The Thrashers(46)

“Just because you like to play it safe doesn’t mean Emily does,” Julian said, tilting his head at her.

“No. We’re not doing this.” Jodi looked to Paige and Lucy for help.

Paige looked conflicted. “Emily, maybe not today, okay?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. Zack looked lost.

“Emily’s the only one who hasn’t gone yet, though,” Zack said.

Jodi hesitated. She knew—she knew—that if Emily got on that hood, she’d get hurt. She felt it in her gut. Either one of them would do something stupid or Emily would try to be braver than she should.

Emily held on to Jodi’s hand even as Jodi relaxed her grip. Jodi turned to her.

“Didn’t you want to see that Marvel movie tonight?”

Sky blue eyes brightened.

No one went with them. Emily called an Uber, and they watched some movie about superheroes Jodi knew nothing about. Emily sat on her left and linked their arms, tugging Jodi’s elbow tightly into her side.



* * *



Halloween that year lacked excitement. Paige was convinced that it would be tempting fate to do anything together for the holiday, so she bowed out of watching scary movies with the four of them on the Friday before. Jodi couldn’t help but notice that the movie Lucy picked to watch at Zack’s didn’t feature ghosts or hauntings.

Zack was on his phone the entire night, texting. Lucy growled at him several times to knock it off, and that’s when Jodi figured out that it was probably Kiera he was talking to. Jodi’s mood soured after that. Her mind was reeling about Zack actually having the audacity to flirt with a new girl while being charged with statutory rape, but she couldn’t tell if she was justified in that. Maybe she was just jealous.

The next day, Oliver scored cheap tickets to a professional play. Jodi, Nikita, and Oliver drove downtown to take in live theater. When they invited Jodi to a party afterward, she passed, exhausted already. They dropped her off before heading out.

She slipped the key into the lock, and before it even clicked, she heard a football game playing. Taking a steadying breath, she inched the door open and found her dad staring blearily at the television. There were five bottles at his feet and a sixth in his hand.

After dropping her bag near the entry, she shut the door with enough noise to announce her presence.

He turned over the arm of his chair. “Why were you out so late?”

Jodi lifted her brows. “What? It’s like, midnight.”

Her dad’s face hardened. “Excuse me? It’s a school night, Jodi.”

“It’s Saturday, Dad.”

She swept to the kitchen to start the dishes. They were all hers, because he was never home to eat on them, but she was still boiling that he’d been home for probably four hours with nothing to show for it except empty bottles and the McDonald’s bag on the counter.

“The check for your lawyer was cashed today,” he said, barely audible under the television.

Jodi scrubbed the pan she’d made pasta in last night, waiting for it.

“Three thousand dollars. Three thousand just to sit next to you and say ‘No comment.’”

“It’s her retainer, Dad. It covers the first ten hours of work. And I told you we could use the court-appointed attorney—”

“We’re not using a shitty lawyer. Not for this.”

“Well, then I don’t know what to tell you!” She tossed the sponge back in the sink, giving up. “You are the one who’s spending three thousand dollars for someone to say ‘No comment.’”

Bottles knocked together, and she turned to see him coming to his feet.

“You had one job, Jodi—stay out of trouble. Just one job to do and you fucked that up perfectly.”

“One job? Seriously? Don’t talk to me about ‘one job.’” She was done. Jodi moved toward her room, leaving the dishes for tomorrow. “And don’t pretend like that wasn’t all my college money that you decided to put toward this lawyer—”

“Your college money? Your money?” He stepped forward, swaying. “You didn’t earn a dime of that—Hey! Don’t walk away from me!”

She bent to grab her bag just as a current of air buzzed past her ear—then a crack and crash against the hallway wall. Jodi curled into herself, shoulders to her jaw, elbows tucked in tight. A beer bottle lay in shards at her feet, golden liquid pouring onto the rug.

He’d thrown it at her head.

Jodi didn’t turn around—didn’t want to hope for an apologetic face that wouldn’t be there. She ran for her bedroom door, slammed it shut, and locked it. She grabbed her desk chair and shoved it under the door handle, too, an extra precaution she’d begun taking last year.

Panting, she stared at the door, listening to his heavy footfalls coming closer. The doorknob rattled, and she jumped.

“You can’t talk to me that way in my own house!”

“You can’t throw things at me!” She backed away to the other side of her bed. “You promised you wouldn’t do that again.”

She hoped it would jog his memory. She hoped he would go quiet and remember the bruise on her shoulder, the sound of her crying behind her bedroom door.

But it didn’t.

“You’re being an entitled little brat. Spending way too much time with the rich kids, now you think you’re one, too.”