better not.” Cody glanced around to see if anybody might be watching. They were almost to the middle of the dirt lot. It was a big space, a full block wide. It had always reminded Cody of TV shows and movies, where kids gathered to play baseball or football, but the only game he’d ever seen in this particular lot was a group of kids throwing rocks at a stray cat, and once, when he’d only been in grade school, some teenagers fighting.

A shiver worked its way up Cody’s spine, the sunshine suddenly not nearly as warm as it had been. His steps slowed.

“What is it?” Nate asked.

Cody glanced around again. The houses on both sides seemed awfully far away, all of them drooping and tattered. Cody guessed at least half of them were vacant. But it wasn’t the houses he was worried about. He scanned the edges of the lot.

And there, waiting on the corner near the back of the gas station, Brian Anderson and Brad Williams stood with three other boys from the Grove. Once they realized they’d been spotted, they laughed and started forward.

Cody grabbed Nate’s arm to stop him. “Shit.” How could he have been so stupid? He should have known to stay on the sidewalk, even though it was a less direct route. It might not have saved them, but it would have at least put them within shouting distance of help.

He turned to check behind them, wondering if they could run, although God knew where they’d go. But no. He didn’t know where they’d been hidden, but Tom Watson, Billy Jones, Lance Donaldson, and Larry Lucero were closing in fast from that side.

Brad and Brian had planned it well, from slashing Nate’s tires to knowing which way Cody had to walk to get home.

“Is this what I think it is?” Nate asked, his voice shaking.

“If you think it’s you and I about to get our asses kicked, then yeah, that’s what it is.”

“Hey,” Brian called gleefully as they closed the distance between them. “Look who it is! The town fags, out for a stroll. Don’t let us interrupt your romantic moment, boys.”

Cody ignored him, turning in a circle again to see if there was an obvious escape route. The gang was spreading out, moving to surround them, but Brian’s group was coming from the right side of the gas station, leaving a bit of a gap to Cody and Nate’s left.

“You run,” Cody said, trying to pitch his voice low. He pointed quickly. “That way. Get to the gas station—”

“To hell with that. There are nine of them. Even if I could outrun them, I’m not leaving you here.”

And in the time it had taken to have that brief exchange, the window had closed anyways.

Cody weighed the odds. There were more of the Grove residents, but they weren’t as dangerous. They were spoiled rich brats. Sure, some of them played football, or wrestled, but the three farm kids with Larry Lucero worried him a lot more. They’d be stronger and tougher.

He turned to face them, putting his back to Nate’s. Maybe the Grove group would take it easier on one of their own.

Probably not, but it was worth a shot.

Cody’s heart was racing, adrenaline making his fingertips tingle. He heard Nate’s notebook and calculus text hit the dirt. Cody took one last drag on his cigarette, imagining he could feel the nicotine flowing through his veins. If only it could give him superhuman strength, like Popeye with his damn spinach.

“Just stay out of the way, Cody,” Lance said. “It’s your boyfriend he wants.”

So much for wishing.

Cody sized up the boys he’d apparently have to fight. Larry wasn’t much of a threat, although he was certainly the one Cody hated the most. Tom was only a freshman, Billy a junior, but Lance was a senior, and a big one, too. With Logan gone, he was easily the biggest guy in the school.

If he could just take Lance out of the equation, he might have a chance. Then again, if he was only going to get in a few good licks, he’s just as soon aim them at Larry.

And as for Nate?

Well, he had to hope Nate could hold his own.

“I’ve been waiting for this all year,” Larry said, grinning. “Finally get to do it, now that Logan isn’t here to protect his favorite faggot.”

“Fuck it,” Cody said. “Let’s get this over with.” And before the boys in front of him could do anything else, he moved. He threw his cigarette butt in Lance’s face, pushed Billy as hard as he could into Tom, and threw a punch at Larry’s nose.

It landed too, solid and gratifying as hell.

But it was pretty much all downhill from there.

He fought hard, hitting whoever got in front of him, but after what felt like half an hour but could only have been a couple of minutes, Tom and Billy ended up holding his arms behind his back while Larry punched him several times in the face, then one last time in the stomach. They dropped him on his knees while he sucked air, his brain screaming for oxygen. Behind him, he could hear more punches falling and Brad and Brian laughing. He couldn’t hear Nate, but he had to assume Nate wasn’t faring much better than he was.

