Punch Like a Girl (7 page)

After my first week at the shelter, I ask Alena to meet me at the mall. Ever since she accused me of being like Melody, I've felt disconnected from Alena. I'm hoping we can bond over coffee or window-shopping.

Alena's knee is still too sore to walk far, and I don't want to be reminded of Neanderthal, so we avoid Felipe's Glam Boutique. Instead, we settle for second-rate lattes from McDonald's and sip them at a table in the food court.

The Saturday crowd is as noisy as usual. At a nearby table, there's a little girl with sandy-brown hair who reminds me of Casey, and soon I'm telling Alena all about her.

“Casey won't talk, and she hardly looks at anyone. It's as if she's trying to hide.” I lean my elbows on the table with my latte cupped between my hands. “It's like when we were little—when you, me and Jamarlo used to pretend to be invisible. Do you remember?” I try not to miss Jamarlo.

Alena nods. “As long as we didn't move, no one could see us.”

“Exactly.” I sip my latte, but it's still too hot.

“And your brother used to throw stuff at us to prove we weren't invisible.” She grins like it's a good memory.

“Right.” I ignore all thoughts of my jerk brother. “When Casey does look at me, she hardly blinks, and I can't look away.”

“Is that bad?” Alena blows on her latte to cool it.

“No. I like her. She always gives me a hug when I arrive, and she tugs on my hand when she doesn't want me to leave.”

“That's sweet. And you said that she never talks?”

“Not that I've heard, although Sal, this guy I work with, has heard her talk a few times.”

“Poor kid.” Alena shakes her head. “Do you know what happened to make her so upset?”

“Not really.” I hate to think about what Casey may have gone through. “The staff doesn't share too much—only what I need to know to take care of the kids. Casey likes music and books. She smiles when I read to her. And she likes to draw.”

“That's good. Sounds like you're helping her.” Alena gives me a sincere smile.

“I try to. I've gotten close to all the kids so quickly. They really like me, or maybe they're eager for attention.” I sip my drink and relax against the back of the chair. “Don't tell my parents, but it's been fun—except when I almost got fired.” I explain what happened when I taught the kids how to do a hammerfist.

Alena's mouth drops open. “You did what? Tori!”

“I know. It was stupid. I endured a half-hour lecture from Peggy before she agreed to keep me on. I tried to explain that I was only teaching the kids to protect themselves. I didn't realize it was a bad idea until Peggy explained that since these kids may have seen violence up close, it can be disturbing for them.”

“Well, duh.” Alena rolls her eyes. “The stuff we learned in self-defense class wasn't meant for kids.”

I swallow hard and abandon my latte on the table. “Why not? Kids can be attacked too. What are they supposed to do if someone comes at them?”

“Run away,” Alena says, like she's stating the obvious. “Yell for help. Hide. I don't think you should teach kids to fight.”

My head aches. “But what if they're trapped or something? What if no one can hear them? What if there's no place to hide?”

“I don't know, Tori.” Alena frowns. “Why are we talking about this anyway?”

“No reason.” I jiggle my foot and glance away, feeling nauseated.

She takes a long drink. The silence builds between us.

“How's your knee?” I ask, trying to find a topic we can agree on.

“Not better yet—luckily.” Alena's eyes light up.

“You
want
a sore knee?”

“Well, I've been going for physio, and there's this guy who's volunteering there.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I've been wanting to tell you about him.”

“You're after a physiotherapist?” I manage a half smile. “Isn't he old?”

“He's only a year older than me; he's a high-school co-op student. We've been out for coffee once. Well, he was doing a coffee run for his bosses, and I was getting a coffee for myself. But we did chat for, like, fifteen minutes before he had to leave.” She gets a dreamy look. “You should see his arms!”

“I bet,” I say. Alena likes the kind of muscular, sensitive guys who only exist in romance novels. No wonder she's never satisfied with real guys for long.

“And he bought my coffee. Jamarlo says we should—” An uneasy look crosses her face, and she stops talking.

“Jamarlo says you should what?” I assume I'm not included in whatever he's planning.

Alena looks away. “Double-date with him and Carmen Carter.”

“Jamarlo and Carmen! Really?” Carmen, who invites sludge like Matt to her parties? If only I'd known what he was like before I dated him. “Why didn't I hear about this?”

Alena fidgets with her cup. “I told you that I don't want to get in between you two. If you want to know what's going on with Jamarlo, ask him.”

I shake my head. “He doesn't want anything to do with me.”

Alena frowns. “At least you could try to talk to him.”

“I guess.” I down the rest of my coffee, not wanting to argue with her. It's bad enough that Jamarlo is upset with me. Now Alena and I can't find our groove. How can I get things back to the way they were?

After an awkward silence, I stand up. “I'm going to the washroom. Want to come?” I imagine chatting in front of the mirror while Alena checks her hair.

Alena hoists her sore leg onto my chair. “I don't want to walk that far.”

“Sure,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. It's only a washroom run.

I head down the long hallway beside Taco Bell. The harsh fluorescent lights reflect off the glossy white walls and floor. I've almost reached the door to the women's washroom when Matt saunters out of the men's.

My heart leaps into action, pounding double-quick.

Matt grins, lazy and wide. His blue eyes are knife sharp.

