Tap Out (27 page)

“Tone, that you?” Rob's voice emerges from the dark and then so does the rest of him, looking like a skeleton beneath his hoodie. “I wanted to come in, but didn't know with your mom and everything.”

This may or may not be true. He looks just like I feel. In need of some air. We pound fists and then I ask, “How's Amy?”

He doesn't answer right away. “Not good. She's in bed, on meds. I think her mom's figured it out, so I bolted before she laid into me.”

I kick the ground. “Char's with her though?”

“Yeah. What about your mom?”

“Same. You know. Just her jaw's wired shut and she's taking pain meds instead of her usual.”

He nods and braces against the cold. “Sorry, man. Cam been by?”

“Not yet. He will, though.”

Rob looks at me and seems to understand all that I mean by that. “Yeah, we'll be seeing a lot of him.”

The thought makes me want to punch something. “Aren't you pissed? I mean, if we get caught, all that shit with Coach Dan, it's gone. And of course there's fucking being in jail. I can't even go there.”

Rob stares out into the night. “Course I'm pissed. I want that shit more than I want anything else. A fucking way out of here, you don't turn your back on that. Unless someone makes you.”

He's right, but I just hate the idea of being so powerless, even though I should be used to it. “Big O and Coach Dan. Fuck, this will kill them.”

“Yeah, it will.” Rob kicks the ground again. “Hey, you never told me what the big man has lined up for you. Coach Dan said something about school, but it was before the fight and I wasn't paying attention.”

I laugh. “Don't sweat it. He's just got this idea that he could get me into some college. My IQ and all.”

Rob stands straight up and takes a step closer to me. “So? Are you going for it? What's the deal?”

I back away, uncomfortable by his interest. “I don't know. There's strings and shit, and even Big O said it's a long shot.”

Rob looks pained. “So what?” He turns away. “Tone, I don't care if it's a million to fucking one, you gotta run them odds. If it don't work out, all right. Least you tried to get the fuck out of here.”

Getting out of here. Is that really a possibility? College? Can't be. If I can escape jail or getting killed, I'll get the fuck
out of high school and settle in some shop. At this rate one owned by the Front. Rob's being nice, but not honest. Everything outside of here appears better, and most likely is, but no one's ever helped you figure out how to get it. But Rob already knows this. “All right. I check in with Big O. Meantime, we gotta keep our eyes open for Dave. See if we can't duck and run.”

He smiles. “All right. That's what I'm talking about. We'll hide out best we can.” He runs a hand over his face. “Shit, I'm beat.” He looks at me like he wants to say more, but just drops his shoulders and says, “See you, Tone.”

Rob walks off and I watch him go, then head up the stairs and into my trailer. The TV's on but Mom's in bed. I turn it off and check that she's still breathing. I close her door and then grab some of Charity's donation from the fridge. My mother snores in the distance, and I get up to go check on the little income I've hidden.

I sit on my bed and count the cash and tuck it away again. I look around my room and try to imagine it's a dorm room. I'd be a good roommate—clean, honest. Why not? Why shouldn't I get this chance? Other kids with fucked-up lives get to go and improve and never look the fuck back. Rob's right. We're going to pull through this shit and then make it. Because the only other option . . . fuck it, might as well go swallow Mom's bottle of pills.

L
ance is rambling on about some shit, and I can barely keep my eyes open. Sleep at my house just isn't an option. Not since Cam's come back. I lie awake in my bed listening to their muffled conversation, waiting for him to explode. Lance just told us that George Washington had one hell of a temper as a young guy. If he was anything like Cam I'm sure people were nervous as fuck around him, for good reason.

Two weeks ago Cam showed up for Thanksgiving. Mom's onto soft solids and he brought a pumpkin pie and whipped cream. After our store-cooked chicken and instant mashed potatoes, he pulled out the pie and squirted my mother's nose with the whipped cream. He made some dirty comment then, like I wasn't even in the room. Mom laughed and wiped her nose clean and didn't say shit about how gross he is. She didn't say shit about him just coming back around, period. Because she can't remember a goddamn thing.

So he's darting in and out, but staying more often than not. He's been getting groceries and paying our regular bills and mostly avoiding me. Mostly. He said shit about my deal with Dave: “The Front's talking about you. Hope you're ready.” But I didn't ask what he meant because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of feeling smarter than me. I
also thought that if I didn't acknowledge him, maybe it would go away.

I slink down into my desk, rest my head on my bicep and doodle on the paper I snagged from the kid behind me. I need to occupy myself with something other than the show at home. Hopefully Rob will be up for going back to the gym tonight. He's been spotty ever since Amy's abortion, and it's not the same without him. I haven't forgotten what he said about the gym being his out. I can't let him fuck this up.

The douche-bag janitors are moving a pallet of rock salt, stacking it next to the little four-wheeler that they rigged up with a dispenser. Franks looks at me.

“I'd make a joke but it's too easy. You look terrible.”

I move toward the sweeper. Just another three weeks of this, and in the meantime, I'll just tune him out like every other fuckwad around here.