He tried to stand up, tried to turn, thinking he needed to help, but somebody kicked him between the shoulder blades and sent him sprawling in the dirt. One of them landed on top of him, twisting his arm behind his back and pinning him to the ground. Somebody put their foot on the back of his head and pushed his face into the dirt. Somebody else kicked him in the ribs.

“Just stay down, Cody,” the person on his back said in his ear. He thought it was Lance, but it was hard to say. “Once Brian finishes teaching your boyfriend a lesson, it’ll all be over.”

Now he could hear Nate—not talking, of course, but the horrible, painful grunts as somebody punched him, or kicked him. Cody twisted, turning his head, straining to see. Nate was on the ground, surrounded by six boys, all of them taking turns hitting and kicking him.

“Stop it!” Cody screamed, trying to throw the weight off his back. “Goddamn it, you’ve won, for fuck’s sake. Leave him alone!”

Somebody laughed, and then one of the three boys still holding Cody down grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the ground, holding it there this time as Cody squirmed to get free.

“Stop it,” the voice in his ear said. Not threatening at all. He was almost pleading. “Just stop, Cody, or it’ll only get worse for both of you.”

“Hey,” somebody said, “you think I can get AIDS from punching him while he bleeds?”

It was said gleefully, obviously meant to be a joke, but a sudden hush fell over them. As stupid as it was, Cody found himself considering the question. Not that either he or Nate was infected, but if they had been, and the boy throwing the punches had split knuckles, would it have been enough to spread the virus?

“Let’s go,” a voice he recognized as Brian Anderson’s said. “I think they get the point.”

The weight on Cody’s back disappeared, and the only thing he heard was the
thump-thump-thump
of sneakers hitting packed dirt as nine boys ran away.

Cody waited until he heard car doors before dragging himself over to Nate. He was still curled in a ball, holding his stomach, his face covered in blood.

Jesus, he’s dying.

But quick on the tail of that thought came a bit of clarity. No, Nate was breathing, moaning in pain, but probably in no immediate danger. He’d taken a lot of blows to his kidneys, though, and Cody knew that could be dangerous.

“Nate, are you all right?” The full surge of adrenaline was hitting Cody now, his vision blurring, his breath coming in gulps. He wasn’t sure his words had even come out right. His hands shook as he touched Nate’s shoulder. “Nate?”

Nate groaned, turning onto his back, still holding his stomach. He was bleeding from cuts over his eye, from his temple, from his nose, from his mouth . . . So much blood, and Cody tried to think what to do. Nate clearly wouldn’t be able to walk, and even with Cody’s help, he probably wouldn’t make it more than a block. Even now, after all the noise they must have made, nobody had appeared to investigate.

Cody eyed the back of the gas station, weighing his options.

“Wait here,” he said, as if Nate had any intention of doing otherwise. “I’ll be back.”

Vera’s eyes went wide when he pushed through the glass door, but she let him use the phone without question. His hands shook so badly he had to recite the number while Vera dialed. He sank to the floor, listening to the rings, hoping against hope that she’d answer.

“Hello?”

Cody almost sobbed with relief. “Mom? I need help.”

His mom made it in record time, her tires squealing around the corner. She didn’t even stop at the curb, just let her beaten old Duster slam over it before braking to a stop next to them. She jumped out, leaving the ignition running.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Nate—”

“Let’s get him in the car.”

It took both of them to get Nate on his feet. He moaned, his arms wrapped around his ribs, then promptly doubled over and vomited into the dirt.

“Where’s he live?”

“The Grove. But his dad’s at work. Jesus, Mom. His dad—”

“Talk in the car. We need to get him to the hospital.”

They managed to get Nate into the front seat, and Cody grabbed Nate’s dropped schoolbooks and wiggled behind the driver’s seat into the back. His mom’s eyes flashed to his in the rearview mirror as she turned onto the street.

“Who was it?”

“Some assholes from the Grove. Plus Larry Lucero, and a couple of the farm kids. Tom Watson, Billy Jones, Lance Donaldson.” It was the wrestling team, he realized. Part of it, at any rate. That was why there was such a strange mix of cliques. They probably all played football together in the fall too. They obviously hadn’t included any of the Mormons in their plan, and Jimmy Riordan had either balked or been left out, but wrestling and football were the only things that connected Brian and Brad with the cowboys and Larry Lucero.

“How do you want this to go?” his mom asked.

Now that he was in the car, headed for the hospital, the rush was fading, leaving him limp and exhausted. Her question confused him. He pulled it around in his head, trying to make sense of it. Finally gave up and said, “Wha—”

“His dad will get the cops involved. You want to be part of that?”