[ - ]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story
- Text Size +
Chapter Three

Just as I suspected, I didn't see Joe's car in the school parking lot. I leaned against my car and sighed.

I had two choices. I could head into school and just hope that he was skipping first hour. Or I could track him down. I knew it wouldn't be hard; I already had a feeling I knew where he had gone.

"AL!"

I turned. One of my friends, Jenny, was running across the grass towards me, her bookbag bouncing up and down. She stopped and matched my pose against the car.

"What's up?"

"Joe's not here," I said.

"So?"

"He left before I did."

Jenny laughed. "He's probably just skipping first hour for the 200th time," she teased.

"I know, but..."

"You seriously aren't going to go track him down are you?"

Jenny meant well, but she was an only child. She didn't understand the whole sibling thing. I made a quick decision.

"Yeah, I am. If anyone asks where I am, just tell them I wasn't feeling well. I'll be back by third hour at the latest."

"I can't believe you're breaking your perfect attendance record over the goon," she said. I sighed. "Just cover for me?" I pleaded. She nodded.

I climbed back in the car and watched through my rearview mirror as Jenny headed towards school. I backed out of the lot and passed the school bus just as it was pulling in.

My list of places to look for my brother was ridiculously short. Truthfully, Joe wasn't all that smart. He got in trouble so much because he didn't use the brains the good lord gave him.

Sure enough, I found his car at the second place I checked. His car was sloppily parked at an angle in front of the tattoo parlor that dad had gone to since we were little.

The bell over the door jingled as I walked in. Joe was standing by the wall, studying the hundreds of designs on display. He turned and scowled.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Stopping you from doing something stupid," I said.

"It's not stupid. Dad has how many tattoos?"

"And how many has he had to get fixed or lasered off because of age?" I asked. Joe snorted.

"I think I have a few years before I have to worry about that."

I sighed. "Y'know you can't get a tattoo without parental permission."

Joe glanced around. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Larry's on sick leave. His replacement said he'd do it for five hundred."

I snorted. "You don't have five hundred," I said.

"I'm giving him the stereo from my car."

My eyes widened. Joe folded his arms and stared at me cooly, waiting for the outburst.

"You might as well dig your own grave if you do that," I warned.

"Hey, I got the shit set-up. You ready? Hey, you bring your girlfriend?"

Joe and I both whirled around. A guy who looked to be in his early twenties was standing in the doorway. He smiled at me.

"She's my sister," Joe said in disgust. He looked at me. "Leave."

I bit my lip. I didn't like confrontation. I didn't like fighting.

I also didn't want a dead brother.

"Fine," I said. I headed out of the shop quickly. The moment I was outside, I pulled out my cellphone. I had just pressed the speed dial for home when the phone was snatched out of my hands.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Joe yelled. He put my phone in his pocket. I grabbed his shirt. I didn't let go; he pulled me inside with him.

"Jonah, I will go right across the street to that McDonald's and call home," I said. "You can't do this."

I dropped my hold on his shirt and headed back to the door. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"If you do, I will NEVER talk to you again," he said breathlessly.

"You can't talk if you're dead," I pointed out.

His face was turning beet red. His grip on my arm got tighter. I yelped and grabbed his shirt again.

Joe tried to make a grab for the kangaroo pocket, but it was too late. A joint fell out. We both stared at it for a second. Joe pounced first. He picked it up and stuffed it back into his sweatshirt.

"You going to tell dad about that too?" he snapped.

Tears sprang to my eyes. "Why? You know dad..."

Joe's face curved into a cruel smile. "Where do you think I stole this joint from? Dad's not cured. He's so far in denial it's not even funny. He might not drink, but he's still got his vices. Stop putting him up on a pedestal."

I was speechless. Joe gave me a look that was almost filled with pity. He turned and walked into the back room.

My feet did my thinking. I found myself back in my car. I let out a shaky breath.

Was Joe telling the truth? If he was, did mom know? What else was Joe using?

With heavy heart and mind, I drove back to school. I made it back in time for my second class. Even though I love school, I couldn't concentrate. "Have you seen Joe?"

"Huh?"

"Your brother?"

Somehow my second class was over and I was standing dumbly by my locker. One of Joe's girlfriends was waiting impatiently for me to answer.

"He's not here," I said.

"He skipped? Without me? The ass!"

She marched off. I couldn't even remember what her name was. Joe had developed the same taste in women as dad: basically the more curves, the better.

It always intrigued me how dad had ended up with my mom Rochelle. She didn't have curves like Molly. What she did have was the same style as my dad. From the photos I had obsessed over for years, I drank in the arms filled with intricate tattoos; so many that it looked like she was wearing a long sleeve shirt. There was also a love of skulls and the color black. Her eyes were playful; she had loved wearing bright lipstick.

Dad didn't talk a lot about her. He admitted that he hadn't treated her like she should have been treated. I knew that had to do something with his addictions.

And that's what scared me so much now. Mom and dad were so happy. I didn't want anything to ruin that.

My inate need to fix things began to churn in my chest. Mom told me, kindly but seriously, that I had developed my insecurities from dad. Even though I was popular in school, I always felt like I could do better or be better. "You look like you're gonna puke."

I blinked. One of my best friends, Kenny, had his nose so close it was almost touching mine. He looked worried. I sighed.

"Just family stuff," I said.

"Joe?" he guessed. I nodded.

"You aren't going to be able to calm him down. He's a shithead," Kenny said with a smile. "I say that out of love, of course."

I knew he did. Kenny was one of the Barracudas. He was also most likely to be my date to prom next year. We walked together; we had American History together.

"He's at a tattoo parlor right now," I added. Kenny whistled.

"He does have balls. I told my mom and she said she'd scalp me if I came home with a tat."

"My dad pretty much said the same thing," I said. I paused. "Hey Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you guys..." I lowered my voice. "smoke pot?"

Kenny looked around. He glanced at me. "Occasionally."

"Why?"

"It's not bad, Al. I mean, it's legal in ten states now. If it wasn't for all the retired fogies that live in Florida, we'd be legalized here."

"It's addictive."

Kenny smiled. "What isn't addictive? Food's addictive. Hobbies are addictive. Music is addictive. People can become addicted to anything these days."

"I know," I said sadly. We headed into the classroom and took our seats.

I knew Kenny meant well, but what he said didn't make me feel better in the least. If there was one thing about my family that I had been warned about since I was young enough to understand, it was that addiction ran deep.

My philosophy was to take the high wall. If I didn't try, I couldn't get sucked in.

I just prayed that was enough.