Caegan slammed Scott against the cinderblock. Not much sound could come out of him, other than a whistle of air through a half-closed windpipe. The first time Scott tried to talk to Michelle was nothing short of a disaster, even though Caegan hadn’t been there to see it. He squeezed Scott’s biceps as he stepped closer.
“Breathe.”
Scott blinked but couldn’t quite see him. Michelle’s face still floated in front of his eyes, the wrinkle in her forehead as she wondered if Scott was going to say anything or just stare over her shoulder. Caegan gave Scott another shake.
“Close your eyes. And breathe.”
Scott ducked his head, shrinking away even though Theresa was more likely to lay hands on him than his own parents were. Caegan tightened his grip again, counting to three, and then relaxed his fingers for the same three-count. The words stay behind his lips, but he wills them to reach Scott.
Breathe, Alex.
Scott’s head dropped to his shoulder as he groaned. Chest to chest, Scott leaned into Caegan. Pulled in like a magnet, or gravity. Tightening and relaxing his hold, Caegan coaxed Scott’s breathing to something closer to normal. Scott started to slouch, and Caegan wrapped his arms around Scott’s shoulders. His lips brushed the side of Scott’s head. Scott’s arms found their way around his waist, squeezing tight for several long seconds before pushing him away.
“I don’t want to go back inside.” Scott’s face wrinkled at the too-bright world and the thought of crossing paths with Michelle again before the day was through. “Do I have to?”
“Sleep it off.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Whatever.” Caegan shrugged, eyeing Scott. “You manage?”
“I’m fine.”
Scott looked away, which meant he wasn’t fine. But he wanted to be alone, and Caegan was fine with that.
“You sure it’s cool?”
Caegan made a sound at the back of his throat that almost could have been a laugh, but the corner of his mouth turned down. He checked his watch and shook his head.
“That bitch won’t be there.”
He doubted he would see Theresa before the next evening. Not that he minded. She would go easier on Scott out of the two of them, but no one should have to deal with her in the first place. He smirked, slipping his hands into his pockets as he started walking backwards.
“Don’t fucking drool all over the pillow like a baby, or else I’ll make you wash all the laundry.”
Scott flipped him off and headed toward the end of the alley. Caegan turned to go inside, but he wasn’t going back to class. There were more gaps than books on the library shelves—not that there were more than five rows to look through. Caegan took a table off to the side, dropping Scott’s backpack on its surface. He fished out the packet of pre-calc problems he hadn’t done since the last test. The math was easy, but reading for Ms. Hilgarten’s lit class was a chore. Caegan scanned the pages for periods, backtracking to find a relevant subject and verb and maybe a few phrases for it to make sense. The rest was the same as when Skylar kept on the phone for an hour after she’d already said she was fine.
By the time he’s halfway through it, the only word he can think of is self-indulgent. Not just the story itself, but all the characters. The sort of gratuitous ass-kissing that people did to try and stay in a rich person’s good graces—but these people were already rich. They had no one to please, and could do as they pleased, but they couldn’t please themselves. Caegan would have pitied them, if they weren’t totally disconnected from reality, absorbed in their own self-importance. Old Man Moses had more sense than they did.
When he started getting raw around the edges, too hot for his own liking, he ducked into the storage closet near the cafeteria. Plenty of places to hide a hit, especially when it just looked like the janitor had a sweet tooth. Besides, none of the teachers cared about the custodial staff, unless they locked their own asses out of their classrooms or there was a leak over their desk. Not like the jans could do anything about the leaks. Custodians gave about as much of a shit about being here as anyone else, but a little friendliness could go a long way if you knew who to talk to. Caegan swallowed three pills and sauntered back to the alley.
Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.
