Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(95)

Other times, we’d talk about serious stuff.

Some days, breathing is really fucking hard. I feel overwhelmed by it, you know? Jack would say, and I’d nod, because I did know. Jack hasn’t exactly won the lottery in life either. His parents are gone, his uncle is a drunk, he practically raises his brothers. He’d shake his head, hitting the buttons on the game controller, his eyes glassy as he breathed out, cheeks stained. But I have to keep going, for my brothers, he’d whisper. I don’t have a choice.

Days like that, I’d put down the game controller and pat his back. Sometimes he’d pause the game and we’d forget about the world and the unspoken rules about boys not being allowed to talk about things that bother us or hug each other, and he’d rest his head on my shoulder and cry.

This was all before things changed. Before I came out to him, before I started dating Scotty. There was a time when I thought we’d always be there for each other.

The words from computer 17 stab at my thoughts. His name in bold: Distribution of DR’s messages.

I sniff, looking up to the sky, trying to stop more tears from falling. I wipe my face with my sleeve and then, like I have done so many times before, I knock.

Jack’s head whips around and he squints, recognition slowly bleeding into his features. His eyes widen, like he’s seen a ghost. I watch him watch me for a few moments, unmoving, like he’s waiting for me to break in and hurt him.

Then slowly, he stands. He’s wearing a black shirt and shorts. I swallow the lump in my throat as he slides the door open.

I don’t move; I look at him, not bothering to wipe the tears from my face anymore.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice low.

“I know about Niveus.”

Silence. His skin is pale and blotchy as he looks away.

“What about them?”

“You know what. I know about Aces, and all the shit you’ve done to me.”

Jack shifts a little, eyes still avoiding mine. “I have work to do—”

He tries to close the door, but I block it with my body. “When you had no one, I was there for you, Jack. When you wanted to try and get into Niveus too, my ma paid for us to sit for those tests. She fed you, made sure you were okay, because she loves you like you are her own son. Then you stopped coming over, and that was okay, she was working all the time anyway, she hardly noticed…” I choke out a cry, and I can’t stop. Jack’s just staring at me blankly, like he wants to be anywhere but here right now. “What did I ever do to you for you to hate me this much?”

Jack sniffs, not saying anything at first. Then it pours out.

“I work hard for everything I get. You’d still get in with affirmative action or whatever scholarship they give to you guys, while I have to work twice as hard.” He shakes his head, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t ruin your life.”

He says this like he’s reciting some bigoted script that was fed to him. Says it like he’s remembering lines he doesn’t quite get but believes in anyway.

“That’s not how life works, Jack. I don’t just get given things—for you to say that is just— It just shows you don’t know me at all.”

I want to tell him that people like him, boys with white skin, they never work twice as hard. Boys like him don’t have to carry the weight of generations and generations of hate and discrimination.

But I don’t know how to even begin explaining that. Me getting that scholarship doesn’t mean I didn’t work for it; it means I did, and I need it just to continue working twice as hard as everyone else. And anyway, the scholarship was a curse in disguise; it brought me in, made me think I could dream and actually break the cycle, but then destroyed everything in my life, bit by bit.

It was a poisoned chalice; good at first, but it slowly ate away at me until I was nothing but bits of flesh and marred bone.

“And you did ruin everything. I can’t go back to high school, I can’t graduate, I can’t do anything. You knew, for God knows how long, and you fucking helped them,” I shout. “What did I do to you that was so bad? You were my best friend … I love … I loved you.”

Jack is looking away again, fingers gripping the glass, knuckles turning white.

“You should go,” he says.

I shake my head. “No, you don’t get to do that,” I say, stepping forward as Jack tries to close the door again. I can feel the glass against my shoulder, crushing me. When he realizes I won’t budge, he pushes me back and I stumble slightly, stunned for a few seconds before I push him back, stepping in now.

“Leave,” he says, chest heaving.

I look at him and I think about how we don’t know the people we think we know at all. How people who are meant to love you, leave you—like Jack, my pa … Andre. I can feel my fingers shaking, insides rattling, as I think of how many people leave and keep leaving. Like there is something wrong with me … like I’m not good enough.

Jack knew how much my ma struggled, and he watched, knowing this would all happen.

Before I can calm down and think about the consequences of what I want to do to him, I’m pushing him again, and again, he’s staggering back. Now I’m punching him and he isn’t fighting back; he’s letting me hit him over and over, until my knuckles ache and his face is bleeding. My eyes blur as his face becomes splotches of white, purple, and blue. We’re both crying; Jack is on the floor and I am on top of him.