Needy Little Things(47)
He pushes his beanie back on his head. A few chocolate curls spring free. “Hm?”
“All of this. The yard. Why’d your mom deserve such a big apology?”
“Because I was a really bad son for a really long time.” He flicks away some ashes. “And I’m still no saint, clearly. But I’ve come a long way. I’m kind of scared to tell you about the old me, if I’m honest.”
“Why?”
He leans forward, knee bouncing anxiously. “Because I want you to think good things about me.”
“Well, it’s too late for that,” I tease. “But seriously. I supplied the weapon that caused the injury that led to a fatal heart attack, and you still give me the time of day.”
“Malcolm’s right, you know. That doesn’t sound as bad as you think it does. But either way—what you do, that’s nature. You can’t impose morality on nature. It just is. All you can do is respect it. Be gracious when it blesses and humble when it doesn’t.”
“Give me that.” Obviously not on his level yet, I reach for the joint—or blunt, I sure as hell don’t know the difference—and take another drag. “I’m human, Jude,” I say, holding back another cough. “Morality is the only thing that makes us any different from the other animals.”
“You’re human and…”
“Oh, you’ve definitely been hanging around Malcolm too much. And what?”
He blows out a puff of smoke, smirking. “Just and.”
I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder with mine. “Tell me your secret. You know mine.”
“Your ability isn’t a secret, though.”
“It is to most people. Even gnats don’t know about the headaches, or my inability to hear the people closest to me.” I stop there, hoping he’ll remember that he is one of only a few people on this planet that fall into that category.
“Fair enough.” He lies back, exposing a thin strip of his stomach and the dark gray elastic band of his underwear.
I lie next to him. It’s rare to see stars in the city sky, and tonight is no exception. But the fairy lights twinkle and the leftover smog from the day gives the clouds a purple haze that draws our attention almost as much as the stars would.
A few minutes pass before Jude speaks. “I’m not from Florida. I mean, I was born there, but we left right before I started first grade. My dad got a new job.”
“Where’d you move to?” I ask, instead of Why’d you lie to me?
“Texas.”
I stay perfectly still. I don’t want him to know that I’ve googled him. If he is going to share, I want to hear exactly what he has to say.
“I’d forgotten how green the East Coast is. So many trees. So different from the places we stayed in Texas. Mom grew up here and was so excited to come back. Kept talking about getting a garden set up, but I knew that was never going to happen. She works too much.”
“Why did you guys move here?”
“It’s not the only reason, but my parents got divorced. Their marriage started falling apart once I started high school. Couldn’t be in the same room without screaming and cursing each other out. I stayed out of the house as much as I could, but we didn’t live in the best area. Made friends with some guys I shouldn’t have.” He looks at me, a sad smile on his face. “We stole so much shit. And most of them—they did it so they could help keep the lights on and feed their brothers and sisters. Both my parents had solid jobs and I’m their only kid. They legit would give me almost anything I asked for. You know, so long as I kept my grades up, helped out around the house. I have no excuse for the stuff I did.”
“So why’d you do it?”
He fiddles with the thin chain around his neck. “Devil finds work for idle hands,” he says in a voice I assume is meant to mock his mother. “My parents put me in this after-school program. I started tutoring some of the younger kids there. Actually kept me out of trouble for a minute.”
I turn on my side and study his profile. “Only for a minute?”
His cheeks color some. “They had to close the center for a couple of days because there was some stomach bug going around. I met up with my boys and we did what we always did. Stole some sneakers and stuff from these dudes playing basketball. They saw us running off with them, but we had a good head start. Turns out one of them went to my school. He recognized me, and I ended up getting into a really bad fight with him.”
“Over some sneakers?”
“You sound like my mom,” he says, amused. “Over some sneakers, Jude? Really?” he says with that same mocking voice. “Anyway, so we’re fighting and a teacher comes running down the hall, shouting at us to break it up. It was in one of the back halls during lunch, so there weren’t that many people around. The teacher kept screaming at us. I couldn’t make out anything she was saying. I was getting my ass beat, to be honest.” He looks at me and puts his hand on his chest. “Lover, not a fighter at heart, promise.”
“Was she able to break it up?”
He laughs. “Yes, but not in the way she hoped. She grabbed my shoulder and it distracted me for half a second. Dude got a good one in.” He pushes his curls away from his forehead and taps a slightly raised scar near his hairline. “I stumbled back and knocked her over. Fell on top of her. She broke her wrist, her skirt came up. I know it looked horrible, but the way she screamed, the way the assistant principal yanked me off her, the way they were looking at me like I … I don’t know. People started talking shit, straight-up lying for no reason. Saying I pushed her. Saying I hit her. Saying—” He swallows hard. “Saying I touched her when she fell, which is absolutely ridiculous. Only a bunch of high school kids could twist that up like that. She publicly denied that part, but not the rest of it. And she didn’t speak up right away. The school called the cops. Worst day of my life. By the time my mom and dad got me from the police station, all sorts of crap was plastered all over the internet. When she finally spoke up, the damage was done.”