Probably the shortest sentence in the whole rambling charade of love or friendship or whatever the fuck else Ms. Hilgarten expected them to write about in their essays. It was the type of line that was supposed to sound like some sort of God-given wisdom. Except God didn’t give a shit. But he thinks it over anyway, this line that somehow sticks like the trunk on Ms. L’s car. Infinite hope didn’t interest him. That was the sort of bullshit that church people promised. Besides, nothing lasts forever.
Reserving judgement? There was meat on that bone. Maybe it had come in the first few lines because it was a warning of sorts. Before you judge this story and the people in it… Because it could mean keeping his opinion to himself, or it could mean not making an opinion at all. Thing was, everyone had an opinion, even if it was what they’d been spoon-fed their whole lives. Most people didn’t want to decide, they wanted their decisions made for them so they didn’t have to think too hard.
The whole book was about cowardice, just like the one they’d read last year—the one about the firefighter who started fires. People who wanted to pretend they were better or worse than whatever they actually were. Anything to escape their own insignificance. Maybe that was their infinite hope, after all, that they would be remembered. And when life could be as shitty as it was, this side of the Yellow Line and closer to the Red, who could blame them?
The next time Scott tried talking to Michelle, he actually managed to keep his head. Wearing his favorite red Armani polo—the slim-fit one with the lion stitched in black—that helped. So did his True Religion jeans. Dark-wash, because that’s what you wore when you were about it. Scott was serious, but he was still nervous as hell. The fact that him and Michelle had been texting back and forth might have helped, if he wasn’t also panicked about not sounding as smooth or smart as he seemed. A few messages here and there had turned into steady conversations, usually until Scott fell asleep with his thumb against the screen. Scott didn’t have to worry though—it was impossible for him to lie, and Michelle knew it.
Scott had kept his brush in the palm of his hand all morning, moving the bristles from the crown of his head to his temples or to the nape of his neck. Even in the shitty school lighting, he looked good. Borrowing one of Caegan’s tactics, he slipped his hands into his pockets. He didn’t slouch, but he looked relaxed. Mostly.
“Michelle. Hi.”
“Hey Sweets.”
A few lockers behind Michelle, Caegan caught Scott’s eye and gave him a nod. Scott managed to keep his feet in place. It didn’t take much to make Scott smile, and he was back on his game the second he saw the smile on Michelle’s face.
“Can we talk?”
“Not here.”
Michelle took his arm and tugged him toward the stairwell. The doors were supposed to stay propped open during school hours, but they were just as likely to be shut for any number of reasons. Private conversations were usually near the top of the list, along with other activities that didn’t require much talking. Caegan slipped in behind them, standing underneath the stairs while they paused on the landing. Scott couldn’t see him, but Scott still knew he was there.
“I’m sorry.” Scott shuffled, his voice sounding small and soft against the metal handrails and cement steps. “About before.”
“It’s nothing, you don’t have to apologize.” A pause that could hold a smile or a tilt of the head. “No one’s ever done that before though.”
“Done what?”
“Been nervous to talk to me.” Michelle’s laugh is quiet and confident. “It was cute, kind of flattering. That sounds mean, but I’m not making fun—”
“I didn’t want to be gross. I mean, I know we—”
“Parties don’t count.”
Michelle let the words slip out quick, taking no argument. But she didn’t sound mad when she said it—and if the past few weeks were anything to go by, she wasn’t just leading Scott on. Caegan hadn’t asked to see every other text, but Scott showed him anyway. And if he wasn’t talking to Michelle, he was talking about her. Michelle probably knew that, too.
“Oh.” Scott was silent for a few moments, shuffling to the side. “I’m—I’m sorry if I—”
“Are you sorry you kissed me?”
“No, but—maybe we should have talked more first?”
“Depending on who you talk to, talking’s overrated.”
“Well…” Scott shuffled again, his voice still soft and shy—but sincere, as always. “Can we start over?”
“It’s almost five minutes past the late bell, you know.”
“Oh—” Caegan didn’t have to see Scott to know the way his brow wrinkled as he blinked, retracing the conversation and deciding that it was okay to say what he was thinking. “Maybe next time?”
