Damn.

I watch the girl drop into her seat, her brown hair swishing in place behind her. Shoulders back, she stares straight ahead like she doesn’t give one single shit about what she just did. That’s kind of hot.

For some reason, my mind flashes to my mom, and something she said not too long ago.

“One of these days, some girl is going to give you back some of the shit you dish out,” she’d said.

It was after some blonde chick on the softball team had approached my mom at her late night shift at the local Wal-Mart and told her I was mean. Mom always thinks it’s cool when my school friends talk to her at work, but this time she was annoyed.

Maybe she was right though. Maybe some girls won’t put up with my shit.

I admire the back of her head for a few seconds, and then lean forward, trying to think of something to say. I’m about to tap her shoulder when the teacher slams the classroom door closed and walks to the front of the class.

“The bell has rung,” she says. “That means all talking will cease and all eyes will look forward.”

Geez. I’m glad I only have this class for fifteen minutes every day.

The teacher, whatever her name is, explains about homeroom this year. She says we will report to her class promptly and we won’t speak because fifteen minutes isn’t very long and we need to get all of the valuable information the school wants to tell us each day.

I chuckle under my breath because the only thing valuable the school could tell me is when the holidays are. A dark feeling falls over me as I realize that days off from school used to be the greatest thing ever. Now, I actually don’t mind being here eight hours a day, and longer on game days. Home has become a place I’d rather not be, at least without Mom there. Dad’s drinking problem has gone from annoying to downright pissing me off lately. And there’s nothing I can do. Mom tells me to let it go. She says just let him do his thing and stay out of his way. So long as Dad is still going to work every day, still bringing home the paychecks we need to survive, then we’re fine.

I say fuck that. Mom shouldn’t have to put up with his drunken bullshit every night before she goes to work. She works the night shift, and she sleeps during the day. But now she barely sleeps at all if Dad is home, because all he does is drink, yell, and be a bastard.

She says he’s harmless because he’s just an angry drunk, not a violent one. But we both know there’s a line here. And should my dad ever cross it, I will too.

The girl in front of me stares straight ahead, taking notes in a pink spiral. She doesn’t look over at anyone and she doesn’t talk. She must be one of those types that follows the rules.

I lean back in my chair while the teacher goes on and on about school expectations and all that other shit. I stare at the girl in front of me. Why haven’t I seen her before? Robert Cullen High isn’t that big of a place. Maybe she’s new.

Maybe I should offer to walk her to her next class. I glance over and see my teammates Beau and TJ, both looking bored as hell. If they see me try to talk up this girl, they’ll give me hell for it.

I decide to keep my mouth shut.

 

*

 

After soccer practice, TJ and Beau ask if I wanna hit up the Lone Star Diner for some burgers. As much as I’d love one of those damn burgers, with extra cheese and curly fries, I say no.

I have car insurance, a cell phone bill, and gas to put in my truck, all of which I have to pay for myself. I worked my ass off all summer, mowing lawns and delivering pizzas, and that money has to last. Unlike my dickhead friends, my parents don’t have any cash to spare for me. We all pay for ourselves at my house, and since soccer takes up most of my time once school starts, I’ll be lucky if I work two or three nights a week at Magic Mark’s Pizza.

“Why the hell not?” TJ asks, slamming his fist on the hood of my truck. “Burgers!”

“Burgers!” Beau says, louder. Some other guys from the team walk by and shout burgers too. Now it’s an all-out burger yelling match.

I shrug it off. “I got shit to do at home, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“He ain’t got shit to do,” Beau says.

“What, you got some homework?” TJ adds, rolling his eyes. “You suddenly a teacher’s pet?”

I laugh. There’s no way I’m telling them I need to save my money for more important things. So I lie. “If by homework, you mean a girl, then yeah.”

“Damn, bro.” TJ taps my hood again, this time giving me a look of appreciation. “Get the hell out of here then.”

I wish I was going home to meet a girl.

When I get home, I pull my truck next to Dad’s and cut the engine, sitting here for a minute. The lights are on in the living room, and the sound of my dad’s favorite Metallica album is flowing out of the house. At least it’s not cranked up as loud as it goes, which gets the cops called on us.

Dad must be okay, I decide.

When I go inside, he’s sitting on the couch, a beer in one hand and a plate of nachos in the other. “Hey,” he says, nodding at me as I walk by.

“Hey,” I say back. Nice and calm, and he won’t get upset.

Sometimes I wish we’d get him some help. Send him to a rehab center or something. But unlike most of the privileged assholes I go to school with, my parents aren’t loaded. We have a decent three-bedroom brick home that looks nice on the outside. It’s a remnant of the days when both of my parents were happier and Dad worked in the oilfield making a ton of money. But as his alcoholism got worse, he got laid off more and more, and ended up getting a job with a small roofing company, that doesn’t pay much at all. Mom had to start working again when I was about twelve, and she chose to work nights because it pays more.

I got a job the day I was legally allowed to work, and together we stay afloat as a family. I just wish there was more money to get Dad some help, not that I’ll ever say it. He’d really lose his shit then.

I shower and make a sandwich. Dad’s phone rings, and from the other room, I can hear him talking to what sounds like my Uncle Chase.

Shit.

Sure enough, Dad’s voice goes from a little annoyed to full out angry. Uncle Chase is the only family member who isn’t afraid to call dad on his shit. I hear Dad cursing on the phone, calling his brother every name in the book.

