Page 1 of Pretty Broken Things

ChapterOne

Ford

Senior Year of High School

Sweat streamsdown my neck as I pull my helmet off. Every muscle in my body quivers with exhaustion after two weeks of grueling two-a-day practices. The end is in sight, and not just of the hellish pre-season schedule. Senior year starts Monday, and thus begins the countdown for when I can walk away from Jefferson Park forever.

Once I’m gone, I’ll never step foot into the two bedroom single wide I live in with my parents. No longer will I have to fall asleep with my music blasting through my earbuds to drown out the latest battle raging between my parents through the paper thin walls. Not that it’s been much of a problem lately since my mom rarely comes home anymore. Not that I blame her for escaping the constant threat of violence that hangs over our heads living under the same roof as Lyle Shaw. It’s hard not to feel abandoned though, because while she’s found a way out, I’m still trapped. I guess she figures that at six-four and over two hundred pounds of muscle, I can take care of myself. Physical strength doesn’t mean I’m emotionally capable of being constantly on guard, but then neither of my parents have ever paid much attention to how I’m feeling.

Most of the time my dad doesn’t even notice my mom isn’t around as much. He’s fallen so deep inside the bottle, I doubt he’s had a lucid moment in weeks. It’s only when the booze runs dry and his stomach rolls from hunger instead of alcohol poisoning that he realizes she’s not around. God forbid his highness should have to make his own food. Instead, somehow it falls on me to keep the most useless human being on the planet alive. A job I let slip a little more each day I’m left alone with him.

I’d have left on my eighteenth birthday last month if I could have found a job that wouldn’t interfere with school and football. I can’t be shortsighted about this though because when I leave here, I intend to stay gone. To do that I need an education. My dad chose the quick and easy way out when he started butting heads with my grandpa. He got a job at a factory and dropped out of school. Without an education his only option for escape became a steady diet of booze and pills. That will never be me. If I have to survive nine more months of this nightmare to ensure I’ll never again have to live in a home that reeks of cigarettes and stale beer, I’ll just have to keep my head down, and stay focused. Anything to guarantee I won’t remain trapped in Jefferson Park.

Coach Frank blows his whistle and releases us from our last practice of the summer. My best friend Shane whoops as he runs off the field. He tucks his helmet under his arm and shakes out his sweat drenched hair once he’s next to me, throwing droplets on my face and arms.

I use my jersey to try and scrub it away, but it is as soaked as my skin. “Fuck man, can you keep your funk to yourself?”

He smiles his toothpaste commercial worthy smile and his pretty boy dimples come out to play. Shane might look like a carefree fuckboy and even plays the part when it suits him, but inside his darkness matches mine. I doubt we’d have been friends since kindergarten if it didn’t.

He craves chaos and destruction, he just does it with a smile. Anyone is fair game when he’s in a mood, even me. Only, when he comes at me, I usually give it right back to him.

“You’re as filthy as I am. How could you possibly tell the difference?” he asks me.

Isn’t that the million dollar question. He’s not wrong. We’re all drenched in sweat, with bits of grass and streaks of dirt stuck to any exposed skin. You’d think him showering me with a bit of his perspiration would get lost in the filth covering my skin, but when you’re fighting not to drown it only takes a single drop to push you the rest of the way down.

When I don’t speak and only continue to glare, the fake smile falls off his face and he nods. “So it’s one of those days?”

That’s the beauty of a friendship like ours. I don’t need to find the words to explain that my mom stayed out again last night, or that my dad flew into a rage during the few moments he had between blackouts because his dinner didn’t miraculously appear in front of him. Shane gets it, because in Jefferson Park having normal parents is the anomaly.

He slaps my shoulder pad, a look of resolve hardening his carefree façade. “Let’s get cleaned up and get drunk.” This is the real Shane, the one ready to wade into battle to have my back. The guy willing to piss me off just to make me feel, because we both know I’m one tragedy away from disappearing into a version of myself I don’t like very much.

“Fuck yes,” I sigh in relief. Is it hypocritical of me to bury my problems with alcohol while criticizing my dad for doing the same? Probably, but ask me if I care. The answer is no I fucking don’t.

The only person affected when I get drunk is me. It’s my head hanging in the bowl worshipping the porcelain god. There’s no kid with a grumbling stomach wishing someone would notice and make something to eat. No wife wringing her hands nearby hoping this time the drink makes him sleepy not angry. Not that I let myself go that far. I’m paranoid enough about becoming an alcoholic like Lyle that it’s rare for me to get drunk. Also, I need to be alert most of the time so getting drunk isn’t the goal. Not tonight though. This shit festering inside of me needs a release valve, or I’ll lose it.

* * *

Jefferson Park is lessthan twenty miles away from Playa Pacifica, but for most of us it might as well be on a different planet. Jefferson Park, or justthe Parkas we call it, consists of one main road through town. There are three stoplights slowing your way out of town, there’s a post office inside the grocery store, a gas station, and a bar. The sidewalks are cracked with clumps of weeds pushing through, and the roads are covered in potholes. Not that they’re used enough for anyone to notice. There’s more cars up on blocks than there are on the street, in front of homes also up on blocks.

As a child it was all I knew. My family isn’t the type to take a trip for fun. We never took a vacation, or even went to the beach. The California coastline is less than an hour away with traffic, and I never went there until Shane and I were old enough to drive. We knew Playa was different, but knowing and seeing are too different things. Somehow we’d pushed it out of our minds until we were able to face it. Too bad we didn’t get to take Ocean Bluff at our own speed as well.

One very important thing the Park doesn’t have that the other communities do are schools. We are all bused one town over. Ocean Bluff is an affluent suburb of Playa. The rich pricks there never fail to remind us which side of the tracks we belong on. Even being the stars of the football team doesn’t earn Shane or I any respect. The opposite actually, because of us two privileged assholes have been relegated to second string, ensuring they won’t get a chance at a scholarship that they don’t actually need.

At home in the Park we have our own cliques and rivalries, but the moment we step foot on campus we are united. Whatever our issues are on our turf, at school we eat together and sit together in class. Those of us lucky enough to have a working vehicle and enough gas money to drive it, park in a cluster in the back lot.

That’s exactly where we find a group of rich bitches loitering. While the guys might be threatened by my existence, the girls are thirsty for a chance to ride my dick. Being used as some kind of bad boy carnival ride is just as insulting, but at least I get to come.

Contessa James, apt name for a royal bitch, stands next to my truck tapping her foot as if I made her wait when I wasn’t even fucking expecting her. She turns to her friends, and says something I can’t hear, but whatever it was has her friends walking away without her.

Once they’re gone, she looks down her nose at me, and I try hard not to notice the light dusting of freckles barely peeking through her golden tan. I sure as hell don’t let myself appreciate her perky tits that would fit completely in my hands, or the sliver of her stomach I can see above the tiny cut offs she’s wearing. Not once do I picture what it would feel like to have her toned thighs wrapped around me while I thrust inside of her.

Nope, the Countess of Ocean Bluff doesn’t do shit for me. Yeah, I’m a fucking liar, but bet your ass I can make her feel as small as she works to make everyone else feel. I don’t give a shit how hot she is, I’ve got standards. I mean it’s pretty much only not to fuck Tessa, but everyone has to start somewhere.

She snaps her fingers in my face, and just like that I remember why she’s the one queen bee at this school I’ve vowed to never touch.

“You’re blocking my door,” I say to her in the most bored tone I can manage.

Her upper lip curls, marring the bitable curve of her cupid’s bow. “Believe me, I’d rather be anywhere else, but unfortunately I need to talk to you.”

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