Michelle laughed, and they moved a few steps up the landing.
“Or we could just talk now.”
Caegan heard the links on the chain strap of her purse clink as she sat down. Scott sat a few steps closer to the landing, facing her. Caegan doubted they would do more than talk, but Scott was good at talking.
“You’re sure?”
“Cutting study hall isn’t a big deal.” Michelle shrugged. “I can do homework later.”
“So you don’t think talking is overrated?”
“Talk is cheap, from some people. They only say what they think you want to hear, or they just like the sound of their own voice. But you’re not like that.”
“I get in trouble for talking to Cae all the time.” Scott smiled. “Probably because I talk in class, and I’m not good at paying attention.”
“Yeah you are.”
“I have no idea what we talked about in class and that wasn’t even an hour ago. Something about a war, but history is always about starting and ending wars.”
“People always fighting about something.”
“Sometimes people have a good reason.”
“You think so?”
Scott must have nodded, but he didn’t say anything at first. Michelle nudges him a few moments later, drawing Scott out of his thoughts.
“You don’t look convinced.”
“If all the wars in the world are because of the things people care about, maybe they don’t care about the right things. I mean, it shouldn’t mean so many people have to die, right? Sorry—that’s really depressing. History makes me really sad sometimes.”
“It can be. I have a better question for you though—what’s Mrs. Leeland’s favorite color?”
“Dark green.” Scott says it immediately, shifting as he talks. “And she wears a lot of gold. Like, it’s probably not real gold because that shit’s expensive, but you know—gold-colored things. It looks really good on her.”
“She’s got style. Ms. Hilgarten, on the other hand—”
“You think she would be nicer if she didn’t look like her clothes made her want to crawl out of her skin all the time?”
“Kenzie said Ms. Hilgarten doesn’t want to be a woman and that’s why she’s so mean.”
“You think she’d be nicer if she was a man?”
“I think most people are nice when they feel like they can be themselves. But some people are just mean for no reason at all.”
Before Scott could speak next, metal clanged and footsteps clambered out onto the landing.
“Well if it ain’t Caegan’s bitch.”
“Fuck off, Jon.”
Michelle and Scott said it at the same time, and Caegan could picture the mirrored scowls on their faces. Jonathan hadn’t made himself anyone’s favorite at Mesner High. Even Izzy had kept his distance lately, playing to stay in Skylar’s contacts and Caegan’s good graces. An extra fifty could go a long way. Izzy wasn’t stupid. If he wanted his side hustle to last around here, he knew which rules to play by.
“What, you giving orders now?” Jon laughed. “Trying to man up for your pretty thing here?”
“Michelle’s not anybody’s—” Scott was on his feet now, his voice rising. “And she’s not a thing. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
One of Jonathan’s shoes came into Caegan’s view as Scott shoved him back a step. Caegan stayed where he was, watching. Waiting
“It’s fine.” A side-step and Michelle’s calves came into view at the top of the lower stairs. “I’ll see you, Scott.”
“Not so fast, Shelly—cause you is pretty.”
“Jon—”
Scott and Michelle’s voices overlapped again. A warning in one and annoyance in the other, covering the sound that Caegan’s feet didn’t make on the stairs. Jonathan was too busy talking, shoving Scott out of the way while trying to keep his grip on Michelle’s arm.
“Yeah, you’re damn fine. Definitely too good-looking to be stuck with a fairy-freak like—”
Michelle sees him first, her raised eyebrows in more of an I wondered when you’d show up look instead of What are you doing here? Caegan grabs Jon by the shoulder and yanks him off balance. The uppercut smashes the rest of the insult into Jonathan’s teeth. Jon tries to elbow himself away from Caegan and keep his balance on the stairs at the same time.