“Hey, Tori.” His tone is mocking. “Are you looking to hook up in the guys' washroom?” He raises one eyebrow like a question mark.

I recoil like I've been slapped. My head reels. For a horrible second, I'm back in the washroom at Carmen Carter's place. My limbs stiffen in fear.

“Too bad Melody is waiting for me.” He smirks before he strolls down the long hall, back toward the food court, which feels like a distant oasis now.

I dive into the washroom. Splash water on my face. Try to still my trembling hands.

When my phone vibrates, it's a text from Matt. Maybe u'll get lucky next time.

Next time?

I huddle in a stall for what feels like ages, trying to calm down, cringing whenever I hear footsteps in the hall. When I'm sure he's long gone, I hurry back to Alena, upset that Matt can reduce me to a quivering lump.

“It's about time,” Alena says. “Did you get lost in there?”

I clear my clogged throat. I can hardly think. “Sorry. Let's get out of here.”

I offer Alena a ride home, and we head to the Civic without talking. I hold open the mall doors, my hands still shaking, as she limps through.

The sun is intense, like it's summer already. As we take a shortcut between the Dumpsters, we meet up with two girls: a large one in a cut-off jean jacket, and Neanderthal's girlfriend in a tight T-shirt dress.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Alena flashes me a worried look and picks up her pace.

The large girl belches loudly, sending the scent of booze toward us. Neanderthal's girlfriend elbows her, leaning close to whisper.

I take Alena's arm and aim her toward the car. When we're several paces past them, the large one calls in a gruff voice, “Hey, you! With the shaved head.”

I ignore her.

Behind us, footsteps come closer.

“I'm calling you, Tori Wyatt.” The words are slightly slurred.

I know I shouldn't, but I glance back.

The large girl is standing like a bull ready to charge. Neanderthal's girlfriend has her arms crossed. I'm not sure that Alena can make it to the car before this goes sideways.

“Damn, you're as ugly as he said you were,” the large girl says. “Your friend too.”

I stop. I turn. I inhale the rot from the Dumpsters, my nostrils flaring. Why does she have to be such a jerk?

Alena tugs my arm. “Come on.”

“Why'd you shave your head?” the large one says. “Are you a dyke or something?”

Neanderthal's girlfriend smirks.

“Yeah, right. Because every girl who shaves her head must be a dyke.” I suck air through my teeth, sick of the idiots who keep harassing me. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jordan Rayfield.” She pronounces each syllable like it's a bullet aimed at me. “And you can't just break my cousin's nose and forget about it! Seems fair that I should break your nose now.”

I glare at her. “Just try it,” I say.

Jordan steps closer, her meaty fists ready. Beads of sweat glisten on her forehead. Her eyes are glassy.

“Let's just go to the car, Tori.” Alena yanks my arm harder.

I shake her off. “In a minute.” Just one punch. That's all it'll take.

Neanderthal's girlfriend circles behind me, where I can't see her. Would she try to get in on the action? I try to keep both of them in sight.

“You don't have to do this, Tori.” Alena has her phone out now. “Just walk away.” She backs toward the car.

Jordan snorts. “You won't walk away from this.” She sideswipes my ear when I glance at Neanderthal's girlfriend.

Alena yelps. Pain shoots through my head and bounces off the opposite sides of my skull.

“Try that again when I'm looking.” I'm sick of people who don't fight fair.

I ready my fists in front of me in a protective position, but I'm not there long.

Jordan and I dive at each other.

I land two good hits in Jordan's gut and try to block as she aims for my head. Wham. Another blow to the same ear.

With my head still vibrating, I recoil my arm, winding up for my next punch. Jordan steps back against a grease-coated Dumpster. I let go with all my strength.

Jordan dodges.

My fist smashes into the side of the Dumpster.

I howl as pain spikes through my fingers and up my arm.

“Leave her alone!” Alena screams, cell phone to her ear.

Jordan laughs. “You beating yourself up, Tori?”

Neanderthal's girlfriend covers her smile with one hand.

I fold my arm against my chest. The pain makes my head spin and my eyes water. My legs are unsteady as I turn to face Jordan, desperate to fend off the next blow.

I skid on a slick of grease. One leg collapses. I crack my head against the Dumpster as I fall.

“Christ, Tori!” Alena yells.

I crash to the pavement, head roaring. The sky fades to black.

PiPED
to get hit by a lead pipe
(or feel like you were)

I wake up flat on my back, staring at industrial ceiling tiles. The ache in my head is explosive. A killer pain shoots through my right hand. The air smells like disinfectant.

Where am I?

My muscles scream as I try to sit up.

I glimpse floor-to-ceiling blue curtains. When a hand on my shoulder pushes me back down, I wince. My head lands on a pillow.

Then a face comes into view. Warm, brown eyes. A sympathetic smile. A nurse's uniform. Her lips move. “You're in the emergency department at Glencrest Hospital. Try to relax.”

Relax? I remember Jordan's fist coming at me. Me punching the Dumpster and then tripping. A vague recollection of sirens and an
EMS
uniform. My cheeks burn.

“My friend—Alena Kostakos.” I grip the metal side bars on my bed and try to sit up again, even though I'm light-headed. “Is she okay?” Would Jordan have turned on Alena after I knocked myself out?