Page 47 of Twisted Lies

Chapter 22

Astrid

All day Saturday, I’m pumped with excitement and can barely wait for curfew. But I’m not the only one excited to run out of here. Roni is pulling a tight-knit dress over her curves and then checks her makeup in the mirror on the closet door. She fluffs up her curls then applies her favorite nude lipstick. Roni turns side to side, smiling at her reflection in the mirror while I pull on my oldest jeans and rattiest T-shirt.

“Got big plans tonight?” I smile, “Need a condom?”

Roni scoffs. “Don’t be rude.” She looks at the door and then whispers, “Do you have any?”

I nod and pull out the desk drawer, yanking them out of a makeup bag where I hid them. Grinning, I hand her two. “Just in case you’re double lucky.”

Roni giggles, shoving them into her bag. “We’re going to the seashore to hang out.” Her eyes light up like July fireworks over the water. “He asked me to go.”

I get how she feels, but I don’t dwell on the fact that Bryce hasn’t mentioned our date yet. Roni is happy, and that’s what matters as she squeezes her feet into a pair of pumps. I hope I look that happy when it’s my turn. Terri and Roni couldn’t be more perfect together. She needs a partner to boss around.

“You off to do whatever it is that you do in the hood?” she asks.

“The hood is my home.” I grin as I pull on an old but warm corduroy jacket. “Good luck tonight.”

“We’re past luck,” she smirks, “It’s time to do this thing and get it right.”

We slip out through the basement, heading off in different directions. I walk my bike toward the gate but can’t help but feel that eyes are watching me. I look around and see no one, but the back of my neck bristles as I stay in the shadows down the path that leads out. The feeling goes away once I start moving on my bike. Whoever was watching won’t be able to tail me now without being seen.

I ride down the dark street while the wind whips around my head and freezes my ears. The heaviness I feel leaves me the farther I ride away from the school gates. Without holding the handlebars, I sit back on the seat and let the momentum take me back to Weymouth. The town I’m so desperate to leave has become my haven.

At the bottom of the hill, I have to put my back into it as I peddle up the incline toward my old high school. Monarch Academy is situated on top of the only hill in Weymouth and is a reminder of an experiment that failed. It was a charter school aimed at helping kids who wanted a better life, but the school didn’t consider the lives the kids had at home. The single-parent households with too many mouths and not enough money. The parents who drank too much and earned too little, or the siblings who hadn’t gone to a charter, relying on pushing drugs for income. Abandoned by the well-meaning admins that had high hopes for their experiment, Monarch became a training ground for all the vices that exist in Weymouth.

The decaying brick building bears a distant resemblance to Stonehaven. The connection is evident as I ride toward the school. I hadn’t noticed the similarities before today. It’s built of the same red brick and has four columns, now covered in graffiti. I circle around the building, following the shouts and the sound of breaking glass. I enter the playground, which isn’t an actual playground but an old tennis court. The net was stolen long ago, and the concrete pavement cracked. The tennis rackets once supplied by the school were probably pawned off or used as weapons.

I chain my bike to the chain-link fence and walk toward the fire lit on the court. The white furniture from the Pit circles the makeshift ring. An old glass jar filled with bills sits on the ground as two guys circle each other, throwing out jabs. The firelight casts shadows across their sweaty faces while a small crowd of spectators sits near the fire for warmth. I glance over at the fire, which is raging, and notice that Bryce’s old chair supplies the warmth.

Derick jumps up and down, egging on the fighters, telling them to flatten some faces ’cause people paid for a show.

Nova laughs at her cousin’s antics but stops as I walk up. “Hey, Rich Bitch,” she says.

I shake my head. “Don’t start, or we’ll be in the ring next.” I cock my head in the fighters’ direction. “No gear?”

“We don’t fight with gloves,” she replies, “You know that.”

“Not even wraps?” I ask.

“Bare-fisted, that is the rule. Unless your opponent has the same gear, and since most don’t…”

She stops talking as the taller guy plows his fist into his opponent’s mouth. The kid’s head snaps back, and I can hear a sickening crunch. The kid staggers back a few steps but stays on his feet while the tall guy waits and watches for him to plant his face in the concrete. The kid rates applause because he shakes off the pain and goes back in for more.

“You’re burning the furniture?” I ask.

Nova shrugs. “We didn’t need all of it.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I turn as Wyatt approaches me. My eyes stay on him even when someone screams behind me. He’s wearing faded jeans and a plain navy T-shirt under a lined denim jacket. He stands on the other side of me, and I wonder why I even think about Bryce.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” I tell him, “No Pit tonight?”

“Nova called,” he replies, “Not as much money, but I don’t have to split it either.”

We stop talking and watch the fight as the taller guy finally overtakes the kid. The kid is on the ground, sucking in air hard and fast as he holds his stomach in. Derick steps forward, holding out a hand to keep the taller guy back as he advises the kid to stay put.

“Take the jar, man,” Derick speaks to the taller guy, “You won it.”

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