Shattered Soul (8 page)

He dug in his pocket for his pack as Miranda slid
herself up on the banister beside him, looking a little less than
graceful. Must be Trip’s night; now if he fucked up while talking
to her she was so drunk she wouldn’t even remember.

Trip handed her a cigarette and flicked his lighter,
holding out the flame to her. I grinned at the two of them, feeling
proud of my boy for his smooth move.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Trip slipped his lighter back into his
pocket.

Joe nodded at me and hopped off the rail. “I only got
a bowl, but you wanna smoke?”

My eyes shifted to Trip and then back to Joe before I
answered. “Sure.”

“You guys?” he offered.

“Nah,” Trip replied.

“I’m cool,” Miranda said, her eyes moving back to
Trip as her plump lips sprung into a little grin.

“All right.” Joe started down the wooden steps, I
followed.

“So, what’s up?” I heard Miranda ask Trip as we
walked out into the darkened yard towards the side of the house. I
heard Trip reply, but it was muffled and I couldn’t make out his
words.

Once Joe and I reached the side of the house, he
pulled a glass pipe from his pocket and a cellophane with a nugget
of weed inside. I dug in my pocket for my lighter and flicked it,
creating a flame for him to see by.

“You all right, man? Your face looks pretty tore up,”
Joe asked.

Joe was a nice guy. I’d never had any problems with
him, but that didn’t mean I was going to spill my life story to
him.

“I’m fine,” I said and a long silence passed between
us when I didn’t elaborate any as he continued to pack the
bowl.

“Here, you deserve greens tonight,” he insisted,
handing me the heaping bowl.

I touched the cool glass to my lips and flicked my
lighter. A sizzling filled my ears as the weed burned and the
smoke, bursting with THC, clouded my lungs. I passed the bowl and
exhaled a mushroom cloud of smoke, which left a fresh green taste
in my mouth. It was definitely not what I’d sold him.

“That’s some good shit, man,” I complimented.

“Right?” He exhaled and passed it back to me. “It’s
floatin’ around, but the price is pretty steep.”

I nodded and took another hit.

We stood at the side of the house holding a typical
chit-chat conversation as we continued to pass the bowl back and
forth. It wasn’t long before someone sniffed us out with high hopes
of joining in.

“What’s up? You guys over here holding out on me?”
Matt Hinson, a short, skinny guy with a mop of dark, curly hair
asked.

My gaze shifted to Joe. A smile twitched at the
corners of my mouth, Joe didn’t seem too happy to see Matt. I tried
not to smirk as reasons why filled my head. In the end I settled on
one, not a thought, but a fact. Matt Hinson was nothing but a free
loader. Something Joe obviously knew.

Matt walked to stand beside us, his eyes zeroing in
on the bowl, a goofy grin stretched across his face. Joe passed the
bowl to me without acknowledging Matt in the slightest. I hit it.
When I was done, Matt held out a hand for me to pass it to him. I
smiled and handed it back to Joe, it wasn’t my weed to decide who
got to smoke.

“I think it’s about beat, man. You good or you want
more?” Joe asked me, smacking his bowl in the palm of his hand to
empty it.

I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.”

And I was, my mind felt fuzzy and I had the whole
fish-eye thing going, the distorted vision of being inside a glass
fish bowl.

“Cool,” Joe said shoving his bowl back into his
pocket.

“Awe come on, man,” Matt whined. “That’s messed
up.”

“No. What’s messed up is how you still owe me from
the last bag I fronted you and for the joint from the other day.”
Joe walked away.

I put my hands in my pockets and walked back towards
the front porch with him, leaving Matt standing in the dark. Trip
still sat perched up on the rail with Miranda beside him when we
came around front. They were lost in conversation.

The rest of the night went smoothly. Trip and Miranda
got quite cozy, though I doubted she’d remember how cozy come
Monday, but Trip certainly would. Sidney found some other guy to
bump and grind with, forgetting about me completely.

I only had a few complaints about the night. One
being my throbbing rib cage and face, a constant reminder of how my
night had started. And two, the simple fact Ali wasn’t beside me
enjoying the night, too.

