I don’t argue. I’d end up saying stupid things that would set mom off again.
Oscar starts, but I interrupt him almost immediately. “You two should sit down,” I tell mom and Eight. “This might take a while.”
Oscar glares at me. I glare back, then say to mom and Eight, “Also, you can’t interrupt until we tell you everything.”
“Don’t tell—” mom starts.
I shake my head. “No interrupting. You made Brielle cry, so you owe us.”
Mom rolls her eyes, then looks at Eight, who shrugs. “No interrupting.”
I nod to Oscar who gives me a respectful smile. I try not to smile back, but my lips turn up anyway.
Oscar goes through the events of last night and this morning. It’s fun to watch mom because she’s shifting around like she has to pee. She so wants to interrupt.
Eight, on the other hand, is sitting with his arms crossed, his dead eyes focused on Oscar. It’s really hard to tell what he’s thinking.
When Oscar’s done, we all hold our breath.
Eight’s eyes flick to Hash. “Never thought to call me?”
“They begged me not to,” Hash says as he swipes at his lip. He doesn’t look too bad for someone who was punched hard.
“They’re kids,” Eight replies.
“We’re not that young,” Max pipes up, sounding insulted.
Eight ignores Max. “Let’s see it,” he says to Oscar.
I follow Oscar and show my tattoo at the same time. They’re exactly alike. And practically perfect.
“They have to come back in a couple of days,” Hash says cautiously. “We gotta make sure the tats don’t get infected and once they’re healed we’ll put some colour to them.”
Mom is totally focused on my tattoo. “It’s pretty good. What did it look like before?”
Mercy, who took pictures before we got started, passes her phone to mom. “Jesus,” mom breathes. “It looks like a pile of dog shit.”
“That’s what I said!” Max exclaims proudly.
Brielle slides off her chair and tentatively makes her way over to us. “Can I see?”
I show her the new tattoo. “It looks nice, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she says as she stares at it. “It’s beautiful.” She looks at Hash. “Can I have one?”
Eight starts laughing like I’ve never heard him before. “Yeah. Give her one, Hash. I’ll come to your funeral.”
Hash’s smile looks painful.
“Look,” Brielle exclaims as her finger hovers close to my tattoo. “There’s a HJ woven in the bird’s wing.”
Groan. Brielle needs to learn that less is more.
“What?” Mom and Eight grab our arms and look closely.
“For fuck’s sake!” Eight exclaims. “You branded them as Hell’s Jury kids.”
“It’s barely noticeable,” Ash says as he scrutinizes Oscar’s tattoos. “No one will notice.”
