13. Zepp

THIRTEEN

zepp

The next morning, I dropped Monroe at the entrance of the trailer park because she asked me not to take her at her house. She got off the bike and dragged the toe of her boot over the ground, leaving a line in the dirt.

"Thanks. For." Another swipe of her foot. "You know."

"Yeah."

Her gaze met mine for a moment before she turned and started walking away.

I waited until she made it halfway down the dirt path before I took off on my bike, speeding past her, then swinging into Wolf's drive. His dad was on the porch, pouring out food for the stray cats in the neighborhood.

"Hey, son." He straightened, taking his Bible from the porch railing and tucking it underneath his arm.

"Hey, Mr. Brookes."

"How's your brother?"

"Good."

One of the cats jumped up through the porch spindles, slinking around Mr. Brookes' ankle. He bent down to stroke its back. "About to leave for church. If you wanna go?"

Any time I showed up on a Sunday, he'd ask me, and every time I would say, "Maybe next time."

"A'ight then." He patted my back before he started down the steps to his car, then I slipped inside Wolf's trailer.

Out of all of us, Wolf had the closest to what I would call a home. Frilly curtains framed the windows, and a floral area rug spread out in front of the sofa. Knick knacks covered the shelves of the entertainment center. His dad hadn't changed a thing since Wolf's mom had died from cancer a year ago. And I got it. I hadn't even opened the door to my mom's room.

"Where you at, Wolf?" I shouted across the trailer.

"Getting food." A cabinet door closed. Wolf shuffled into the living room with a half-gallon of milk and a box of Fruity Pebbles. He sank onto the couch, cradling the milk while he shoved his hand inside the cereal box. "You took Monroe home?"

That would be the only reason I was on this side of town so early. "Yeah."

He tossed the plastic milk cap to the table, then lifted the container to his lips and chugged. "Shit's fucked up, dude."

And it was. It really fucking was. I expected a lot out of Barrington kids, but what happened Friday night took them from being rich pricks to absolutely worthless pieces of shit. I fell back onto the recliner in the corner of the room, swiping a hand down my face.

"You worried you're gonna get arrested?"

"No." Honestly, I didn't care if I did.

Monroe wouldn't have stood a chance at getting that son-of-a-bitch arrested, and if my beating the shit out of him was all she got, well, it was better than nothing.

"Too bad you didn't kill him." Wolf shoved another fistful of cereal into his mouth before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV, flipping to the NFL previews. And I sat there, zoned out, half paying attention because all I could think about was Monroe.

I stayed at Wolf's until dinner. His dad heated up some Hungry Mans and made me say the blessing. After we'd eaten, I went by my house, grabbed my baseball bat, headed to the junkyard on the south side, and scaled the fence.

It had been months since I had come here, months since I had needed an outlet. For a while, after my mom had died, I'd made this a nightly stop, beating and bashing up old cars, taking out my anger with each swing of my bat. And while I had tried to get every ounce of rage out of my system when I took this bat to Harford, it hadn't been enough.

I made my way through the heaps of scrap metal and rusted appliances. The distant whoosh of cars on the interstate sounded like some inner-city crash of waves, but it did little to soothe the tension coiled in my muscles. With each step over the littered ground, my grip on the bat tightened. Over the past few days, guilt had mixed with the constant stream of anger that hummed through my veins. Guilt because I felt I unintentionally had a part to play in everything that had happened to Monroe. I couldn't help but think I'd set in motion a chain reaction, some screwed up domino effect that ended with Harford slipping that drug into her drink. I pulled the bat back over my shoulder and swung at the fender of an old Ford truck. The wood cracked against the metal, the impact vibrating up my arms. I aimed, then took another swing. How much of what happened was about Harford hating me, hating that Leah had a fling with me? I had no doubts that his selfishness and wanting to piss me off was a driving force.

The windshield shattered underneath the bat, cubes of glass scattering the ground. With each whack, I swung harder and blamed myself more until sweat covered my brow and my damp shirt clung to my skin like cellophane. I thought laying claim to her would protect her, and in turn, I had set things in motion that ruined her.

I was just as toxic as the city of Dayton. And I didn't know how to fix it.

My shoulder ached the next morning from swinging that damn bat, which made it a pain in the ass to turn my bike around the sharp corner that led to the school.

Wolf stood outside the front doors, smirking at the phone in his hand. "Dude," he turned his device around. I skimmed the headline about the Barrington Star Football Player, Victim of Gang Violence. "Gang violence?" Wolf cackled before cramming his phone in his back pocket. "That's hilarious. You're a gang now, Zepp."

He gave me a congratulatory whack to the back when we started through the entrance. I had threatened Max within an inch of his life if he so much as hinted to the cops it was me. And for once, the dipshit must have listened.

Wolf and I parted ways, and I went straight to Monroe's locker, waiting against the metal door while the guy on the other side of her door shuffled through his books. I searched the crowded hallways for Monroe's red hair until the tardy bell rang. Locker doors clanged shut, and the lull of conversation fell silent when kids shot off to their first classes. I sent a text to Monroe: U not coming to school?

The whoosh of the toilet in the girls' bathroom echoed through the empty hall. "I heard the entire thing all started over her sleeping with their quarterback," a girl's voice drifted from the restroom.

I moved away from Monroe's locker, shifting closer to the open doorway. "She's dating Zepp…" another girl's voice floated into the hall.

"Please, Courtney. Zepp Hunt doesn't date girls."

"I heard those Barrington guys do some pretty shitty things to Dayton girls—" The roar of the hand dryer cut into their conversation.

My jaw tensed while a helpless, sinking feeling crept through my chest. There was nothing I could have done to change this. The rumble of the dryer cut off.

"Come on. Like you said, she's screwing around with Zepp Hunt. She has to be a whore."

It was like someone had doused my body in gasoline and threw a match. By the time they rounded the divider that kept people from seeing into the restroom, I could feel the veins in my forehead pulsing.

"Who would drug a slut?" The girl froze, her mouth still open when both girls stepped into the hallway. The shorter of the two clutched at her friend, eyes wide and cheeks stark white. "I uh…"

"Need to learn when to shut your fucking mouth!"

They both jumped when I slammed my fist against the locker, leaving a dent in the metal before I turned and headed to my class.

Monroe: No

And God, was I glad she wasn't coming. At least it would give me a day to get the dumbasses in this school straightened out.