Twisted Lies by Nora Cobb
Chapter 22
Astrid
All day Saturday, I’m pumped with excitement and can barely wait for curfew. But I’m not the only one excited to run out of here. Roni is pulling a tight-knit dress over her curves and then checks her makeup in the mirror on the closet door. She fluffs up her curls then applies her favorite nude lipstick. Roni turns side to side, smiling at her reflection in the mirror while I pull on my oldest jeans and rattiest T-shirt.
“Got big plans tonight?” I smile, “Need a condom?”
Roni scoffs. “Don’t be rude.” She looks at the door and then whispers, “Do you have any?”
I nod and pull out the desk drawer, yanking them out of a makeup bag where I hid them. Grinning, I hand her two. “Just in case you’re double lucky.”
Roni giggles, shoving them into her bag. “We’re going to the seashore to hang out.” Her eyes light up like July fireworks over the water. “He asked me to go.”
I get how she feels, but I don’t dwell on the fact that Bryce hasn’t mentioned our date yet. Roni is happy, and that’s what matters as she squeezes her feet into a pair of pumps. I hope I look that happy when it’s my turn. Terri and Roni couldn’t be more perfect together. She needs a partner to boss around.
“You off to do whatever it is that you do in the hood?” she asks.
“The hood is my home.” I grin as I pull on an old but warm corduroy jacket. “Good luck tonight.”
“We’re past luck,” she smirks, “It’s time to do this thing and get it right.”
We slip out through the basement, heading off in different directions. I walk my bike toward the gate but can’t help but feel that eyes are watching me. I look around and see no one, but the back of my neck bristles as I stay in the shadows down the path that leads out. The feeling goes away once I start moving on my bike. Whoever was watching won’t be able to tail me now without being seen.
I ride down the dark street while the wind whips around my head and freezes my ears. The heaviness I feel leaves me the farther I ride away from the school gates. Without holding the handlebars, I sit back on the seat and let the momentum take me back to Weymouth. The town I’m so desperate to leave has become my haven.
At the bottom of the hill, I have to put my back into it as I peddle up the incline toward my old high school. Monarch Academy is situated on top of the only hill in Weymouth and is a reminder of an experiment that failed. It was a charter school aimed at helping kids who wanted a better life, but the school didn’t consider the lives the kids had at home. The single-parent households with too many mouths and not enough money. The parents who drank too much and earned too little, or the siblings who hadn’t gone to a charter, relying on pushing drugs for income. Abandoned by the well-meaning admins that had high hopes for their experiment, Monarch became a training ground for all the vices that exist in Weymouth.
The decaying brick building bears a distant resemblance to Stonehaven. The connection is evident as I ride toward the school. I hadn’t noticed the similarities before today. It’s built of the same red brick and has four columns, now covered in graffiti. I circle around the building, following the shouts and the sound of breaking glass. I enter the playground, which isn’t an actual playground but an old tennis court. The net was stolen long ago, and the concrete pavement cracked. The tennis rackets once supplied by the school were probably pawned off or used as weapons.
I chain my bike to the chain-link fence and walk toward the fire lit on the court. The white furniture from the Pit circles the makeshift ring. An old glass jar filled with bills sits on the ground as two guys circle each other, throwing out jabs. The firelight casts shadows across their sweaty faces while a small crowd of spectators sits near the fire for warmth. I glance over at the fire, which is raging, and notice that Bryce’s old chair supplies the warmth.
Derick jumps up and down, egging on the fighters, telling them to flatten some faces ’cause people paid for a show.
Nova laughs at her cousin’s antics but stops as I walk up. “Hey, Rich Bitch,” she says.
I shake my head. “Don’t start, or we’ll be in the ring next.” I cock my head in the fighters’ direction. “No gear?”
“We don’t fight with gloves,” she replies, “You know that.”
“Not even wraps?” I ask.
“Bare-fisted, that is the rule. Unless your opponent has the same gear, and since most don’t…”
She stops talking as the taller guy plows his fist into his opponent’s mouth. The kid’s head snaps back, and I can hear a sickening crunch. The kid staggers back a few steps but stays on his feet while the tall guy waits and watches for him to plant his face in the concrete. The kid rates applause because he shakes off the pain and goes back in for more.
“You’re burning the furniture?” I ask.
Nova shrugs. “We didn’t need all of it.”
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I turn as Wyatt approaches me. My eyes stay on him even when someone screams behind me. He’s wearing faded jeans and a plain navy T-shirt under a lined denim jacket. He stands on the other side of me, and I wonder why I even think about Bryce.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I tell him, “No Pit tonight?”
“Nova called,” he replies, “Not as much money, but I don’t have to split it either.”
We stop talking and watch the fight as the taller guy finally overtakes the kid. The kid is on the ground, sucking in air hard and fast as he holds his stomach in. Derick steps forward, holding out a hand to keep the taller guy back as he advises the kid to stay put.
“Take the jar, man,” Derick speaks to the taller guy, “You won it.”
“No,” the kid pleads in gasping, painful breaths, “I can fight.”
Derick shakes his head. “You know we can’t call the paramedics for you.”
I can tell the kid needs the money. No one would take a beating like that unless they had to.
