Knockout Boys

Chapter 17: Thrill of the Fight

A/N: Thanks StarMarks for helping me come up with character last names!!

Casserole for dinner. Again. Mom always dumped whatever leftovers we had in a pan and called it casserole. She should make a soup or pizza to switch things up a bit, I thought glumly as I pushed food around my plate. Mom was not eating either. The only one shoveling food was Dad, his preferred technique for avoiding awkward dinner conversations. The shrill sound of silverware scraping his plate, and his open-mouthed chewing punctured the silence as my Mom stared at me. Slowly, she turned her furious glare to Dad. "Can you not chew so loudly?" she snapped.

"Thuawy," he said, his mouth full of yesterday's cheesy potatoes.

Mom's face was pinched and red, her mouth surrounded by deepening lines, as if she were aging on the spot. "Please talk to your son because I know if I try, it will cause a fight." She sniffed dramatically, sounding like a martyr.

I rolled my eyes. "I was just asking a question, Lord have mercy." I pushed around a few potatoes and carrots so I wouldn't have to make eye contact.

"Let me get this straight, Rocky," she began, her nostrils flaring. "You come home late every night, supposedly," she used air quotes, "training with your delinquent boyfriend-"

"He's not my boyfriend!" I stabbed a potato, glaring at her.

"Rocky Apollo Smith, don't you dare interrupt me when I'm speaking!" Her voice rose a few octaves. "Don't you think about your future anymore? Don't you think about us?" she said shrilly, gesturing to my Dad, who was reaching for seconds. Freaking Ostrich.

"Dear Lord," she said, her hands together in prayer as she stared up at nothing, "what have I done to deserve this?"

"You're making this into a big deal. It's really not."

"You want to live with a boy," she accused, pointing her index finger.

"He has no where to go!" I shouted. "Don't you get it? He's on the streets, and his father's an alcoholic bum-"

"Are we inviting him to live with us too?" she banged her fist on the table. "Why don't we turn this house into a homeless shelter- or, even better, a rehab center for drunks and druggies!"

I buried my face in my hands. "Mom! Kevin's my only friend, and he's done so much for me. The least we could do is let him stay here until he figures things out."

Mom shook her head. She stared at her plate of cold casserole, her lips in a thin, white line. "I told you we should hire a professional to teach you, but no, you wanted that boy. And now he's pressuring you into all kinds of things."

I shoved my chair back and stood up, so upset I was physically shaking. "I can't deal with this," I said and stormed out of the room.

...

I trudged to school the next day, wearing my fall jacket. I was still upset with Mom, so I made the half hour trek on my own. A strong wind billowed through my clothes, sending chills down my spine. I hoped it wouldn't be an early winter. My heart sank, thinking of dead, cold corn, lying on the ground, revealing the abandoned shed in the center of the field. I wasn't sure why no one went to the maze in the winter, but perhaps it was harder for police to notice groups of people there when tall corn stalks hid them. Or maybe Paul wanted a hard deadline to fight me. I almost whimpered at the thought. I hated fighting. I wasn't ever rude to anyone. I did everything right, I got good grades, I was never a bad kid, I never got into trouble, but somehow, trouble always found me.

Turning the corner, I saw something that made me freeze in my tracks. Just a block away from school, two football bros were shoving around a smaller guy. Passerby students hurried away from the scene, tossing forlorn glances over their shoulders. Not a single one of them stopped to help. Typical. I really should follow them. There was no point in trying to fight off the bullies alone. I was simply not strong enough. I should just go, and someone stronger would step in, or the teachers would break it up. Yeah, right.