Page 13 of The Wrong Side of Kai
The Green McRusty isn’t in the driveway when I get home later that afternoon. It’s a good thing. It means Dad’s at work – he quit the intense cop game when we lost Mom and now strolls around Kohl’s every day as a Loss Prevention Officer – and not huddled over the dining table adding to his obsession with this dream of a trip to Ireland. I know he’s not all there anymore, so I worry about him. The new job doesn’t ask anything of him, and I wish he saw his friends more, but I don’t think he has any left. It feels like he’s cut ties with them. We have a huge extended family, but us Murphys are scattered all over the Midwest, so any visits are few and far between. I figure he’s lonely, too wrapped up in his own head to notice, until one day I’m guessing he will glance up and realize he’s pushed everyone away. Long gone are the days when he’d take Kennedy and me out for dinner and a movie every Thursday, and the nights where he’d have a poker game going with his friends in our kitchen, and the romantic weekends he’d whisk Mom away on. All of those moments are lost forever.
The house is quiet when I walk through the front door. Kennedy is cross-legged on the couch in the living room, noticeably tense, staring at a paused TV screen.
“Hey,” I say as I pass, but I come to a halt when I don’t get a reply out of her. I turn back around. “I said hey.”
“I know about the video,” Kennedy states, her tone blank. She can’t bring herself to turn around to look at me, but it’s okay because I can’t look her in the eye either. “All my friends were talking about it. They were calling you a—”
“I know,” I cut in, my heart sinking in my chest. I don’t want to hear my sister say it. I can fill in the gaps myself. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. That video was supposed to be private between Harrison and me. Did you. . . did you watch it?”
“Only the first few seconds,” she says. “I didn’t believe them, so I had to check.”
A new rage storms up inside of me, a new fury at Harrison for putting my sister through this too. She attends Westerville North – she will hear all the snickering and the gossiping, and I can’t think of anything worse than my own sister being humiliated because ofme. At least she hasn’t watched the video. The thought of her watching it. . . I shudder.
“Can you do me a favor?” I ask quietly as I sit down on the arm of the couch, bumping my knee against hers. “Talk to me about it as much as you like, but. . . please don’t mention it to Dad.”
“Like he’d hear me, anyway,” she mumbles, and I stare helplessly down at her still figure.
She knows it too: we’re both invisible to him. Talking to Dad is like throwing your words out into an empty void. No matter how raspy your voice gets, no matter how badly your lungs hurt, you can scream for all eternity and never get a response. He’s a shell of a man, like his entire heart and soul was ripped out of his chest when Mom took her last breath, leaving nothing in its place.
“Thanks,” is all I say, and I squeeze her shoulder in solidarity. A sisterly gesture to remind her that I know exactly how she feels. “And just a heads up, I’m getting Harrison back for this. So, your life lesson for the day is to never let a guy screw with you. And if he does, then you screw withhim.”
I squeeze her shoulder again and, finally, Kennedy looks up at me. “How are you going to do that?” she asks, a curious shine to her gaze.
“Haven’t figured out that part,” I admit, “but I do have some help from an outside source who seems willing to do whatever it takes.”
She groans out loud. “Oh, you’resogonna get yourself in trouble.”
“Good thing Dad doesn’t care then, huh?” I wink, and we both snicker. We’ve grown all too used to this kind of dark humor. Easier to joke around than admit that what we really want – what we need, now our mom is gone – is for our father to act like one.
“I guess this means I’ll never get to date Harrison’s brother,” she says. “Thanks for that, sis.” She heaves a sigh as she resumes watching her TV show and I roll my eyes as I head for the stairs. But not before reminding her to switch off the TV and finish her homework in five.
I feel mentally drained yet energetic at the same time. Mentally drained, because so many different thoughts have been running through my head all day, like what if some of my teachers watch that video? What if someone posts it to some porn site with a billion subscribers? What if itdoesn’tblow over and people are still making snide remarks about it until graduation? What if the video follows me all the way to college, and beyond, where I’ll forever be haunted by the fear of someone discovering it? I’ve heard the stories of heartbreak and lawsuits. I know that these throwaway moments ruin lives.
