Something—grudging respect?—flickers through his eyes. Huh. Maybe my relationship with my brother isn’t completely unsalvageable.
I scan the dining hall until I find my target. Skip Henley. Kid’s been on my radar for a while now. He’s got a big mouth and likes to brag about the chicks he’s hooked up with—in degrading detail.
I stalk across the room toward Henley’s table, which falls silent at my approach.
“Henley,” I say coolly.
Skip warily twists around. He looks preppy as hell with his perfectly gelled hair and clean-shaven pretty-boy face. “Yeah?”
“You have Speech before lunch?”
He nods. “Yeah. So what?”
“So here’s the deal.” I pat my chest. “I’m gonna give you one shot. One free shot. Anywhere you like. And then I’m gonna beat you so bad, your own mother won’t be able to recognize you.”
He looks around, frantic for an escape. But he’s not getting past me, and whatever friends he once had pretend they don’t know him. Everyone at the table averts their gazes, fiddles with their phones, picks at their food. Skip’s on his own, and he knows it.
“I don’t know what you think I did,” he starts, “but—”
“Oh, you need a reminder? Sure. Let me help you out, bro—you talked trash about Ella Harper.”
Panic flares briefly in his eyes, but then it hardens into indignation. He realizes he doesn’t have many options, so he decides to double down on his stupidity. “So what?” he says again. “I was just speaking the truth. We all know that your girl has spent so much time on her back she’s got the word SEALY imprinted on her skin—”
I’m hauling him out of his chair before he can finish. My fingers bunch up the collar of his shirt, fisting the material as I bring his face close to mine. “You’ve either got balls of steel or a death wish. My vote’s on the second one.”
“Fuck you,” Henley shouts, his spittle flying toward my face. “You think you run this school, Royal? You think you can bring some whore to our place and shove her down our throats? My great-granddaddy knew General Lee! I’m not going to associate with trash like her.”
Then he launches himself at me with a roar, and I let him take his shot. It’s weak, like he is. Like all bullies really are. That’s why they’re bullies. Because they’re insecure idiots who try to make themselves feel better.
His fist glances off my jaw because he doesn’t know how to throw a punch. Laughing, I grab the dickhead by the throat and drag him against me.
“Does your daddy not love you enough to teach you how to fight, Skippy? Watch. This is a jab.” I punch his face twice in succession. “See how that works?”
I hear a loud snicker behind us and recognize it as Easton’s. My brother is enjoying the show.
Henley whimpers in pain and backs away from me. The smell of urine fills the air.
“Jesus Christ, he just pissed himself!” someone yells.
Disgusted, I grab Skip by the nape of his neck, kick his legs out from under him and slam him face-first on the ground. My knee digs into his spine as I bend my head toward him. “You say one word to Ella or any of her friends, and I’ll do a lot worse to you than a couple jabs to the face, you got me?”
He nods, weeping pitifully.
“Good.” I shove him as I get to my feet. “That goes for the rest of you,” I announce to the crowd. “You’re all gonna clean up your acts starting today, or what happened to this jackass will look like a fucking tea party.”
The entire dining hall is dead silent, and the nervous, fearful eyes I see all around me bring a wave of satisfaction. Wade was right about another thing—these kids need a leader, someone to stop them from devouring each other.
I might not have applied for the job, but it’s mine, whether I like it or not.
Instead of going to class, I head for the men’s room on the first floor near the gym. There’s no stated rule that this bathroom is solely for the football team, but it’s worked out that way.
And Wade makes good use of it. He has Government this period, and since his mom started sleeping with the teacher, he hasn’t stepped one foot into the classroom. He says after all the carbs at lunch, it’s either sleep or screw and the latter’s more fun.
I make a production as I enter to alert the occupants that they’re not alone, but it doesn’t affect Wade at all. I hear breathy moans, interspersed with “yes, Wade, please, Wade” chanted out in a familiar rhythm.
Bored, I lean against the sinks and watch the closed door to one of the stalls rattle noisily as Wade starts giving it to her hard. From the sound of the voice, I’m guessing his post-lunch hookup is with Rachel Cohen.
Wade has the attention span of a peanut, but when he’s with a girl, he gives it his all. You can’t ask for more than that. I check my watch. I don’t want to miss next period.