Scott hurries Michelle down the stairs, leaning against the metal push-bar of the door. Michelle slips out, not a glance over her shoulder. Scott turns around in time to see Caegan shove Jonathan down the stairs. Jonathan cussing at the top of his lungs means teachers will be here any second, but the knee Caegan drops into his chest takes whatever air is left.
Caegan doesn’t usually lead with his left, but he clocks Jon a good one right beside his eye. His right fist lands on the concrete when Jon lurches underneath him. Nothing that would throw Caegan off, just a reflex of trying to curl in on himself. Fucking coward.
Shifting his weight to dig his knee into Jonathan’s diaphragm to make it harder for him to breathe, Caegan pushes the ball of his foot into Jonathan’s groin. Jon howls and Caegan’s lips turn upward. A hand slips off his elbow, fingers half-snatching at his sleeve. He lands three solid punches, using his weight to force Jonathan to stay down. Two jabs glance off Caegan’s middle, but his elbows are tucked and Jonathan doesn’t have any wiggle-room to land a good one.
Caegan’s hand closes around Jon’s neck, tightening as he ducks away from the hands behind him. He’s not done yet. He lets go of Jon’s neck and immediately drives his weight into a blow that snaps Jon’s neck to the side. The next one will turn Jon’s jaw purple in a matter of minutes. His lips are already swollen, the cuts by his eyebrow shallow but bleeding.
The grasp finally sets hold on his hoodie and Caegan lets himself be hauled back. Givens almost shakes him down, but then he sees which of his students he’s dealing with.
You really want to put your hands on me?
He doesn’t have to shout it. He doesn’t even say it out loud. His hands are still balled into fists but his breathing is steady as he leans toward the principal.
“My office.” Givens lets go of him quick, barely hiding the tremor in his arm as he straightens his tie. “Now.”
“You got worse problems.” Caegan glanced at the splatters of spit and blood on the concrete. “Send Marshall after me once you call a fucking ambulance.”
Principal Givens opens his mouth but the metal hinges squall as Wes Marshall yanks open the door, one arm stuck out to ward off everyone trying to get a view. Caegan shoved Scott through the group of onlookers. Down the hall past the cafeteria. Out into the alley.
“Cae, what’s going to happen to Jon? He had blood all over him. You don’t think he’s going to die, do you? What if—”
He grabbed Scott by the biceps. Scott didn’t shut up so much as stop breathing. Wondering if he was going to get a punch in the face, just like Jonathan. Except Scott should know better, because Caegan had never hit Scott. Givens would send Jonathan to Coach Stanley to patch up, if the Nurse Jimenez couldn’t do it.
“Breathe.”
Scott cringed under his grip, but gulped some air. Caegan’s fingers twitched as he took his own advice, but a cigarette wouldn’t calm him. By the time another handful kicked in, he would be steady enough. No use wasting what he’d need later. He wouldn’t mind finding Jonathan’s punk ass and finishing the job on his face. He gave Scott a shake and stepped back, rolling his shoulders.
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“Something a lot worse than a broken nose, if he tries to fuck with you again.”
“You broke his nose?”
Caegan smirked at Scott’s surprise. Everyone needed a reminder, once in a while, to leave him and Scott alone. Jonathan had volunteered to be this semester’s example. Caegan could make people uncomfortable enough so they backed off on their own, but he didn’t mind using his fists for the greater good.
“Maybe bruised a rib or two.” Caegan reached for his lighter and his pack. “Probably knocked out a few teeth.”
“Damn.”
“I was pissed.”
Hearing himself say the words aloud, he shrugged off the rest of the fight crawling across his skin. No sense walking through the Boutique, mobbing out if anyone looked at him crossways. The side door squealed, and Scott’s shoulders hiked near his ears. Another reason not to rumble on their way home.
“Mr. Riley.”
Scott was already spooked to shit. Caegan reminded himself of that when he turned, pulling out a smoke to keep himself steady. Something to do with his hands other than smash his knuckles against the building.
