Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Kyle

I strode onto Southside High property before the first bell rang. Clenching my fingers into fists, I managed to accomplish my usual casual stride without any noticeable stiffness.

On either side of the cracked sidewalk, students were spread out all over the patchy lawn. The buses had already let out. Beneath the shadow of the two-story brick building, the masses were assembled by groups in the usual factions.

La Rasa Prima claimed the south side of the school. Jocks were huddled together by the gym. Those unaffiliated with the prior two groups, like me, were called losers. We kept the north. With my friend War gone, I became the de facto king of the losers. I didn’t have a kingdom, but I had our section of the school to defend.

Following the sidewalk around to the back of the building, I headed to the alcove considered to be the king’s throne.

“Yo, Kyle,” Randy called, breaking away from a small group of disaffected rich kids like himself. Wearing his old letterman jacket, even though he wasn’t playing football anymore and just wanted to piss off his former teammates, he lumbered toward me.

“Hey.” I lifted my chin.

He fell into step beside me as if he were my wingman. He wasn’t. Unlike War, I’d never had a best friend or anyone else watching my back. It was always just me.

“What product are we moving today?” Randy asked, following me into an alcove by a row of scraggly hedges.

“Weed.” I leaned into the brick wall behind me, planting the sole of one moto boot on it and surveying my ignoble realm. Being ruler of a shit hole and king of the losers wasn’t exactly a prestigious role.

“That all?” He wrinkled his large nose.

“Yeah.” I popped up the collar of my denim jacket. It was all I had to keep warm. Was Claire wearing my hoodie at her first day back at Lakeside High? I liked to think she was. “First bag is free. Second is double price.”

I wanted to be sure the teachers would leave us alone as usual this year before I risked bringing anything more hard-core onto campus.

“Nice plan.” He nodded approvingly.

Students appeared, most dressed in worn T-shirts and jeans like me, and a line quickly formed. Year after year, nothing changed. They knew the drill. Plus, I’d put out the word about freebies last night at the shit hole. Obviously, the news had spread. Within minutes, we were out of product.

“Need me to hang with?” Randy asked as the bell rang.

“No, man.” I shook my head. “Not once we get inside.”

Tucking the cash deeper into an inside pocket, along with my blade, I affected an arrogant tilt to my head as I emerged from the alcove with Randy. I didn’t even slow my pace as we climbed the concrete steps into the building.

“Hey, Kyle.” A pretty brunette moved alongside me in the hall. Everyone knew who I was at school, and this one knew me better than most since she also frequented the shit hole.

“Hi, Lauren.” I lifted my chin.

“Wanna hang during lunch?” she asked, batting her lashes. In other words, she’d blow me for dope.

“No, thanks. I have plans.” The thought of anyone else but Claire near my dick made me want to hurl. I knew I’d eventually have to get over her and move on, but today wasn’t that day.

As Lauren jogged off, Randy bumped my shoulder. “She’s nice and gives good head.”

Maybe, but I didn’t comment. I just knew Lauren wasn’t the right nice for me.

“You sure you don’t want me backing you on the first day?” Randy asked, sticking close in the crowded corridor.

“No. I’m good alone.” I threw my shoulders back and lengthened my stride.

Randy raised a dark blond brow. “Jorge might give you a hard time.”

“He can try.” I shrugged and patted the inside pocket of my jean jacket where my blade was.

Jorge Rodriguez was the leader of La Rasa Prima. He’d never challenged War when he’d been king of the unaffiliated because his sister Leticia had a thing for the Tempest lead singer. If I needed to establish cred with Jorge, I could do it. Even with my leg messed up, I wasn’t weak.

“I can handle myself.”

“Know you can,” Randy said. “Seen you do it. Just saying you don’t have to is all.”

I gave Randy a longer considering look. His blond hair skimmed his red-rimmed blue eyes. He’d already been hitting the weed, but he steadily returned my gaze.

It would be cool to have someone I could trust watching my back. I just knew Randy wasn’t a guy I could really rely on. We were too different. He was with me because he liked product and pissing off the powers that be, mainly his rich parents, and also his old football buddies. I did what I did because I had no other choice. We didn’t have a history or common goals. Those things mattered when it came to trusting someone.

When we came to a T-intersection, I lifted a hand. “See you in gym second period.”

“Right.” He raised his finger in reply.

Turning, he went in one direction, and I went the other, but I came to an immediate stop. A crowd completely blocked the corridor.

“What’s going on?” I asked, tapping the shoulder of a tall guy wearing a charcoal leather jacket.

“Two chicks fighting.”

He turned his head to look at me. He had his black hair pulled back into a thick club, and gave me a long assessing look with dark brown eyes that were more almond-shaped than mine.

“I’m Tommy Evans.” He offered me his hand. “I’m new here.”

“Kyle Murphy. Not new.”

I held his gaze a beat, assessing him right back, and noting as I did a slight widening of his eyes. It almost seemed like he recognized my name, which couldn’t be right since he was new.

I clasped his hand and shook it. “Where you from?”

“Vietnam some, Texas a little.”

“That’s different,” I said carefully.

“My mom’s Vietnamese, and my dad’s different.” He shrugged one wide shoulder.

“What brings you to Southside?” I asked, curious when I usually wasn’t.

Tommy had a friendly face, unlike most around here, and his dark eyes glowed with a warmth that reminded me of . . . Well, I shut down that thought. I needed to stop thinking about Claire.

“My dad’s originally from Southside.” Tommy’s voice held a hint of a twang. “We’re opening a Vietnamese restaurant called Pho B on the Avenue.”

“Folks around here call it the Ave.”

“Gotcha.” He nodded. “My dad’s trying to get me up to speed on the local lingo. Should be easier than learning English. You should come by the restaurant. Try our food out. Anything on the menu, on the house.”

“I just might.”

“Good. I—”

“You stupid puta!”

I recognized Belinda’s voice. The mystery as to one of the combatants was solved.

“Give it to me now or else!” Belinda shouted.

“No! It’s mine!”

I froze solid. That voice I more than recognized. It played repeatedly in my dreams.

A few inches taller than me, Tommy peered over the heads of the crowd. “Looks like things are escalating in there.”

“What’s happening?” I asked, telling myself I was wrong. I just thought I heard Claire because I was thinking about her.

“A Hispanic girl is getting into it with a white chick, a pretty blonde.” He gestured, and the crowd shifted enough that I finally got a look.

Belinda was a tall Latina, irrationally and psychotically angry since her brother got killed. She was La Rasa Prima affiliated and carried a blade.

My heart stopped when I saw whose braid she held. It wasn’t my imagination. It was her.

“Claire . . .”