Mom found me in the garage, helped me into my room and came back with ice packs and taped me up. Her eyes were rimmed red from crying—same shit, different day. Didn’t even look me in the eye. I fucking hate how weak she is. Why she’s still with him, why she didn't protect me when I was younger, why she still doesn't protect me I’ll never understand. That’s a parent’s job isn’t it? To protect their kids. Dad must have missed that particular memo. Maybe if there had been a line dropped in when he took his law enforcement oath, “I promise to serve and protect, oh yeah, and not beat the living shit out of my son,” things would be different.
Mom’s more scared of him than I am and I get that, I really do, but I've pleaded with her to leave him. She won’t do it, though, she’s never gonna leave him. He has a hold over her; she’s terrified of what he’d do if we did manage to escape and he found us. How can I blame her for that? The thought of it scares me too.
“Yo, E! What’s the plan for tonight?”
I take out my books from my locker and start loading them into my backpack.
“Am I driving or are you?” Jackson leans his shoulder on the locker next to mine as he takes a drink from his water bottle. We've just finished band practice and I'm in a world of pain right now. Having a guitar strapped across a bruised rib is no fun. I’m trying my damnedest not to let it show.
“I dunno man, I'm heading home to study with Blair. Maybe I’ll just meet you guys there, not sure what time we’ll get done.”
“Ahhhh…Tutor Nerd’s coming over, huh?”
I glare at him as I'm closing my locker. “Dude don't fucking call her that. Her name’s Blair, she’s cool.”
“Whoa, who pissed on your cereal? You were calling her that just the other day,” he says defensively, his palms held up by his chest.
“Do you like this girl? Wait, is that what the twenty questions were all about Wednesday?”
“Don’t be a dick, Jackson, I was just trying to find out who she was. She’s like a freaking enigma around here, she doesn't hang with anyone. I was curious is all.”
My phone vibrates and I take it out of my pocket. “Shit, she’s calling me now, just give me a minute.”
“Hey, Blair,” I answer in an all-too-eager voice. I start moving away from my locker and out of earshot from Jackson, who’s eyeing me curiously.
“Hi, I was just checking to see if we were still on for tonight. The tutoring? You weren't in school yesterday. I didn't want to just turn up at your house if you were ill or something and I haven't seen you around today.”
“Does that mean you've been looking for me? I'm flattered.” I'm sure my smile is coming across in my voice.
“Easy there, are we still on or not?” she says, laughing.
I really like making this girl laugh.
“Yeah, we’re still on, I’m just about to head home now. We should get there about the same time. If I'm not there before you I won’t be long. My mom and dad won’t be in, so just hang tight.”
“Oh, okay. Guess I’ll see you soon.”
“Sure, bye,” I say as I press end and turn back to where Jackson’s standing with a big ass grin plastered across his smug face.
Jackson’s my wingman; he’s the all-American blonde blue-eyed boy next door. He’s about six three, the same as me, but where he’s built I'm leaner. The girls love him; they love us. At least they do until we’ve been in their pants and then forgotten their names. Doesn’t stop them from coming back, though.
“What?” I say walking back over to him. He narrows his eyes at me shaking his head.
“Dude, don't lie to me, or yourself. I’ve known you forever—you like this girl, admit it.”
“Fuck off, Jackson, I’ll see you tonight” I call out, heading towards the exit.
“Have fun ‘studying!’” he shouts, making air quotes with his fingers. I shake my head, suppressing a laugh, and carry on walking.
I pull onto my drive and Blair looks over before carrying on playing ball. I always leave the basketball outside by the garage so I can go out and shoot hoops to clear my head. She lines up her shot and it rims the basket before falling through.
“Nice shot, Kobe Bryant.”
She turns to look at me; her eyebrows are pinched together in confusion. It’s pretty damn cute.
“Who?”
I groan, “Seriously, you’ve never heard of Kobe Bryant. Shit.”
She laughs and picks her bag up from resting against the garage door. “Honestly, do I really look like a sports fan to you?”
I raise my eyebrows and take that as an invitation to check her out, her hair is piled up all messy on top of her head and she's wearing one of those t-shirts again, only this one’s red. I suppress a laugh when I realize it says, ‘Don’t trust atoms. They make up everything.’ My eyes continue their descent and stop at her legs, her sexy-as-sin legs. I’m sure I’ve just let out a groan. She’s wearing a pair of denim cut-offs and some beat up black Chucks.
“No, you don't look like a sports fan, to be fair. I’d say you look like a librarian, but then the short shorts kind of threw me.” I wink and stride towards the door to stop from staring at her legs any longer. I can already feel myself getting hard, and the last thing I need is my dick tenting the cargo shorts I'm wearing. It would be beyond awkward.