Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“No.” She grabbed the stick shift, then floored the accelerator.
The wind whipped through the cracked windows, sending the smell of cigarettes and gasoline swirling around me. At the end of the road, she slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt dug into my shoulder, and everything in the backseat flew into the floorboard.
“Okay...” I wasn’t good with things like this. I had no idea what had happened that night to either of us, and I was still trying to grapple with my own feelings. But I was worried about her. “Did Zepp and Hendrix tell you what happened?”
The jeep lurched forward. “I want to kill those Barrington guys.”
“Pretty sure Zepp might have done that already,” I mumbled.
“I went to the police.”
I sighed. The cops in Dayton wouldn’t do anything. Those guys were Barrington—their parents were police officers, doctors, and lawyers. And we were no one to them. “Jade...”
“And you know what they said?” She took a deep breath, then another. “They said there wouldn’t be enough proof." She floored it around a turn, tires squealing. “Said they came from good families. And let’s not forget, they’re star football players for Barrington.”
I dropped my chin to my chest. “It’s just the way it is.” I hated it. More than anything, I hated that I accepted that. That I encouraged my friend to accept it. I was a fighter, but this life was hard, and you had to pick your battles.
“Sometimes, you just have to take these things into your own hands.” By own hands, I meant Zepp’s. “I’m pretty sure Zepp and Hendrix would break a few more bones if you want. They’re probably not above murder.”
She shook her head, then cranked up the volume to the radio. Angry rock bled through the speakers, and we kept driving across town until we wound through the well-lit, manicured suburb of Barrington.
Jade turned down a service road that led behind Barrington High’s football field. She parked by the chain-link fence surrounding the stadium, then cut the engine before she got out. She already had the tailgate of the Jeep open when I rounded the back, and two rusted canisters of gasoline sat in the grass.
“We burning this shit down?” I asked.
With teary eyes, Jade lugged the canisters in the air, dropping them on the other side of the fence with a thud before she hopped over, then marched to the fifty-yard line.
I climbed over the fence and started toward her through the darkness. She walked backward, tilting the can. The strong smell of gas caught on the breeze. A slow heat built inside my chest as I thought of Max and the other Barrington guys—of Jade and me. Of what would have happened had the “bad boys” not stopped the “good guys.” A bit of burned grass wasn’t going to cut it. “Got some matches?”
She tossed a match card from Velma’s at me, and I shoved it into my bra, then snagged the second can and crossed the field. Jade could burn grass all she liked; I wanted something more far-reaching. There was a row of narrow windows at the back of the locker room, set low due to the sloping hill in which the building sat. I lifted the metal canister and swung it, the single pane glass smashing. I then opened the lid and tipped it through the window, shattered the next window, poured a little more.
Nothing was more satisfying than tossing that match and watching the instant whoosh of fire, the orange glow permeating the entire building in a matter of seconds.
The field was burning, and the locker room was an inferno by the time we got back to the car. Smoke billowed through the broken windows, and flames visibly licked at the door. It wasn’t any sort of justice really. But if this is what Jade needed to feel just a tiny bit better about the wrongness of it all, then I would happily set some shit on fire.
* * *
The unconscious mind. A place I liked to remain as long as possible, far away from the reality of Dayton. Something pulled me back into my bedroom with threadbare curtains. My phone vibrated across the nightstand with a series of beeps, and I groaned before snatching it to stare at the screen.
Asshole: R
Asshole: O
Asshole: E
Asshole: U coming to school or what?
Of course it would be Zepp.
Me: No. Thanks for waking me up at 7am, though.
He didn’t need to know that sleep had evaded me for the last two hours.
Asshole: Want me to show up at your house?
That was all I needed. Him. At my house. If my mom were sober she’d probably try to sell him a blowjob for twenty bucks. Then there was the possibility of a John showing up. Or Jerry. I didn’t want him to see anything of my life because I was ashamed of it.