Slowly, I grab another soda from the fridge, and slip off to my room undetected. But the yelling only gets worse. When Dad hangs up the phone with a few choice expletives, I hear him pacing around the living room, still muttering about his brother, not that anyone is there to listen.

“Thinks he’s better than me,” Dad mutters.

I stand by my bedroom door, wondering if I should do something. But from past experience, I know it’s better to just keep my mouth shut.

The fridge opens and I hear the clank of another beer bottle opening. Another metal cap clinking to the counter top.

Dad cranks the music louder.

Eventually, the music is so loud it’s shaking the walls, and I know the cops will probably roll up at any moment, and my dad will curse at them too. They’re all pretty good with people like my dad, taking his insults in stride, but I’m not the only one worried that one day his stupidity will land him in jail.

If he’s not working, then we’re not getting all the bills paid. Mom and I would be screwed.

Sure enough, red and blue lights flash through my window a few minutes later. Shit. I throw on a shirt and some flipflops and run out the front door past my dad who is drinking on the couch, swaying to the music.

“Officers, I’m so sorry,” I say as soon as they get out of their cars. “I’ll make him turn down the radio.”

One of the officers, a short woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, gives me a sad smile. She’s been here before, and she probably remembers it. “Why don’t we go inside and help you?”

I know there’s no point in arguing.

As soon as Dad sees the cops enter our house, he stands up and throws his beer to the floor where it spills out all over the rug.

“Fucking narc!” he yells at me. “Worthless!”

“I didn’t call the cops on you, Dad. The neighbors did.”

He glares at me like he doesn’t believe it. An officer reaches behind the stereo and pulls the plug, then holds it up so my dad can see it. “No music after seven p.m. You understand?”

“That ain’t no fucking law,” Dad spews.

“It is for you,” the female officer says. “Noise complaints are made about this house several times a week. I don’t want to take you to jail. I don’t even want to write you a ticket. Just keep the music off.”

They leave, and Dad doesn’t put up a fight.

He just waits until the two cop cars drive away and then he glares at me. “You’re a useless piece of shit,” he says, his words slurring together so badly that if I hadn’t heard him say that so many times before, I might not have understood it.

“I know,” I say, not in the mood to argue with him. “You should take a hot shower. Maybe go to bed.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He picks up the beer bottle from the rug and flings it at me. Luckily his aim is so bad it just crashes against the wall, leaving drops of beer on the paint.

“You’re the worst son on the planet.”

I head back to my room. I sit on my bed. I stare at the wall. I tell myself to let his drunken words bounce right off me, but they never do. I flash back to playing soccer with him in the back yard when I was five. Christmases and family vacations back when we were happy and Dad wasn’t a drunk. Maybe if he’d been this shitty my whole life, it wouldn’t matter. But he hasn’t. I still have the good memories, and they’re what makes the new memories even worse.

It’s already after ten o’clock, but I don’t care. I call up TJ, and they’re still at the diner. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” I say.

Louetta, Texas is a small town with only one main street. That’s where the high school is, along with other businesses, shopping centers, and the Lone Star Diner. I sit in the booth with my friends, telling them I’m not hungry, and stare out the window at the high school across the street.

Beau has been sneaking sips from a flask all night and he’s more than drunk by the time I arrive.

At midnight, they kick us out because the diner is closing, and we all decide that Beau can’t drive his sorry ass home since he’s too drunk. I offer to drive him, just so I don’t have to go home so soon.

“Dude,” Beau says as he stumbles through the parking lot. “We should like, set the school on fire.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he gazes at the school across the street. “That way we don’t have to go back.”

“That’s arson,” I say, opening the truck door for him. He better not throw up in my truck. “You’d go to jail for that.”

Beau stumbles forward, looks at my truck and then turns around. “But I wanna destroy something,” he says.

I am not in the mood to shove his ass into my truck, but it’s looking like I will have to. “Get in,” I say.

He shakes his head. And then he takes off running.

The idiot can sure run like hell even when he’s drunk. That’s the true skill of a soccer player, I guess. I chase after him, across the highway that’s empty of cars because it’s so late, and into the high school parking lot.

“You’re not setting the school on fire,” I say. “You don’t even have a lighter.”

“I want to destroy something,” he says, holding his fists in the air. “I am a man and I want to be manly.”

I snort out a laugh. He’s a complete idiot when he’s drunk. Beau’s gaze focuses on a greenhouse in the distance. “Bingo,” he says. He takes off running again.

I follow him to the little greenhouse at the edge of the school’s property. There’s a daycare next door, so it’s closed. The school is closed too, but I get this weird feeling like we might be watched.

“Let’s go,” I say, halfway debating if I should just leave him here.

He picks up a hammer on the ground. “Perfect.”

He swings it at the greenhouse and the plastic green wall cracks open. Beau’s satisfied laugh fills the air.

“Dude.”

I stand here, half annoyed and half envying him. He swings again, and again, breaking out pieces of the walls. His laughter gets louder. “It’s not arson, bro!” he says as he swings again and a large piece of the wall breaks off.

He hands me the hammer. “Your turn!”

I look around. This hunk of junk has been here forever. There’s an old pile of green plastic panels stacked up to the side, and tools are in a bucket next to the door. I look inside. The place is empty.  Clearly no one cares about this place. They’re probably going to tear it down anyhow.

I think about my dad and let the anger fill me up. Then I swing at the wall and the hammer takes out a chunk of it. Beau whoops and I feel laughter rising in my own chest.

I’m not drunk like he is, but this is euphoric.

I take a deep breath and swing the hammer again.