I spent my entire Sunday at Trip’s house, hiding out
in his room from his parents. Which was fine with me, I spent the
majority of the day sleeping. I finally made myself start home
around ten that night.

The car sat in the driveway. I cringed inside as soon
as I saw it, my hopes of Calvin not being home deflating inside of
me like a popped balloon. I sauntered towards the front door,
grateful for the porch light being off, and stood in the safety of
the darkness, gathering my nerve to open the door.

Finally, I took in one last deep breath and turned
the knob.

The living room light blinded me while my eyes
adjusted. A heavy smell of burning cigarettes filled my nose as I
closed the door behind me. I made a beeline towards the hall, head
down, my body cutting through the thick haze of smoke.

Calvin chuckled at me from where he sat on the couch.
I didn’t have to be looking at him to picture the shit-eating grin
smeared across his face. I made it down the hall, thankfully
without giving my brother even the tiniest bit of reason to come
after me. Once I got to my room, I locked the door behind me and
went straight for my tin box. I packed up my trusty bowl and
sprawled across my bed.

I woke the next morning to shouting coming from the
living room. I was still completely dressed—all except for my
shoes, which I must have kicked off at some point. My assed bowl
still sat in my hand, its ashes sprinkled across my comforter.

“Damn it, Calvin! I’ve told you not to bring that
shit into my house!” Mom shouted.

My eyes popped open completely at the sound of her
tone; she was pissed. I glanced at the alarm clock, it was 6:17
a.m.

“Mom, chill! I didn’t, there isn’t anything here!”
Calvin blubbered in response.

“You mean, there isn’t any left! There’s a
difference,” she corrected.

I smiled, imagining the look on Calvin’s face. I sat
up in bed, waiting for any response he might give to that or for
anything else my mother might add, but the next thing I heard
wasn’t words. It was the slamming of the refrigerator door and
stomping feet headed towards the hall.

Mom’s angry footsteps. I knew this the same way I
knew it hadn’t been orange juice she’d grabbed from the fridge, but
rum. This argument happened every few weeks now. Maybe it was my
mother’s way of showing she did care about what happened to Calvin
and me, or else it was her way of showing us she hated the way
things were.

Whichever reason was true didn’t matter, because just
like all the others before, this little spat wouldn’t change a
thing. Mom would still go to her room and down half a bottle of rum
for breakfast while Calvin snorted his last few lines so Mom
wouldn’t find them.

God, my life was fucked up.

I grabbed some clean clothes and headed to the
bathroom for a shower. I made the water as hot as I could stand and
let it pound me in the back until it ran cold. When I stepped out,
I toweled myself off gently and stood staring at my reflection in
the mirror above the sink.

The swelling in my left eye had gone down, leaving
behind one hell of a shiner. My lip was still fat with a split on
one side and a nasty bruise now lined my jaw. As for my rib, it was
bruised and sore to the touch, but I was positive it wasn’t broken
or fractured because it didn’t hurt to breathe.

I pulled on my clothes and grabbed up my dirty ones
from the floor.

“About damn time!” Calvin shouted, rushing past me
and into the bathroom the second I opened the door.

I didn’t respond. It would be a while before I spoke
to him again, if I could help it.

I tossed my dirty clothes in the corner of my room
and sat at the edge of my bed to pull my shoes on. I snatched my
books off my dresser and walked to the living room in search of my
morning cigarette.

“Damn, you still look tore up!” Brent half laughed at
me from the kitchen, glass of water in hand, as I walked into the
living room.

“Yeah, thanks, hadn’t noticed,” I replied
sarcastically.

Jade sat on the couch, Indian style, bouncing her
knees up and down. Her skin glistened with sweat, dark circles
ringed her eyes, and her lips were chapped and blood red from
licking them too much. Telling her she looked like shit would be
giving her a compliment.

“Hey, you got a cigarette?” I asked her, hoping she
had at least one left.

Her eyes shifted to mine quickly. They were solid
black with only the tiniest hint of honey brown around the edges.
In a quick jerking motion she fumbled to grab a pack sitting on the
end table.

“H-h-here, here’s a few,” she stuttered through
grinding teeth and handed me four.

