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“Not as much as you,” I counter and push the strap of the backpack higher up my shoulder. “I’ll see you after school. Try to get some sleep.”
“Wait a sec. I’ll walk you to school.” He starts toward his bedroom.
“What?” I balk. He can’t come with. It’ll mess with all my plans. “No. I can walk three blocks by myself.”
“I know you can.” He calls over his shoulder. “But today you don’t have to. I’m gonna grab a jacket.”
He won’t admit it to me, but I know, also from past experience, that it’s because he always carries a gun.
I think I was eight or nine before I realized that wasn’t normal. I thought everyone just carried them around. Everyone associated with Leka does, but at Catholic school, the biggest weapons are a nun’s rulers and a girl’s words.
I briefly entertain the image of Leka knocking Felix over with the butt of the gun. Felix would probably piss his pants at the sight of a gun. He’d also report both of us, and since Felix’s dad is a lawyer, that wouldn’t go well for Leka and me.
At least, that’s the threat Felix threw in my face a few weeks ago when I told him that if he threw one more apple core at my face, I was going to call the cops on him.
Do it, pizza face. My dad’s a lawyer. You’re the one who’d end up in jail for being a health hazard.
We’ll see who’s the health hazard after this. I smile evilly to myself. All of this is contingent on getting rid of Leka, though.
I eye the front door of our apartment and then the bedroom door that Leka just disappeared through. How mad would he be if I just left?
Pretty mad.
I sigh.
Walking to school with Leka is both wonderful and awful. It’s wonderful because I get to spend more time with him, and lately, it feels like Marjory’s is sucking up all his time. It’s awful because the older girls at St. Vincent are in love with him.
After the last time, I had to listen to a week’s worth of “Is that your brother?” “Holy park”—(crap backwards)—“he’s so hot” and “Which saint do I say thanks to for having an ass like that?” and “I’m ready to sacrifice myself on his altar.”
But I’d still suffer through all that to have his company—only not today.
He re-appears. A baseball cap covers his bedhead. There’s scruff around his chin, which I know from past experience is pleasantly scratchy. His feet are shoved into one of his three pairs of black boots. Jeans, a navy T-shirt and a bomber coat make up the rest of his outfit.
“Ready?” he asks, lifting the backpack strap away from my shoulder.
I pull back. “I really need to walk by myself. Sister Katherine says that independence is the sign of an elevated mind, and girls that don’t get to school by themselves have to meditate on the concept of individualism.”
The lie rolls off easily. Leka looks skeptical at first, but when I stare back unflinchingly, he backs off.
“I don’t want to be responsible for you having to meditate more,” he says. There’s a slightly wounded tone to his voice, which makes me feel bad.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, ducking my head.
He pats me on the shoulder. “No. Don’t be. You were right the first time. I’m tired.” He flips off his ball cap. “I’ll rest up on the couch, and when you’re out of school, we’ll go do something.”
Chin up, I beam at him. “Awesome.” I give him a brief hug and then race out the door.
Felix is stationed three blocks away from the apartment, waiting for the bus to pick him up. He’s always there early, as if he can’t wait to get out of the house and be in position to torment me.
“Pizza face. I was hoping you’d died so I didn’t have to see your ugly face again.”
“Fuck you, Felix,” I give him the finger.
He glowers. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you paid me. Bet you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
“I’m thirteen, dickhole. Of course, I’m a virgin. Just like you.”
His friend Will snorts. This makes Felix only angrier. He steps toward me, a hand down on his crotch. “Wanna bet? Girls are begging to get on my jock.”
“The only girl who begs you is the one in your dreams, loser.”
Will’s snickers grow louder. Felix turns toward his friend. “Shut up, asshole.” He twists back to me. “And in your dreams, you beg for someone to love you, but they only vomit when they lay eyes on you. No one wants you, bitch.”
The thing about Felix is that he knows exactly where to punch you to make it hurt the most.
“Come on, Felix. The bus is almost here,” Will tugs at Felix’s sleeve. Felix shrugs out of his friend’s grasp.
