“There you go again, being dense as fuck. It’s not just a hoodie. It’smyhoodie.”
“I can give it back,” he says after a moment.
“That’s not…” I rub a hand over my face. Jesus fucking Christ. I told him the night he asked for it, what having someone else’s hoodie meant. Does heeverlisten?
“Kieran…” His eyes are wide and I know he’s going to apologise again and I don’t want to hear it. It must show in my face, because he clamps his mouth shut, and glances away. “I don’t want to argue,” he says after a moment. “I want things to go back to normal.”
“Back to normal. Right. You mean fucking in secret.” He looks wounded and I wish I didn’t speak. I can’t look at him. “Let’s talk about this later,” I say, and push past him, out of the house.
I expect him to call me back, but he doesn’t, and that makes me feel worse. Fine, maybe I’m mad at him, but I’m more mad at myself. If I could just turn my brain off, I wouldn’t be feeling like this. Seeing him in my hoodie, standing in front of me, trying to make up, wouldn’t feel like torture.
I’m too caught up in my thoughts to register the body in the doorway until I’m barreling through it, our shoulders and chests colliding. I blink and —
Fin straightens and looks at me. “Watch where you’re going, Phillips.”
“Get out of the way then,” I retort. I start to leave when a hand yanks the back of my jumper, and reflexively, I twist and slap his hand away. “Didn’t I already tell you?” I growl, taking a step forward and shoving him back. “Don’t touch me.”
“It’s the new kid,” Fin said.
Now, Fin stumbles a few steps back, but regains his footing. There’s too many people around us, either chatting or helping themselves too food. I can see it in my mind. Fin’s not going to let it go now, not when his pride’s on the line.
Not when I started it, so he’s technically in the right if he —
He slams both palms into my chest, and my back slams into a beam, my can rolling out of my hand, dribbling rum and cola onto the porch.
I shouldn’t be surprised. This is what he did in the bathroom, pushing hard enough that my hip slammed into the side of the porcelain sink.
Fin’s eyes are a mix of disgust and triumph and energy surges up in my body, adrenaline that’s been stirring all night, or maybe for ages now, and I have to get it out.
He should know that I held back the first time we fought.
I run towards him and then we’re grappling and in the background, loud music plays, but it’s mixed with shrieks and loud voices, some excited, some concerned. I try to get my arms around Fin’s waist, but he wiggles and stabs his elbow into my side and then we’re tripping down the porch stairs.
A girl shouts at us to stop but louder are the male voices egging us on. The chants and jeers remind me of my old school and it feels nice, like I’m somewhere I belong, I’m somewhere I can win, I’m somewhere I actually have power.
We hit the grass at the bottom of the stairs with a thud, and I get on top of him. He shoves a knee into me and rolls to his side, but I don’t let go of him. I’m gritting my teeth so hard, it hurts, but also feels good at the same time. I’m in my element.
Then I slam a fist into his stomach.
The contact is sickeningly satisfying. Fin grunts and squeezes his eyes close. Yeah, that would have hurt like a bitch. I know from experience.
“I could have done that at any time,” I murmur to him, bringing my face close to his. His eyes are wide, nostrils flaring with quick breaths.
The voices around us are louder and louder, and in my periphery, I can see a huge circle has gathered — they must be excited, I bet this is the first time they’ve seen a fight in their pristine little world — but I’m on a roll and I won’t stop.
I raise my hand again, the one with the scars, and look down at him. I want to tell him he’s a worthless entitled brat, but instead I punch him in the stomach again. He lets out a grunt, and when I let go of him, he curls up in the fetal position to cover his stomach.
Suddenly, all the energy disappears from my body. The voices around me are sharper now. I can hear my name being called.
I need to get out of here.
I stand up, avoiding everyone’s eyes. As I take a step to leave, a hand grabs my ankle and yanks hard. Then I’m on the ground, my cheek pressed against the grass, the smell of freshly-mown lawn and soil in my nose. A hand grabs my chin so I’m looking up at the dark blue sky, and the sparkling fairy lights and yellow house windows. Then a face appears, Fin’s face, twisted and ugly, and the next thing I see his fist.
25
Jasper: Like A Truck
I’m too late. Kieran’s on the ground, dark red blood spurting out of his nose, eyes closed. Standing above him is Fin, chest heaving, his usually neat hair sticking up.
