Love, Hate and Other Filters(52)

He turns back to me. In that moment, I see what happened. Brian snapped after the bombing. It’s more than the creepiness I felt when Phil and I ran into him at the bookstore. It’s the eyes. I’ve never seen his eyes so cold and dead. His hands tremble, he’s amped up, jittery.

I take a step toward my right, looking over their shoulders, past the entrance to the courtyard and the park beyond. I don’t see anyone, but all I need to do is walk a few feet, and maybe I could make a run for it.

Brian steps in front of me, closer, now, menacing. He cuts off my path. The world around me comes into deep focus. My heart pounds in my ears, and each hair on my arm rises in warning. Tiny leaves on the hedges ripple individually, distinctly in my peripheral vision. Beads of sweat form at Brian’s hairline, and one trickles down the side of his face. I can hear the entire cycle of his breath—inhalation, exhalation.

His face tightens into a scowl. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m meeting back up with Violet and Monica and everyone. They should be in the food court any second,” I lie, trying not to let my inner frenzy bleed into my voice. Breathe, I remind myself. Talk your way out of it. But my lips are frozen, and my body is leaden as if earth’s gravity has tripled in the very spot I’m standing.

“Doubt it.” Brandon speaks for the first time. “Justin and Monica are making out by the kiddie rides.”

Brian’s stare is unwavering. He chuckles. “You know, Maya, you really are a tremendous pain in the ass.”

I hover between fear and rage. I clench my left hand in a fist; my right grips my camera even tighter. “Back off, Brian.”

“Back off?” Brian and his friends laugh. “Pretty ballsy for someone who’s cornered.”

“Look.” I take a tiny, hesitant step back as Brian moves closer to me. “I’m sorry you got suspended. I didn’t ask for that—”

“And I didn’t ask you to come to our country.”

“But I was born here …” I let my voice fade. There is no point in responding or trying to be reasonable. It’s safer if I keep my mouth shut. Every muscle in my body twitches. I’m afraid my knees will buckle.

“I don’t give a fuck where you were born.” Brian’s face twists in anger. “My brother lost his leg in Iraq because of you … people.”

I shake my head. I can see his pain. My breaths are short and fast. “I’m … sorry that happened to him,” I whisper, and I am.

“Yeah, you’ll be sorry.” The veins in Brian’s neck bulge. He steps closer to me, his beady eyes in my face. Then he seizes my right arm, hard.

“Ow!” I scream. “Let go of me!” I squirm, try to get out of his grasp. Fear turns to panic. He squeezes my upper arm tighter. His grip is a vise. My hands tingle, but I hold onto my camera like it’s a lifeline.

“Come on, Brian. You said you wanted to scare her,” Josh says. Brian doesn’t turn his gaze from me. “Now you’re hurting her.”

I catch the shadow that passes over Josh’s face. He’s wavering. It gives me the tiniest speck of hope that this could still end here.

“That’s the point. She has to pay,” Brian spits back.

If Brian has doubts, his face doesn’t betray them.

“This is bullshit. I’m outta here, man.” Josh slinks out of the courtyard.

I turn to Brandon, wide-eyed, pleading. He lowers his head and hurries after his friend. I’m alone now.

“Brian, please. You don’t want to do this.” Hot tears splash down my cheeks. I want to scream, but I can’t hear my voice anymore, and I have no idea if any sound escapes my mouth.

“Yes. I. Do. I want to hurt you.”

I look beyond Brian—if I can break his grip, I can make a run for it. It’s a few feet … if only … Brian yanks me closer to him. He grabs my face and squeezes my cheeks so I can’t speak.

The ground pushes up against my feet, compelling me to move.

I kick Brian in the shin.

“You bitch.” He slaps me and throws me to the ground. I hear a crack as my left elbow slams into the pavement. I taste blood. Brian’s handprint stings my skin. I try to push myself up. Brian stomps on my left thigh. I scream as the pain pierces to the bone. He clenches his right fist above me. I raise an arm to shield myself.

I’m frozen—until Brian stumbles forward, pushed from behind.

Phil.

When Brian turns around, Phil punches him in the stomach. Brian clutches his front with one hand and swings wildly at Phil with his other. Phil strikes Brian’s face. Blood spurts from Brian’s nose and mouth as he falls backward to the ground, groaning.

Phil looms over him. “I should’ve done this a long time ago,” he says, raising his right fist to punch Brian again.

“Stop,” I yell.

Phil eases himself back, breathing hard, his eyes fixed on Brian—who covers his face with his hands, blood dripping between his fingers.

Finally Phil turns to me. His jaw slackens. The rage in his eyes is replaced with worry. I’m still on the ground, clutching my knees and sobbing. He kneels, wraps his arms around me, and speaks softly. “Maya, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Uhh … my arm … how did … where did you come from?”