“Tony, seriously, are you okay?”

I lean against the broom. What the fuck does he care? “I'm fine. Can I go now?”

Franks tilts his head and exhales through his nose. “Yeah, you can go, but you're not sweeping.”

“All right, what do I have to do, clean more graffiti?”

Franks smiles. “No, Mr. Ostrander has requested your presence. You need to report to his office.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” Franks laughs. “Funny, I didn't think you could look worse. What'd you do?”

He sounds sarcastic, like he already knows, and I shake away images of the deals, the drugs, the money. “Nothing.”

Franks laughs into my back as I turn out the door. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Fuck him, and fuck Big O. There's no way this is about the shit with Dave, or the fucking cops would be here. I breathe slow to calm myself and enter the office. Big O's secretary looks up from the clacking she was doing on the keyboard and gives me her did-someone-step-in-dog-shit look. “Wait there.” She lifts a finger to me and picks up the phone. “Tony Antioch is here to see you.” No sooner does the phone hit the base than Big O opens his door.

“Tony, come in.” He extends his arm into his office and smiles. This can't be good, he's being too nice. Maybe I was wrong; maybe he's just going to hold me until the cops show. Fuck. I can't run now. Only thing to do is take whatever's coming, like a bitch. Seems to be my thing.

Last time my file was on his desk. This time he's got pamphlets and application forms. Shit.

“As you can see, I've taken the liberty to pursue the matter of your future.” Big O sits and spreads his hands over the material like he's some game-show host.

“Right.” I stare at the colorful pictures of kids on some campus, looking like they've all been told the same joke.

Big O sighs. “Have
you
thought any more about your future?”

I laugh, but not nearly as hard as the kids in the pics. “Yes and no.” Seems the most honest answer.

The big man leans forward. “Antioch, please don't make this difficult.” He waits until I make eye contact and then sits back. “I've talked to an admissions counselor and have sent over your transcript. He's interested, but you never took the SAT.”

I asked Mom for the cash last spring. It seemed stupid at
the time, because no one else in Vo-Tec was taking it, but I figured
why not
? Course she didn't have the money. I shrug at Big O.

“Well, we can sign you up for the next one after the New Year. There's still time.” He pauses. “That is, if you're still interested?”

I look at the pamphlets again and think of Rob and how awful he looked, telling me to go, get the fuck out. I still don't see this happening, but fuck it, what's it going to hurt to fill out a couple of forms? Besides, Big O has been good to me. Him and Coach Dan. I owe them both.

I reach across the table and grab the folder. Big O smiles. Something inside flutters and I have to take a deep breath to get steady before I stand up and leave.

The bell chimes, and the guys look up. They smile and nod and I pound fists with them, but they're looking for Rob, hoping he's behind me. Same here.

“Tony, hey.” Coach Dan walks over and clasps my shoulder. “How you feeling?”

It's oddly similar to how Franks asked. I say, “All right.”

He leans closer. “Rob? What about him?”

I don't know how much Coach Dan knows about that mess. “Hanging in there. You know?”

“I do, Tony, I do.” He squeezes and then moves on to someone else.

I drop my gear and then stretch with Amir and Phil.

“It's gonna be a fun one tonight, Tone.” Amir rolls his shoulders. “Working on striking with the head gear.”

“I hate that shit. Smells like ass and you know everyone's
sweaty noggin's been in them. Just nasty.” Phil makes a face and nods like I should agree with him.

“Until you're in the ring, fighting for real, you'll put that shit on and you'll like it.” Amir's curled up, now, ready to pounce. Phil's not paying attention.

“Oh, I see, big man gets a fight and now he's the shit. Well, fuck that.”

Amir slams into Phil, and they start grappling. It's like watching two dogs ripping into each other, but in that way they do when they're acting tough, not really trying to kill each other. I laugh along with everyone else as we watch them roll and bait and try to gain leverage. But when I look around I feel a little sad because Rob isn't here with us.

Amir forces Phil to tap and then we all clap. Coach Dan says, “That's the right kind of energy for tonight. Let's get loose and then get striking.”

Coach takes us through some warm-up drills—the kind of thing I bet Rob would be doing if he were here—and then he pairs us up. I'm with Mike. He's been holding back since he lost his fight, so I'm not scared.

“Pure stand-up fighting. None of the ground game like Amir and Phil were messing with earlier.” He chuckles. “And no ground and pound. If you end up on the mat, stand back up and start over.”

We nod and I look at the gear. It is kind of nasty-looking, with a few rips here and there, but fuck it, what do I care?

“Remember, keep your hands up, protect your face, and never stop moving those feet. As soon as you rest on your heels, you're done.” Coach looks us over and then says, “And use the gear. Focus on head shots, no body. Let yourself get hit. It's as important, if not more so, to be able to take a punch, as it is to throw one.”

Mike grabs a set of head gear and straps it on. I adjust Rob's gloves and strap on my own head gear. It does reek and feels a bit slimy, but I've dealt with worse.

“You ready?” Mike speaks around his mouth guard and sounds like an idiot.

“Yeah. I'm good.”