Aftermath(33)

Jesse bristles, his gaze fixed on Marco. “We talked about this last week. You’re going to leave her alone. Got it?”

Grant grins and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Oh, I don’t think I am. Maybe you should do something about that, Mandal. Come on. Take a swing.”

Football Player shifts forward, his face lighting in anticipation of a fight. Marco catches my eye and gives a small shake of his head, telling me he’s not stupid enough to interfere.

I realize now that they weren’t hassling me. I was just the bait.

I remember what Tiffany said, the rumor about Jesse being kicked out of Southfield for fighting. He’s got a rep, and he’s on their turf. They want to put him in his place, preferably while it’s three to one and they’re guaranteed a win.

“Leave it,” I say to Jesse, in a tone not unlike one I’d use on a dog intent on eating something unsanitary.

I keep hold of his jacket, and I can feel the tension strumming through him.

When I say, “Just drop it,” and add, “Please,” I expect he’ll still ignore me. He does stiffen, but there are two long seconds of silence, and then he glances at me, not quite taking his eyes off Grant. A glance and a nod and a “Yeah, okay” that honestly shocks me.

Jesse rolls his shoulders, and I release his jacket. I’m tensed, waiting for him to attack now that I’ve let go, but he only runs a hand through his hair, his hood falling as he says, “Just leave her alone. Okay?”

“Do we get a ‘please,’ too, Mandal?” Grant sneers. “That seems to be the magic word.”

“Don’t be a dick,” I say. “I know it’s asking a lot, but —”

Jesse give me a sidelong look that takes me careening through a slideshow of memories, all the times I was the one spoiling for a fight – at least the verbal variety – and he’d give me that look to say it wasn’t worth it.

I inhale. “Okay, let’s leave it there. We’re all cool. Let’s just back off and say good night.”

“Is that an order, bitch?” Grant says.

Jesse rocks forward, saying, “Don’t call her that.”

“She called me a dick.”

“Because you —” Jesse begins.

I can see that last word coming – because you are – so I cut in with “Fair enough. We’ve exchanged insults. We’re going to leave it there.”

Football Player attacks. I don’t see that coming. Neither does Jesse or Marco, all of us fixed on Grant.

One second, Jesse is in front of me. And then he’s on the pavement, with a wide receiver atop him.

Grant runs to pile on, and I go after him, but Marco grabs us both, saying, “Nope. One on one. Fair fight. Let them work it out.”

“Fair fight?” I say. “He jumped Jesse. That’s assault, not a boxing match.”

Marco shakes his head. I glower at him. He lets go but keeps one eye on me, waiting for me to charge in. I don’t. As long as Marco has Grant under control, I’ll stay clear.

Jesse gets out from under Football Player, whose name is Duke. Or that’s my guess, judging by Grant’s cries of “Get him, Duke” and “Yeah, you go, Duke!”

I snort. “Really? The only Dukes I know have four legs and wear collars. Appropriate, I guess.”

Marco’s look warns me not to make his self-appointed ref job any tougher.

I turn to the fight. Duke might be big, but he’s clueless when it comes to combat. Jesse is fighting defensively, keeping the temperature low, letting Duke wear himself out. Unfortunately, Duke’s just bright enough to know he’s making a fool of himself when his blows keep landing on thin air. Frustration does nothing to improve his aim, and soon he’s snorting like an enraged bull, hitting wildly, more likely to send himself spinning than strike Jesse.

“Duke?” Marco calls. “This isn’t my idea of a fun Saturday night. You want a fight, let’s go find someone who’ll give you that. This guy’s just dicking you around.”

Duke swings.

Jesse grabs his arm and twists it behind his back. “Why don’t you listen to your buddy? This isn’t proving anything.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to say, but Duke’s looking for insult, and somehow he finds it, yanking away with a bellow and an uppercut that Jesse blocks.

Jesse grabs Duke by the jacket and throws him down. Putting him down. Saying he’s done with him. I know that. But Grant lets out a yelp of outrage, as if Jesse pulled a knife, and he charges before Marco can yank him back.

Grant aims a kick straight at Jesse’s head as Jesse bends over Duke. I’m already in flight, and I let out a shout that’s more of a shriek.

Jesse sees the kick coming and ducks, but he doesn’t quite evade. Grant’s boot hits him in the face. Blood flies, and I’m on Grant, knocking him away from Jesse.

I hear a man shout. A door slams. Running footsteps. A hand grabs me back. It’s Marco, pulling me off Grant while keeping Grant from retaliating.

Marco’s telling us to cool it, everyone cool it, and there’s a man demanding to know what the hell is going on. I run to Jesse, who’s on his feet, one hand to his face, blood seeping between his fingers. Duke’s rising, inching away, his gaze sliding to the approaching man.