The taller guy reaches into the jar and pulls out a handful of cash. He holds it out to the kid and waits. The kid grabs it, hiding his face for a moment, and then, looking up, he thanks the tall guy with a nod. Derick starts to clap, applauding the guy’s kindness and sacrifice.
His clowning around is replaced with a solemn face. He isn’t always the fool. People start to join in, clapping. Tall guy needs to get paid too.
“That’s what we do here,” Derick tells the small crowd as he persuades the crowd to pitch in and fill the jar so we can have cash to win. “We take care of our own.”
My body tenses, and I wait for Derick to look at me. He watches a girl help the kid away. He shoves the money in his pocket and hurries off. The kid is no fool. For every person willing to be decent, there are ten more waiting rob you.
“Any more takers?” Derick shakes the jar toward the crowd. “If you want to fight…” He looks at the half-empty jar. “You have to fill it up.”
I grip Wyatt’s arm with my hand. “Hey, you want to fight?”
He looks at me. “Fight who?”
“Me,” I practically shout.
Wyatt laughs. “Come on, Astrid. I might challenge the tall kid. He looks like he could use a fight.” Wyatt ignores me and turns to Nova. “What’s his name?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “We call him Ace because he doesn’t let people down.”
Wyatt takes a step forward, but I step in front of him. “No, I’ll fight him.”
“Astrid, you’re a girl.” Wyatt yanks my arm and sends me back. “You can’t fight a guy.”
Playfully I push Wyatt back, striking him in the shoulder. “Are you scared of me? You should be. You’re not as good as you think.”
“I am that good,” Wyatt answers flatly. “You’re a girl. I’m not fighting a girl.”
Derick is standing by our side before I can argue. “There’s no rule about fighting girls. Some of the girls here are mean. My cousin’s one.” He points to Nova, who rolls her eyes.
“I want to fight,” I declare, stepping forward, “Ask that tall kid if he wants to fight me. He can take the whole jar if I lose.”
Wyatt grabs my hand before I walk off with Derick. Derick whispers something to Ace, but Wyatt catches Ace’s eye and shakes his head. Ace looks at Derick and shakes his head, ending my challenge. This time when I push Wyatt, I really mean it.
“You are an ass,” I tell him, “I could use some money, so stop ruining it for me.”
“Astrid, stop messing around,” he barks.
I push him again, and this time, he wraps his arms around my waist. He tries to pin my body flush against his, but I plow my elbow into his ribs, freeing myself.
“Fill the jar if you want to see them fight.” Derick holds the jar out to the crowd, and people start filling it with bills. I freeze, watching the money go past the rim. I look at Wyatt, and he shrugs his shoulders, walking past me into the ring.
“At Monarch, girls fight all takers,” I tell him, “Only weak kids get a pass.”
My adrenaline rises as we square off in the ring. The excitement dances over my skin as I watch his muscles flex underneath his beat-up T-shirt. I place myself in a stance and wait for Wyatt to start. In my head, I recall how Wyatt moves. It won’t be hard to take him down using that intel against him. I bounce on my feet, eager to show him that I’m not weak, when I get a shock. He bends over and charges me, grabbing by my waist. He lifts me off the ground and over his back. My fists hit his back as he spins me around. As I’m screaming and kicking, he’s making a fool out of me. I don’t abide by dirty moves, but I lift up his T-shirt and rake my nails over his back.
Wyatt lets me go, and I almost land on my ass. Up on my feet, I strike him in his stomach with a one-two punch. It’s like pounding a concrete wall. The apparent fact that I might be in trouble starts to creep in. Panting, I lift my fists, wanting to punch that smirk off his face. I strike out toward him, and he catches my fist in his hand, pulling me in. I pummel my fist into his side, and he lets me go, sucking in air. I dance back quickly with my hair in my eyes.
Wyatt gives me a look like I might be in trouble. Good. Let him stop playing. He jabs out, and I duck, placing a punch to his stomach. He takes it lightly as he grabs me by the wrist and tries to twist my arm around my back. I narrowly escape and come at him with a roundhouse kick to his hip. He winces, staring at me as if I shouldn’t have done that.
“You done playing?” I shout at him.
The small crowd laps it up as people clap and shout each time we lunge at one another. But my minor victory is short-lived. Wyatt grabs me, pinning me, and I can’t straighten up. I try, but it’s impossible to get him off my hurting body. I kick out my legs, hoping to catch him, but it’s impossible. I refuse to bite him, though some other loser might.
“Looks like it’s over!” shouts Derick.
I throw a blind punch, and Wyatt falls away from me. He lies on the ground, careful not to hit his head, and I fling myself on top of him, holding him down. The excitement of winning transforms into something unintended as I lie on top of him. Our bodies touch tightly, and his hard muscles press into me, deepening my breath. I don’t know where to look as his eyes stay on me.
“I call,” he says in a deep voice.
Derick laughs, and they all do. “I’d give in too. But this isn’t that kind of entertainment.”
It’s obvious that Wyatt threw the fight. I clamber off him quickly, not bothering to help him up. Derick holds the jar out toward me. I hesitate as my pride refuses to lift my hand, but my need overrules it. I snatch the jar away and fill my pockets.
Ace helps Wyatt up off the ground, which leads to a guy discussion consisting of a handshake and single replies. I hear only one complete sentence. Next time, we’ll fight.
I feel even more like a fool and can barely look at Wyatt when Nova hands him his jacket.