Wes Marshall didn’t fold his arms or put his hands on his hips. As far as guidance counselors went, Marshall was the total opposite of Ms. Hampton at the middle school. Gabriel got weekly lectures from Ms. Hampton, along with what he had to endure from Mrs. L. The thought tugged Caegan’s lips into a smirk as he blew out smoke through his nostrils.
“What’d I win?”
“Your choice. A week’s suspension or two weeks’ detention.”
“I’ll take detention for a thousand.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to read the fine print first?”
“Who fucking cares?”
Wes’s lips twitched, and Caegan felt his fists relax. It was nice to know he could get under Marshall’s skin, even when Marshall was trying to crack him.
You know better. You could do better.
It was in every look and line of advice Marshall gave him. And Caegan didn’t fucking care. He did what he wanted. He knew how to take what came to him and turn it into something that worked. That was what mattered.
“I’ll see you at two-thirty, then,” Marshall said. “Unless you’d prefer to meet in the morning?”
As if Marshall cared one way or the other. Caegan never slept anyway, but sending Scott to check on the Kid after school was better than trying to drag him out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn.
“Can’t wait to see what’s behind door number three.”
“Careful, Mr. Riley, or you might get three weeks’ detention instead of two.”
“Why don’t you just ask me to go steady right now?”
“I trust you won’t be late. Mr. Riley.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t forget the flowers and chocolate either.”
Marshall gave him one last look before the door clanged shut behind him. Caegan slung an arm around Scott’s shoulders and tugged him the other direction. They could take the rest of the day off. Hodgens Street, which cut through the school’s buildings and the athletic fields at an angle, ran in a not-quite-parallel to Jarvis. The school faced Leonard, which intersected with Jarvis two blocks north. Caegan headed in that direction, passing Scott a cigarette.
“Why did you have to do it though?”
“Same reason as always.” Caegan shrugged. “Anyone tries starting shit, what do I do?”
“Make sure people don’t fuck with me.”
“Exactly.”
Back side of Newport Middle School on their left. Athletic fields on their right. Bounty territory on the other side of that. Caegan slipped underneath one set of bleachers, into the shade. Scott followed him, sitting with his legs stretched out in the dust. He would have sprawled out, if it wouldn’t have meant ruining his polo.
Leonard could get dangerous south of Jarvis, and 23rd St. was always hot around Bet’s Parlor. He had half a dozen of them around the city, but the one on 23rd was where most strays ended up since it was closest to the schools. Freshman year, Caegan had choked a hunter who’d tried to jump them for Scott’s phone. Hoarse and half-conscious, the punk hadn’t made any sense when he tried to say what had happened. Caegan and Scott had been long-gone, and Scott looked just as scared now as he had after that run-in. The joke that a ghost had given the hunter a beating turned into one of those stories people liked to tell. Word to the wise, superstitious or not.
Gabriel could have been a freshman, if he hadn’t screwed around so much. Mama Lev would like them all being in the same school even less than the fact that Gabriel hung around them at all. For the afternoons when the last thing they wanted to do was sit in a desk, they could keep an eye on the Kid without having to go far. Unfortunately, that also meant Marshall knew where to find them a few hours later. Caegan let Marshall drag him back to Principal Givens’ office for their promised chat, but at least they kept it short.
Afterwards, he met up with Scott and they rounded the same corner where Caegan had watched Mrs. L. holler to hell and back, weeks before. She’d be back to her screeching if she caught Gabriel hanging around them. One street up, the school faced Keppler—the busiest street connecting Jarvis to the north and Kingston on the south side. Gabriel spotted him and Scott on the other side of the alley where buses waited to scatter their cargo across the city.
“What’s good, Kid?”
“It’s fine, I guess.” He looked like he’d just been told that he couldn’t invite anyone over for the next ten years. “School sucks. It’s so boring, but if I skip, my mom will put me on house arrest or something.”
