“They’ll get cold while you eat your sandwich, and then they won’t be any good anyway.”
Irene looked around her again, just as she had done moments before, checking who was in the diner. Nobody who ran in her crowd was there. They were all still at the lake.
“I can’t eat them all myself,” Irene lied prettily. “Do you want some?”
Billy looked stunned, but wasted no time sliding down the bar and onto the stool that was empty beside her. Irene slid the hot fries between them and shot Val a smile as he delivered her chicken “sandwich.” She dug in without a word, trying to eat like a lady, but hungry in a way she hadn’t been hungry before. The first three months she had had little appetite; everything had made her stomach roil. But in the last week or so, her appetite had returned with a vengeance, and hunger had become almost painful.
It took her a minute to realize Billy wasn’t eating, and she glanced at him, shamefaced. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not really,” he smiled sheepishly. “I already ate. I just wanted to sit by you.” His cheeks grew rosy under his tan.
Irene beamed at him, and warmth flooded her chest. He was so sweet. Then she remembered. The smile faded from her lips, and her appetite fled. What was she doing? In only a matter of weeks, she would be planning her wedding. In only weeks everyone would know...and she was acting like a fool. Tears filled her eyes, and her stomach rebelled against the food she had filled it with.
Billy saw her distress and reached out tentatively, touching her arm. “Are you okay, Irene?”
Irene mumbled something about being perfectly fine when a voice rang out behind them.
“She’s a little old for you, Billy Boy.” Roger Carlton stood in the doorway of the diner, his brown hair slightly rumpled, his skin brown and his nose slightly burnt from the day he had spent in the sun. Irene saw the whole gang spilling out of cars in the parking lot. She had been caught faking sick. She shrugged, unable to muster the energy to care.
“I’m talking to you, Billy Boy,” Roger repeated. “I don’t like you putting your greasy paws on my girl.” He strolled up to the bar and slung his heavy arm around Irene’s shoulders, pulling her tight against him. She immediately slid off the school and tried to steer him away from the unfortunate Billy.
“He was just asking me if I was okay. I came here to get something to eat, but I shouldn’t have. I started feeling sick right away,” Irene explained, trying to soothe Roger’s ruffled feathers. She was good at it. When were his feathers not ruffled?
Roger shrugged her off and grabbed Billy by the back of his collar, pulling him from his stool roughly.
“Take it outside, boys!” Val bellowed, and Roger shoved Billy toward the door.
“You heard him, Billy boy. We’re taking this outside.”
“Roger.” Irene laid her hand on his shoulder, trying desperately to be cajoling and sweet, trying to distract him from his clear intention to pummel the younger, smaller boy.
Roger slapped at her hand, and Billy Kinross grabbed Roger’s shirt, pushing him out of the diner in a way that surprised both Irene and Roger. It seemed the kid had learned a thing or two from his older brother.
Roger stumbled out of the door, Billy Kinross hot on his heels. The group of kids preparing to enter the popular hangout all stopped and stared.
Roger recovered instantly. His swing caught the younger boy full in the mouth, and he followed that with a hard slug to his midsection.
Billy went down with a grunt. Roger grabbed him, pulling him to his feet. Roger had about 20 pounds and several inches on Billy, as well as a streak of mean that wasn’t natural, and he laid into the boy with a fervor that had the circle of kids shifting nervously. Billy had fallen to the ground again and was mostly just trying to protect himself as Roger fell on top of him, raining blows wherever he could connect.
Then startled cries and shouts rose up as a figure pushed his way through the crowd, shoving the nervous bystanders this way and that in an effort to reach his brother. Johnny Kinross grabbed the back of Roger Carlton’s shirt with both hands and swung him up and off of his brother, tossing him to the side. He knelt by his brother without sparing the raging bully a second glance. A few of Johnny’s friends stepped in and held the outraged Roger by the arms, waiting until Johnny was assured Billy hadn’t been seriously hurt. Billy’s mouth and nose were bleeding, but he waved off Johnny’s concern and rose shakily to his feet. Johnny pulled off his shirt to stem the bloody flow, and checked his brother surreptitiously for more serious injury. When he was satisfied that his brother wasn’t seriously hurt, he turned, his stance wide, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. His face wore the fury of a man who has been pushed as far as he will go.
“Let him go.”
“Johnny?”
“Let him go,” Johnny demanded again, raising his voice. His friends obeyed immediately, freeing Roger and stepping away from him.
Johnny strode forward and without pause or hesitation, plowed his fist into Roger’s jaw. Roger dropped like a sack of potatoes, his head rolling to the side as his legs and arms flopped comically in a dead faint. The crowd grew quiet as Johnny leaned over the inert form. Johnny patted Roger’s cheeks roughly until Roger responded, groaning and tossing his head from side to side. He would live.
Johnny straightened and leveled his gaze at Roger’s cowering friends.
“Tonight, at the new school. We’re gonna finish this. Just Roger and me and whoever else has a problem with the Kinross boys. You make sure he’s there or I’ll find him and I’ll find all of you, and it won’t be pretty. You got that?”
***
2011