That’s why I’m buzzed on the idea of ruining Harrison’s too. He doesn’t get to do this to me and come out the other side unscathed. No, he’s going to pay, and I can’t wait to think of all the wicked, twisted ways to do it. Mess with his truck? His friends? His place on the football team? His family? So many possibilities. . . And I don’t care that payback makes me just as bad as he is. I want revenge, and I’ll do anything to get it. It’s the sweet price he’ll pay for such betrayal.
I climb the stairs, but I come to an abrupt halt on the landing. On the wall in front of me is a photo of Mom when she was a teenager. Young and beautiful, grinning into the camera with her smile that was always too wide and a hand touching the ends of her bouffant of hair, those permed curls hairsprayed into a style that she swore was cool and fashionable back in the 1980s. I look at that picture every day. Every morning when I leave my room, every evening when I come home. . . but my heart feels heavier than usual today, too heavy for my mom’s fashion fails to make me smile. I know it’s because I feel guilty. If she were here, she’d be disappointed.
I think back to sixth grade. The day every parent received a letter home from school reminding them to warn their kids about the dangers of social media. Mom sitting me down in the kitchen. Going over some simple rules with me. Never curse online. Never say anything nasty about any of my peers. Never give out private information. Never take inappropriate pictures of myself. . .
I’ve broken every single one of those rules. How would she feel now if she knew there was a video of me circling around social media and into the far reaches of the internet? How would she handle that shame – both mine and hers – knowing I didn’t listen to her advice? That I’ve betrayed her trust, I’ve been stupid and reckless, and I haven’t lived up to the standards she set for me before she was gone?
I cringe with shame. I regret it now. I knew what Harrison was doing. It’s so easy in hindsight to know that I should have told him to put that phone away, to stop recording something so private. But I thought it was sexy. I thought it was intimate. I thought I could trust him.
I wish Mom were here. Even if it meant she would yell the house down at me. Even if it meant she would ground me forever. Even if it meant I would slam my bedroom door in her face.
At least she would care.
At least she would be alive.
5
I grab the car keys and leave the house without saying a word to Dad. Why waste my breath? I leave him in the living room with a cold cup of coffee and a cigarette in hand as he stares at the ceiling. God, I wish he would dosomethingto prove that there’s still some life left in him. I wish he’d go see his friends, maybe grab a beer with them, because there is nothing worse than feelingpityfor my own father.
It’s approaching nine, and there’s a weird, jittery feeling in my stomach at the thought of meeting Kai. I still don’t knowexactlywhat I’m getting myself into. What is Kai’s definition ofrevenge? What if he wants to take things further than I do? What if his operation includes crazy plans to, like, get Harrison kicked out of school? Beaten up? Arrested? I guess I’ll find out.
I climb into the Toyota SUV that’s older than I am and internally groan as the Green McRusty’s antique engine struggles to come to life. I only drive this piece of junk under the cover of nightfall when no one can see that it’s me behind the wheel. Talk about social suicide. Although right now, I doubt I have much of a social standing anyway. Dad wants to run this heap into the ground before he considers an upgrade, which is why I have a totally rational fear of the whole bucket of rust exploding into flames while I’m cruising down the highway one day.
I pull out of the drive and head toward Uptown Westerville. I must live in the only suburb in the world that refers to their downtown area asuptown. It’s like how Westerville Central is actually further north than Westerville North. Westerville is just. . . odd. But it’s cruel of me to make fun of Westerville, because I do actually like living here. We’re twenty minutes north of downtown Columbus, so city life is right on our doorstep, yet Westerville continues to feel like a quaint town with a certain charm to it. A safe college town with a close-knit community. Which is usually a good thing so as long as you behave. In a tight community like ours, there’s no room for mistakes.
