Tap Out (2 page)

I skim the section we're supposed to read and catch words like “ruptured capillaries” and “trapped blood” and “trauma,” but I know all this shit. A fucking bruise happens when something hits you. A hand, a belt, a shoe. Who gives a fuck what occurs beneath the surface?

Mrs. Myers gives us a quiz on the first chapter of this book,
Lord of the Flies
, I didn't read. Don't ever read. At least not since I was a kid. So I guess at the answers and probably fail. Mrs. Myers asks us to pass up the paper and then read Chapter Two for the rest of the class. I don't have a copy, and she doesn't hand out loaners like Bransfield, so I put my head on my desk and pop my hoodie over. Lights out.

The bell rings. I pull myself together, rub my face, and head to the main entrance. I could go to lunch, but none of the other Vo-Tec fucks do. It's the hassle of getting the shit for free. We all do, but have to give the ugly, old, hair-netted bitch who runs the register this special card. That's if we remember to bring it. Which is never. So the old hag has to yell to some other old hag to look up a “Free lunch.” Asks our last name and yells that, too. That's a mistake I've only made once.

Somebody opens a bag of chips and passes it around.
Rob, Amy, and Charity chow down. The girls all go to become hairdressers or some nail salon shit. We go and work on cars. I grab a handful and think to take more. This is the first I've eaten today.

“Afternoon boys.” Mr. Greyson wipes his hands on a rag, but they're still black when he finishes. I breathe in the greased air and love it. “As you can see, we've got a project for today.” He throws a thumb at the pickup, a 250, new, black, and beautiful. “Just an oil change. But we'll do the filter and check the fluids and brakes, too.”

Greyson's a hard ass, but he's the only one who can get away with it because he's the only one who actually teaches us something useful. He smacks the clipboard he pulls from his shop table. “Looks like Rob and Tony have the honors.”

My stomach drops, but Rob pumps his fist. “Sweet!”

“Good, get to it. Remember the pan.” Greyson whips the air with his hand. “The rest of you, follow me.” The group walks to the pair of junkers that we learn from, these piece of shit cars, stripped down, like dead, open bodies for doctors. Rob and I grab the tools we need. We weren't allowed to touch anything our freshman year, just watch and memorize. Sophomore year, we could hand off tools. Junior year, we could touch. Now I know almost every tool and how to change oil, tires, and bulbs. I can monitor electrical systems, brake rotors, and on and on. It isn't a great living, but I could be a mechanic anywhere, and get the fuck out of here.

I check that the bay is clear and that the truck is secure, and then hit the switch on the lift and the truck rises. Rob moves under, pan in hand, already wearing latex gloves. I
love that we're given the chance to keep our hands clean.

“You should at least come to one class.” Rob unscrews the nut, and the oil drips.

“How many times do I need to tell you? I'm not into it.”

“Till you change your mind.” Rob turns his back to me. “Read this.”

“Douche, I don't give a shit about your fucking sweatshirt.”

Rob spins and puts a thumb into my collarbone. I go to my knees; the pain is so sudden.

“Everything all right over there?” Greyson calls.

“Yup.” Rob waves with his free hand.

So do I. “All right. Fucking quit.”

Rob releases and turns his back, again. I wipe my neck with a clean rag, but nothing comes away. Still, I think about kicking out his legs and watching him fall into the pan of oil, but I just read his sweatshirt for the hundredth fucking time, because if I don't he'll keep asking:
The cage will reveal your true self. Whether you like it or not.
I shove him. “All right. Happy?”

“Not until you find out, fucker.”

I stand and move to the lift control. “Well, that isn't happening today.” I shrug. “Screw that shit in before I crush you.”

Rob stares at me for a moment, his typical bad-ass stance. They must teach this shit, and I feel like flipping him off, but that's not the point. I know what he's thinking, that he could take me out right here. Fuck, maybe he thinks he's so fast he could get to me before I hit the lift button? I don't like it, but his cockiness reminds me of Cameron, and I'm glad that he turns and does his job.

We finish and Greyson checks on us, gives a grunt, and says, “Nice work.” After that we clean up and then hit up the bus for home. As soon as we're off Amy and Char light up.

“Tonight, Tone.” Amy blows a ring. “You need to run and hide, come on over.”

Everyone laughs, but Amy looks at me with her fuck-me eyes. She means it, but there's no way I'm putting my dick in her. She's been used so much, I bet the shit's like a baseball glove. I open my mouth to make the joke, but don't bother. I just don't have the energy. “Whatever.” I wave them off, and Rob walks with me. He slaps my shoulder.

“You change your mind, I'll be rolling past round six.” I shake my head, just because I don't feel like speaking, and am glad that he just lets it go. “All right, catch you tomorrow.” He takes off, and I turn toward my house. I heard someone once say that all of us in the park live in sardine cans, and I guess that's true. My house is small, metal, and looks like it should be thrown away. The smell is pretty rancid as well. But I don't have anything else, so I head in.