Caegan opted for a boost instead of another smoke, but Scott elbowed him for a stub and he passed him the pack and his lighter. Gabriel pestered Scott for a shallow puff, but his nose crunched and his eyes watered. Caegan eyed him, slowly shaking his head.
“You’ll get on her good side soon enough—but not if you smell like an ashtray.”
“You mean she has a good side?” Scott asked.
Caegan smirked but checked his watch. Two seventeen. He and Scott needed to be gone in ten, if the kid was trying to avoid more trouble.
“Food would be better on house arrest,” Caegan said. “At least your mom can cook.”
“Yeah, but she’s always shoving peas or broccoli in my face,” Gabriel said. “I swear everything I eat at home is green.”
“You eat the hot food?”
Caegan raised an eyebrow, glancing at the school’s dirty bricks. Unlike Freeman Elementary over on Jarvis, it hadn’t gotten any facelifts thanks to a not-quite-accidental fire. Gabriel shrugged, following Caegan’s line of sight and then looking the other way for his mom’s Honda.
“Better than starving, right?”
“Damn,” Scott frowned. “Now I’m hungry.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes.
“You’re always hungry.”
“But you reminded me I was hungry. I wasn’t thinking about food until you started talking about it. Thanks to Jonathan, we missed lunch.”
“Jonathan?”
“Never let your mouth run too far or you might not be able to use it for a while.”
“Jon totally had it coming though.” Scott’s frown turned into a scowl, chewing on his lip. “I should’ve punched the motherfucker myself.”
“You serious? Dude, you never get pissed.” Gabriel looked at Caegan and then back to Scott. “Jon must really be a dick.”
Caegan spotted Mrs. Leverson’s rust-mobile coming around the corner and tipped his head. The kid glanced up, passing the cigarette back to Scott and waving in front of his shirt.
“See you around, Kid.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Mrs. Leverson pulled up to the curb just as Caegan and Scott turned the corner. Caegan hung back and made sure the Kid got in the car. Mama Leverson would scream her head off if he refused. Then make him walk home, and yell at him some more once he got there. Good thing the Kid lived on the north side of Jarvis, but there was no guarantee things would keep that way. Mrs. L better make it out soon.
“Let’s stop for burgers on the way back,” Scott said. “I’ll buy.”
Scott finished off his cigarette and flicked the butt into a trashcan as they passed by. They stayed on Jarvis and reached Darby’s Diner, one of Scott’s favorite places to eat. Nothing here was healthy and everything tasted good. Between the lunch and dinner rushes, guests were allowed to seat themselves. Caegan scanned the left side of the restaurant and chose the booth near the end of the row, not quite in the corner.
“Jon should keep off your back for a while. Don’t hang around waiting for me after school.”
“What about you?” Scott reached for the menu, even though he should’ve had it memorized by now. “Jon’s a rat, you know. He’ll snitch and try to get some hunters to jump you.”
Caegan didn’t reply at first. Three old men sitting two booths ahead of them, arguing pension money and politics. Yellow eyes like old pool balls locked on his. Moses made the sign of the cross and then held a finger to his lips. He could have been hushing one of the others, but Caegan knew better. A proper meal and a dozen cups of coffee worked more miracles than Father Rocci’s prayers ever could.
“He’ll try.” Caegan leaned back against cracked vinyl that was supposed to be green but didn’t quite meet the mark. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. Hunters would bust his ass before he finished asking.”
“You really think you broke his ribs?”
“Cracked them, probably.”
Outside, Jarvis was busy as usual. The blocks were brutal. You might end up dead, or at the very least you’d get hurt. Badly. Jonathan should have learned that by now. Today, Caegan made the message clear.
“Like you said, he had it coming to him.” Caegan nodded at waitress coming their way. “Few weeks’ detention is nothing, long as he stays the hell away from you.”
“Maybe he won’t be such a jackass now.”
“Small price to pay, for doing the whole school a favor.” Caegan smirked. “Eat up.”
V. H. King's Ink 
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