I hesitated in taking them from her, wondering how
long she’d been up for. Obviously awhile, because when someone
stutters like she did, it’s because their brain is too tired to
keep up with what’s going on anymore.

At least that’s what I always thought.

I took them from her fingers and put one to my lips.
“Since when do you smoke menthols?” I asked, realizing what she’d
handed me.

She grinned sheepishly. “I don’t, they’re Calvin’s. I
figured he owed you.”

“Oh, well in that case,” I said, taking the whole
pack from her and sliding the ones she’d given me back in
place.

I did, however, leave Calvin one where his pack had
been sitting before I left for school.

I took my time getting to school, only because I knew
from experience everyone would be asking what had happened to my
face. I wanted to avoid the stares and constant questions, along
with any sympathy or pity that might come with whatever answers I
chose to give this time, for as long as I could.

I wondered what people thought, mainly the teachers,
when they saw me with black eyes and busted lips time and time
again. Hell, they probably thought I was just some punk kid who
deserved it.

Deep down, there was a piece of me that sometimes
believed that.

I forced the thoughts from my mind and crossed the
street, heading for the smoking trees. Crowds of kids were already
crammed underneath; must have been closer to the bell than I had
realized.

I wove my way into the crowd searching for Trip, my
jaw dropped once I spotted him. Trip was standing with Miranda
Cooper! They were smoking cigarettes together and talking. I
grinned wildly, despite the shooting pain it caused in my lip.
Apparently, Miranda had remembered the other night and liked
it.

“What’s up, man?” I greeted Trip while desperately
attempting to tone down the goofy grin on my face. I nodded to
Miranda next, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, taking another drag from her
cigarette.

I pulled out one of my own and lit it.

“Nothing much,” Trip said in a smooth, normal tone
for Miranda’s sake, but I could see how ecstatic he was by looking
in his eyes. “Your girl just pulled up a second ago. She was eyeing
over here, searching for you no doubt.” Trip grinned.

My girl? Hopefully he didn’t mean Sidney. She was the
last person I wanted to see this early in the morning, especially
after Saturday night.

“Who? Sidney?” I asked.

“No.” Trip nodded to someone behind me. “Her.”

I spun around to see Ali walking towards me. My heart
picked up pace at the sight of her. She wore a pale yellow jacket,
denim shorts, and right-out-of-the-box-white Sketchers. Her blond
ponytail swayed behind her as she walked, her books cradled in her
arms, and a shy smile played at the corners of her mouth—until she
got closer and saw my face.

“Oh my god, Seth…what happened?” she asked, her pace
quickening.

“You should see the other guy,” Trip said.

I smiled. Good old Trip, always there for me no
matter what.

“It looks worse than it feels.”

“You should have seen him Saturday night,” Miranda
said, pursing her lips together while giving Ali a complete
once-over with her eyes.

Miranda almost looked disgusted by Ali. Girls, they
could be such jealous bitches sometimes. Ali, however, didn’t seem
to notice Miranda’s dirty looks at all, or if she did, she didn’t
let it show.

Ali reached out gently and touched the corner of my
left eye. Her touch felt feather light and cool against my skin,
unleashing a rush of excitement within me that settled in the pit
of my stomach,
butterflies
. I watched her
face carefully as she trailed her fingertips down my cheek and
towards my busted lip. Concern entered her gaze and she bit her
bottom lip.

“Looks like it hurts,” she muttered, pulling her
fingers away.

I took a drag off my cigarette. “Nah, I’m fine.” A
lie, I was still sore as shit, but I wasn’t about to admit it.

Our eyes remained locked for a moment and the same
little shy smile stretched across her face.

“So, did your parents say anything when you came home
Friday night?” I wondered, suddenly concerned about whether or not
she’d gotten into trouble.

“No, my mom was busy writing and my dad was glued to
the TV watching some sports show,” she said, glancing around at all
the others enjoying their morning cigarettes before the first bell
rang.

A small smirk broke free from me as I watched her
eyeballing everyone while she nervously chipped away at her pale
pink nail polish. Obviously, she wasn’t comfortable standing here
with me at the smoking trees. I didn’t blame her for being
uncomfortable, because in all honesty, she didn’t really fit
standing here.