Beast(26)

Shit. I turn the other direction to find the wing where the seniors have their lockers. Everyone in the whole school can’t wait until they have the senior wing’s because their lockers are painted glossy black and left in the far back of the school where nobody bothers them. I find Adam Michaels crouching in a ball on the linoleum floor and cramming last-minute this and that into his messenger bag.

He peeks at my wheels. “You owe JP,” I say, dropping my voice and giving him a long, hard stare.

“So?” Adam Michaels stands up, and all six feet, two hundred whatever pounds of him looms over me. Well, this has never happened before. How curious. Today of all days, I have to be in this chair?

I stand up and now I’m the one looking down at him. Two can play at this game.

Adam Michaels gathers up the last of his things and zips out of reach on a pair of fleet feet. Frigging Mercury over here. “What’s a cripple like you gonna do about it?” he says, leaving me in the hallway like a skid mark on a fresh pair of tighty-whiteys.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself. Stupid chair. Stupid JP.

I’m not chasing after him, the hell with that.

I sit back down with a plop and hope no one saw. Then it’s like…Dammit. Now I feel obligated to beat the ever-loving shit out of him just to keep my edge.

Had a similar incident last year, but it didn’t end well for that guy. There was this junior who wanted a sweet set of rims that looked like razor wire for his Toyota Camry, but he didn’t want to wait until Christmas (because let’s be honest, Jesus, Santa, and the Easter Bunny would laugh their asses off with that one). So JP gave him the money. Unfortunately, the guy thought he could blow off repaying some scrawny freshman with a dewy pout and a fat wallet. I proved that junior wrong.

Haven’t punched anyone since that guy, though. Just…because. Seeing him down on the ground and rolling around, holding his face. I don’t know. Wasn’t the first time I laid someone out, but it was different. I broke his nose and cheekbone with one punch. I really hurt him. It scared me. Sat in my gut like an axe left in a tree.

I asked my dad about it, silently and in my head. Was it right? Was it okay? I know whenever Dad went into a bar, he’d scan the room for the drunkest guy because it was only a matter of time before some dumbass wanted to prove his machismo and take it outside. My mom told me that story when she tried to prepare me for what my size could bring. He’d tower over the entire room, sizing up the crowd, and she’d always get up and kneel on a bar stool and ask him, “What are you looking for?”

And he’d say, “The biggest idiot.”

My dad did it—he punched other people. So it must be okay because that’s what I’m doing, punching idiots.

Except I don’t want to get into it with Adam Michaels. But I fear I will, and now I’m wondering, What does it mean? Is this just leveling up? Maybe this is how it’s supposed to go.

This is like having the world’s strongest magnets inside, pushing against each other. Punch, annihilate, crush bones. No, don’t: let it go, make peace. Wipe the floor with his face; you can’t let someone disrespect you like that. Laugh it off, who cares, let bygones be bygones. Push, pull. I want both, I want neither.

Maybe if I put Adam Michaels in a coma, I’ll never have to do this for JP again. My reputation will speak for me.

It’s an appealing thought.

Who knows what Adam wanted: headphones? New Jordans? Like I said, none of my business. I don’t care. Besides, who cares about Adam Michaels when Jamie’s on my mind? She’s always on my mind, it just depends on the corner.

I hear a voice call my name.

“Dylan!” My name comes at me. “Dylan! A word, please! Don’t go home yet!”

I am not in the mood for any more delays. “Hey, Coach Fowler.”

He jogs down the hall, his silver whistle bobbing all over the place. Dignity, my man, you lost it when you started harassing me to play a sport I want no association with. Panting, he arrives and lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I know we’ve chatted before…,” he begins.

“Yeah, and my leg’s still broken.”

“But it won’t be next year!” he says. “We could really use you. It would be a great help to the school if we had you on the team.”

“You know the farthest I got was Pop Warner when I was ten.”

He throws his hands up. “I don’t care! I’ll take you under my wing, give you a recommendation to any school you want. Heck, I’ll even drive you to tour the colleges!”

“I already said no.” Go Team Brain.

“If you’re worried about being behind, you’ve got plenty of time to learn.”

It’s not hard to learn how to be a brick wall. “Once again, not interested.”

“Dylan, please…” He leans in and whispers, “Think of the girls!”

I grin. “Already got one,” I say, turning my wheels to go. “Later, Coach.”

Leaving him hanging in the hall was good, but even better? Going to see Jamie and get more. More bus rides and more five good things about her and just plain more of everything. I want more. We’ve only seen each other once in a room full of nutters—but now I’m the one feeling something crazy. I feel hope.

Mom picks me up and starts lecturing as soon as my seat belt buckles. “No running off today. You say hello to that girl and have a nice visit, but you stay at the hospital, understand?”