(An excerpt)
***
A good while later, the distance undiminished by a helpful dose of anger to fool the mind and keep his feet from becoming tired, Marc began to regret his little stroll to the beach. He was tired, his feet hurt, (blisters for sure, he thought,) and he was ravenously hungry.
I wish I’d gotten my license, he thought for a hundredth time.
He knew how to drive. Adam had actually taught him a while back. And when he wasn’t getting a lesson, he was sneaking off with his mom’s car to practice, right until the day she’d gotten rid of it. Marc had never gotten his license, and it was something he kept telling himself he had to do.
As was natural for that part of town, the wind was also picking up, growing stronger the higher up he walked, and he’d left that favorite black hoodie at the house.
When a stick snapped, Marc spun around on his pained heels. A curve of long black hair ducked behind the corner of Carmen Annontillo’s house.
“Who is it?” An impatient child-sounding whisper asked, failing in its attempt to be even halfway inconspicuous.
“Shut up.” Marc easily recognized that voice.
Without fear now, he quietly strode up, approaching at an angle to the house, so that he wouldn’t be seen. Something hard was hurled at his head, and when it connected, a bright flash of pain blew up inside his skull. Marc yelled, startled and angry, oddly thinking about how funny it was that a little bit of pain on a Sunday morning could heighten one’s senses so much.
He noticed the deep green of Celeste’s eyes as she jumped out from behind the beam, dropping the second rock she’d been holding, about to let it fly as well. Horror and a slight bit of amusement was etched through the expression on her face.
“Oops, sorry,” she muttered, her apology overrun by Celeste’s little sister, Mia, with eyes as wide as dinner plates,crying out in horror, “I’m sorry, Marky! I didn’t mean it!”
I hate that name, he thought mutinously, feeling again the biting wind.
And he knew in no uncertain terms, that he was on ex-Mafioso Carmen Annontillo’s property, and was being watched.
Marc felt a throbbing in the left-hand corner of his forehead, and felt a trickle of blood crawl downwards towards his eyebrow. He did his best to ignore the distraction, turning to the girls, whom he wanted gone before Carmen could kill them or something.
Still, his curiosity had to be sated.
“What are you doing here, Celeste?”
To his incredulity, she shrugged. “I’m trying to get a load of this guy; I want to see what he looks like, you know? He doesn’t sound so tough.”
“No! Get out of here, before he does see-” A window’s shutters flew open, cutting off his words.
“Who’s out there? Who shouted?” A harsh voice demanded.
“No! Now! Celeste, Mia, go, before he comes out!” Marc gave Celeste a hard shove, usually reserved for the pre-ritual of starting a fist fight; one boy pushed you, you pushed back harder, and presto. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt the need to protect Celeste, loud-mouthed, idiot Celeste, and her innocent little sister, who Marc hardly knew, but the one thing he understood was that he was out of time.
Carmen Annontillo stood just outside his door, looking right at Marc, and missing Celeste and Mia, who’d been shoved hard enough to get propelled to the back of the house, where, Marc could see that they still stood.
