THE WILD SEASON

Chapter 5

In my mind, I kick open the door. I've got a bow and arrow in my capable hands, and I train it on Colt Henry as he shivers in my mighty, mind-rattling presence.

But in truth, when the boy sees me burning a trail toward him, his eyes reveal only the briefest flash of surprise.

"You!" I say.

"Me," he responds, returning to the engine he's working on.

"You talking crap about my mom's company?" I snap, but he doesn't even have the common courtesy to turn and face me. I frown as he bends over the engine, wrench in hand. Before I can think better of it, I karate-chop the hood prop.

Colt leaps back before the hood comes down on his neck.

Off with his head!

"Are you mad?" he asks, but even then he doesn't yell.

"When you tell people my family's business comes at the expense of child labor? Yeah, that makes me mad. That makes me mad as hell." I'm shaking as I stand in front of him, surprised that I came anywhere near this guy, but Colt doesn't seem bothered in the least.

He reaches toward me, and I freeze. But his arm only slides past to grab a rag. Colt wipes his disgusting, sweaty forehead with it and, damn him, he grins.

"Maybe if you hadn't told people I have lice."

My chest tightens. That was weeks ago. He knew about that? "You were scratching your head all day like a heathen," I say, my voice a touch lower. And then, because this is Colt Henry and what do I care, I lift my chin and add, "Everyone saw you doing it. Don't blame me if I said aloud what everyone was thinking."

What I don't clarify is that Anna said it first. I only repeated what she'd said in World History, but it spread from there.

"I didn't need to be deloused," Colt says.

I scrunch up my nose. "Yeah, but you did need a bath."

"Did you know that the word lousy is derived from louse?"

"What?"

Colt sighs. "Did you want something, Molly?"

"Stop spreading lies about my family's business." I grit my teeth, and look over his shoulder at the people turned in our direction. Among them is Kenny Vaughn, Colt's only friend. He's making a crude gesture with his hips that I'm certain he has no personal experience with. "And stop telling people I have a scratch-and-sniff vagina. What does that even mean?"

"Kenny said that, not me," Colt says without apology. "I don't talk about you. I don't look at you. I don't even think about you. Ever. All right?"

"Great, then you should have no problem keeping your mouth shut about my mom in the future." I hesitate, and add, "And I'll keep mine shut too."

I spin on my heel, ready to storm away, but Colt's voice stops me.

"That shouldn't be too hard for you, right?" he says. "Keeping your mouth shut."

I turn around, shake my head. "What?"

Colt rubs the back of his neck. For a moment, it seems as if he might apologize, but then he sighs and tosses the rag onto the hood. His eyes lift to meet mine, and I can tell this confrontation is about rise to a new, more serious level.

I shouldn't have come here. It's been almost a year since that night at Gabe's house, and I've strategically avoided Colt since then. And now. Those eyes. That shadow crossing his face.

"Admit that you could have kept me out of jail that night." He raises his head a touch. "You could have told the truth."

My cheeks burn, but I hold his stare. "I didn't lie."

"No, you just stood by and let it happen."

Shame floods my body, recalling the way Colt looked at me as the patrol car pulled away. When the police brought me in the next morning, I refused to give a statement, admitting that I'd had a drink at Gabe's house, and couldn't clearly remember what happened. But I did remember. And saying nothing kept Colt there for another fourteen hours until they could speak to other people at the party.

The shame leaves me in a rush when my brain snaps to another, much worse day. I didn't start this. He did.

"Standing by is exactly what you should have done," I say. "Instead of lying."

I turn to go a second time, tiring of this conversation, wondering why I'm wasting my time with the lying offspring of a murderer. But once again, Colt stops me when he opens his mouth and says, "You're a spiteful, spoiled brat, you know that?"

I turn back around, slowly, spotting Kenny over Colt's shoulder, his eyes wide with amusement.

"Spiteful?" I say. "Spoiled?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah, I said it. Straight to your face. What are you going to do?"

I shake my head. Laugh a little. Then I point a finger at his nose, and say, "You're damn right I'm spoiled. My mom and dad worked hard to give me everything I'd need to be successful. And I will be because I, in turn, work hard too." I look him up and down. "But you? You'll always be a stinking deadbeat, just like your dad." I slam my hand on the hood of the car, and hear the auto teacher yelling my name, appearing from his office for the first time. "You'll live your entire life, and your biggest accomplishment, if you're lucky, will be to own a car instead of just working on one."

I drop my hand. "As for me, I've got the world at my fingertips. All I have to do is take it," I say, repeating my father's words. I turn and walk away, but not before saying over my shoulder, casually, "Oh, and I've got a car too."

I want to feel pride as I walk away. Pride that I defended myself. Pride that I found the right words to spear Colt Henry. But instead I feel sickened. I feel shameful.

I feel hollow.

Part of me, a part so small I can't put a name to it, wishes he'd call after me. That'd he say something else, anything else. That he'd realize my life isn't perfect. That he'd notice I'm drowning in the wake of what happened the day his father's car slammed into my mother's.

I wish someone would notice—

That I'm drowning.

I'm drowning.