Mom's not home and the place is a fucking mess. Cameron's cans are spilling out of the garbage, or lying next to the chair. Dishes and food containers from my mom's work spill across the counter. It looks like spaghetti, but I turn away from it. I'm not
that
hungry, and I'm not cleaning up their shit, even though I'll get bitched at later. Whenever she fucking gets home from the diner. Fuck her. She had time to clean.

I go to my room and close the accordion door. Unlike the rest of this heap, my room's clean. Everything has a place and is put there. I take off my shoes and line them alongside my other pair, beneath my bed. It squeaks when I hop on it, but is damn comfortable. I lie back and stare at the ceiling. Brown water stains dot the corner. The last time it rained heavy I woke up wet. Cameron said he'll fix it, but I think he's just grunt labor, doesn't know how to do a damn thing for himself.

My stomach growls so I roll to my side and pull my knees up to my chest. Hope my mom brings home leftovers or I may have to eat that spaghetti. I grab the blanket from the foot of my bed and pull it over me. Cover everything. The only thing to do is sleep and wait for whatever's next.

“Whad'ya mean I can't come in?”

I sit up. It's dark and Cam's voice is worming in from outside. She must be blocking the door. I get into position to roll.

“Not tonight. I'm not in the mood.”

“You're always in the mood, baby. Can't resist this.” Cameron laughs. It's throaty, sounding like he's working up a hawker, and I'd like to strangle that noise inside him, not out of him. I want him to hear the way he sounds to me.

“Cam, fuck off! I ain't having this shit tonight. It's been a long fucking . . .” The slap sounds as if he's hit her flush in the cheek, wet and fleshy. She doesn't finish.

“I don't give a fuck! Boo fucking hoo. You had to work. I did, too. Now let me in.”

I roll my legs over the side of the bed and slide my feet into my sneakers. I don't know why. I'm not going anywhere, especially not outside. I'd only
like
to strangle him, not actually do it.

“Go away.”

“What, you got someone else in there?”

I stand and push back my door. It's like I'm in someone else's body, because this is not me. Ever since the first time I can remember my dad going after her, pulling her hair down to the floor, where she became eye-level with me, I've frozen. Then, I just couldn't understand why he'd want her in
that position. Now, after seven years with him and a dozen or so of her boyfriends, I understand all too well.

“No, no one else is in here. Just Tony, and he's sleeping.”

“Sleepin'? That little bitch is taking a nap. Let me wake his ass up.”

My insides tighten, and I grab the doorframe. What the fuck am I doing? I look into the hall. My mom's standing in the doorway, and her face is drawn, eyes puffy. She's spent. This fucker needs to leave because she doesn't have anything left to fight with. But between her and my pussy ass, what can we do? She holds up her hands. “Cameron, go home. Enough.”

“Yeah, yeah. Same ol' shit, ‘Yer nuthin' but a drunk.' Save it. Cuz you'll be callin', crying to me about how sorry you are.”

I step into the hall and lock my jaw, grinding my teeth. He's right, that's exactly what she does, but it doesn't mean she has to, again.

“Just go.” Her voice is a whisper.

“All right.” His feet crunch outside, and I relax. Fuck, maybe he's got more sense than I thought. Or is just too loaded to continue. I lean against the wall, and the sound of him hitting her, like someone slapping down beer cans, brings me back to standing. His hands fly through the open door, and my mom grabs the frame to keep from falling. He catches her square in the eye with a fist, and she goes down on her side. I'm down the hall in five steps. She's trying to stand, and he's on the steps grabbing her legs.

“No!” I can't stop myself. Here I am, out of my room, not fantasizing, but about to enter the mix.

Both of them freeze and look at me, my mother's eyes wide, her mouth bleeding and hanging open. Cameron's forehead knots, but then he smiles. That fucking smirk pulls
across his face. “Woo hoo. Big man steppin' up. All right!”

I look at my mother, her bloody face, spit and snot dribbling out her mouth and nose. I've seen this image so many times that it's left me numb. I know it's wrong, but she looks pathetic to me, lying on the ground again, helpless. Cameron laughs, and I look up, into his eyes. They're sinister, like something from a nightmare, and I feel again. First fear and then panic. My mother's not helpless, he's just fucking evil, and now that I'm standing up to him, for her, I can't go down as easily.

I rush to the door, and he slips, trying to react. I pull my mother's legs inside and then slam the door in place. I lock it just as he grabs the handle, but the door is secure, so he pounds on the thin metal.

“You fucking pussy. Get yer ass out here. I'll fuck you up real good. Then I'll fuck yer mother.” He laughs again and pounds some more.

Again, I want to strangle his words in his throat. I help my mother up and move her to the couch. Cameron's still pounding and screaming. This is nothing like my fantasy. My head spins, but I go to the bathroom and wet a washcloth. I bring it back and hand it to my mom.