“Why not?” Wyatt laughed. “Everyone does. The whole dang town knows she’s trash.”
Tabitha had backed away from both of them, sensing impending violence, and she wasn’t even surprised when Clay lashed out first. His fist connected with Wyatt’s jaw, making a responding crack that had Tabitha wanting to close her eyes, but she didn’t.
“Clay, no!” she shouted before she could stop herself when she saw Clay was going to hit him a second time. “Please don’t—”
Her words were cut off when Wyatt lashed back with stunning speed, dodging Clay’s second punch and then catching him in the side with a hard jab that made Clay gasp out loud in pain. Maybe it was the tape on his fists, maybe it was because Wyatt was better cared for and well fed, maybe it was just the black belt he’d earned at the beginning of the summer. Whatever the reason, Wyatt Conner was able to drag Clay Powers, the biggest kid in their grade, to the ground with very little problem. The horror of it trapped her voice in the back of her throat.
Tabitha flattened herself against the wall, watching with wide eyes as the only two friends she had in the entire world went after each other with a wild fury she’d seen too many times before.
A crowd of kids gathered around the fight, but Tabitha barely noticed them cheering on the violence with rabid enthusiasm. It felt like all the color fell out of her world to the sickening sound of fists against skin.
She’d never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. They never came to her house. She’d always known they weren’t real, but she had unwaveringly believed in real-life heroes with every fiber of her being until the moment she saw Wyatt Conner slam Clay’s head against the cement hard enough to make a sickening thud.
All boys turned mean eventually.
Tabitha turned around and left before she could see who won.
It wasn’t until she’d started burning all her notebooks in the bin in the backyard that she snapped out of her shock enough to feel guilty about leaving Clay. It wasn’t his fault Tabitha had been naive enough to still believe in fairy tales. He would think she was stupid for believing Wyatt was a hero to begin with. If he’d known about her stories, he would have probably stopped talking to her.
She threw some sticks into the fire that was dancing up past the metal rim as the smoke curled toward the sky. She had more notebooks than she realized, and all her hard work burned impressively well. She wanted to watch them for a few more minutes; then she’d go look for Clay and say sorry for being a bad friend. He was tough. She’d seen him fight many times before, and she knew he’d be okay, but she still needed to find him. Maybe she’d try her hand at stealing and grab him something to eat from Maple’s.
“If Mama catches you playing with fire, she’ll tan your ass.”
Tabitha jumped when Brett came down the steps in the backyard. Then she quickly looked around the yard, making sure she hadn’t forgotten to throw one of the notebooks in the fire. She’d been hiding them for years. It’d be terrible for him to get ahold of one now and make fun of her on the day she knew they weren’t true. All those stories about one unique boy saving lost orphans, feeding the homeless cookies, or rescuing puppies out of abandoned mines, and it’d been a lie. He’d grown up mean just like the rest of them.
She was still distracted with looking for the notebooks when Brett walked past her.
“Don’t burn the house down, runt.” He shoved her, forcing her to throw out her hands to stop herself from falling into the fire. She screeched when both her open palms connected with the metal bin. He paused when Tabitha jumped back, holding out her hands from the shock of pain. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You start wailing, and I’ll give you something to cry about.”
He walked off quickly, which was a small blessing. He must have wanted to put distance between them in case the burns were serious enough for him to get in trouble. Tabitha fell to the ground, looking at her hands that were already scorched red. As she watched, blisters formed, and the pain radiating out from the burns was so intense she tasted blood as she bit her lip to keep from screaming again.
It wasn’t until Brett was riding his bike down the driveway that the first sob was torn out of her. The burns gave her the excuse to cry, and she used it to her full advantage. Tabitha curled up in the dirt and sobbed over make-believe heroes and real-life villains until the sun went down and all her dreams turned to ash.
Chapter Eight
“I’m telling, Wyatt! If you don’t stop hitting him, I’m telling right now!”
It was Jules’s voice ringing over the shouting crowd that caused the first thread of clarity to filter in past the red haze of fury. Wyatt hated Clay for his constant piglet jabs and scowling bad attitude. He was the meanest kid in their class. No one liked him. Which was why it really galled Wyatt that Tabitha was always hanging on him. She’d never hugged Wyatt like that, and he was nicer than Clay Powers.
He was better-looking too.
Tabitha didn’t pay half as much attention to him as she did to Clay. It wasn’t fair, and he hit Clay again out of the burning frustration that had been building for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t even sure why it made him so angry, but it did.
“Coach Jasper!”
Dang, but Jules was loud. Her voice echoed all the way down the hallway as she took off running toward the boxing ring. Several of the girls followed after her, and other students turned away rather than get caught gawking at the fight.
Wyatt had the good sense to try to get off Clay before the coach showed up, but that didn’t stop Clay from punching him one more time in the side. The punch lacked the strength his other jabs had, but on instinct Wyatt pulled his fist back in retaliation to get another good hit in. He paused when he looked at Clay’s face.
Clay was covered in blood, so much so Wyatt couldn’t tell where it was all coming from. The icy rush of fear and horror was so overwhelming Wyatt got sick to his stomach between one heartbeat and the next.
He couldn’t have possibly done that. Clay’s lip was split. His eye left eye was already swollen shut, and his mouth was bleeding so much he had to spit blood rather than choke.
Wyatt had been fighting all his life. On the mat. In the ring. He never appreciated all those annoying rules until right then. It was horrifying what a little fit of fury could cause, and it was his fault.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt managed to whisper past the nausea rising in the back of his throat.
“Get off me, piglet.” Clay’s voice was slurred, but there was a snarl to it as he shoved at Wyatt for good measure, forcing him to the ground.
Wyatt stayed where he was, staring at Clay, who wiped at his mouth. Clay’s one good eye was still narrowed menacingly at Wyatt. The hatred was so blatant the few students left watching backed up when Clay got to his feet.
He wavered where he stood, and on instinct, Wyatt reached out to him. Clay flinched, and Wyatt had never felt so low in his entire life. It was as if he were looking at a person outside himself. He couldn’t put it together that he had been the one to do this, that he had somehow turned into everything he had been raised to fight against. Someone who hurt rather than helped. A person who let his anger overrule his common sense, and all because he’d seen Tabitha hug Clay. It had caused such raw fury to surge through his bloodstream he actually saw red.
He was in so much trouble.
As he stood there considering how many different ways his father was going to bury him for this, Clay took off, and Wyatt couldn’t even think to stop him before Jules’s shrill voice carried down the hallway again.