There’s a long beat of silence.
Then Joe lets out a sigh, turning to me.
“You can’t be serious,” I say in amazement.
Joe and I go back a ways. My brother and I used to barback here in the summers during high school. We helped him rebuild after two hurricanes. I took his daughter to homecoming, for chrissake.
Looking resigned, he runs a hand over his beard.
“Joe. Seriously, man. You’re gonna let one of them tell you how to run your bar?”
“I’m sorry,” Joe finally says. He shakes his head. “I have to think about my business. My family. You went too far this time, Coop. Take what I owe you for the night out of the register. I’ll have a check for you in the morning.”
Satisfied with himself, Richie Rich sneers at me. “See, townie? That’s how the real world works.” He tosses a bloody wad of cash at Steph and spits out a thick clump of blood and mucus. “Here. Clean this place up, sweetheart.”
“This isn’t over,” I warn Preston as he and his friends saunter away.
“It was over before it began,” he calls snidely over his shoulder. “You’re the only one who didn’t know that.”
Staring at Joe, I see the defeat in his eyes. He doesn’t have the strength or desire to fight these battles anymore. That’s how they get us. By inches. Breaking us down until we’re too tired to hold on any longer. Then they pry our land, our businesses, our dignity from our dying hands.
“You know,” I tell Joe, picking up the cash and smacking it in his hand. “Every time one of us gives in to one of them, we make it a little easier for them to screw us the next time.”
Except … no. Fuck the “next time.” These people are never getting a next time from me.
CHAPTER TWO
MACKENZIE
Since leaving my parents’ house in Charleston this morning, I’ve had an itch in the back of my skull, and it only keeps growing more insistent, telling me to turn around. Take off. Run away. Join the proverbial circus and rage, rage against the dying of my gap year.
Now, as my taxi drives through the tunnel of bur oaks to Tally Hall on the Garnet College campus, a pure cold panic has set in.
This is really happening.
Beyond the green lawn and lines of cars, swarming freshmen and their parents cart boxes into the redbrick building stretching four stories into the clear blue sky. White trim frames the rows of windows and the roof, a distinct characteristic of one of the five original buildings on the historic campus.
“I’ll be right back to grab those boxes,” I tell my driver. I sling my duffel over my shoulder, and set my rolling suitcase on the ground. “Just want to make sure I’m in the right place.”
“No prob. Take your time.” He’s unruffled, probably because my parents paid him a huge flat fee to play chauffeur for the day.
As I walk under the massive iron lantern that hangs from the beam above the front doors, I feel like a captured fugitive returning after a year on the lam. It was too good to last. How am I supposed to go back to homework and pop quizzes? My life dictated by TAs and syllabi when I’ve been my own boss for the last twelve months.
A mother stops me on the stairs to ask if I’m the dorm’s resident advisor. Awesome. I feel ancient. A fresh wave of temptation to turn on my heels and split simmers in my gut, but I force myself to ignore it.
I slog up to the fourth floor where the rooms are a little bigger, a little nicer, for those parents willing to leverage the GDP of a small island nation. According to the email on my phone, I’m in room 402.
Inside, a small living room and kitchenette divide the two bedrooms on either side. The room on the left contains an empty bed with a matching wooden desk and dresser. To the right, through the wide-open door, a blonde in a pair of cutoffs and no shirt bounces and sways while putting clothes on hangers.
“Hello?” I say, trying to get her attention. I drop my bags on the floor. “Hi?”
Still she doesn’t hear me. Tentative, I walk up and tap her on the shoulder. She jumps out of her sandals and slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle a yelp.
“Ooh, girl, you got me!” she says in a thick Southern accent. Breathing hard, she pulls the wireless earbuds from her ears and shoves them in her pocket. “’Bout peed my pants.”
Her boobs are right there in all their bare glory, and she’s making no effort to shield herself. I try to look her in the eyes but that proves awkward, so I divert my attention toward the windows.
“Sorry to barge in. I didn’t expect …” to find my roommate engaged in the first act of an amateur porno.