Colin
It’s a tiny flame, but it eats into my skin.
Heat.Pain.Relief.Don’t flinch.
Fuck.
Don’t.
Flinch.
I shut my eyes, lean my head back against the cold tiles behind me, and don’t pull the lighter away.
If you walk out that door now, Colin Fantino, don’t bother coming back.My mom’s voice echoes in my head.
Fuck you.Fuck all of you.Seriously.
It’s fucking Homecoming.No way am I staying home just because of a crappy party last night that got a bit out of hand.I mean, I’m seventeen, for God’s sake.I’msupposedto be pulling crazy shit at this age, aren’t I?I didn’t get to pick my last name and don’t give a damn what impact my behavior might have on my mom’s fucking reputation.
I don’t want you spending another second with the Carnegie crowd.They’re a bad influence on you.
I pull back for a moment as the flame gets too hot.
Loser.Letting your parents push you around, tell you what to do.
So what if they threaten me with boarding school in Europe, with cutting off my trust fund.I don’t give a shit.
I inhale sharply as the pain becomes unbearable.
Hang in there, you fuck.C’mon, you wuss.Better to feel this than wallow in self-pity.
I pull up my pants leg a little to get to the inside of my ankle.It’s a risky spot because you can get a better view of the thin, striped burns than when they’re on the inside of my thigh.But I used up that whole space the day before yesterday.Stupid of me, I should’ve pulled myself together, but Mom was being un-fucking-bearable.Everything was unbearable.Standing beside her at that event, smiling like I’m supposed to.The only times when Ava Fantino can spare me more than a contemptuous glare because the whole world is watching and she has to keep up appearances.I always thought I could improve our relationship if I tried harder.At school, at home, with Cleo—my kid sister, who doesn’t get the same treatment as me—but things didn’t get any better.I’m not the son that Ava and Eric Fantino wanted, so I’ve stopped even trying to live up to their expectations.
I jump as the door flies open and I hear voices.
Fuck.
I thought there was no way anyone would come over to the gym bathrooms right now, at the glittering height of the Homecoming Ball in the auditorium.Guess I was wrong.
I jump up.The lighter slips through my fingers and clatters to the floor.Right next to a couple sheets of toilet paper that are stuck to the dirty tiles near the trash.I stifle a curse as they catch fire.
“Hey, I think there’s someone here.”
Shit.I pick up the lighter and stamp out the flames.Just in time, before Trent Barlow and his buddies come around the corner.Totally wasted, obviously.Trent’s eyes narrow to slits as he spots me.
“Beat it, Fantino,” he says.
I’d love to punch the fat blunt right out of his lips, then smack him in the mouth.Nobody tells me where to go or orders me around.But Trent Barlow doesn’t get that, and I’m dying to teach him another lesson.Even so, one last glimmer of sense within me says it’d be better to get out of here before Trent starts asking what I’ve been doing.I kick the charred toilet paper under the sinks and pray they don’t smell burning.
I stroll past Trent.“Fuck you,” I say, keeping my voice bored.In the mirror, I see them glance at one another, then Trent leans against the tiled wall.He frowns slightly as he pats his pants pockets.
“Shit, got a light?”He looks up, and my blood runs cold.Like there’s some law against carrying a lighter.God, Fantino, chill.You did nothing wrong.
I say “No” all the same, though.
“Ah, c’mon, man, I can smell it on you.”Trent’s eyes are mocking.
Fine, he noticed.So I guess it’s now the lesser evil to act like I’ve been smoking here too.I reach into my jacket pocket and feelthe warm metal of the lighter.Trent nods briefly as I give him a light and he takes his first drag.
