Peejay felt better, just by yelling, as if that was all it took for the message to sink in. He watched Jordi’s eyes, waiting to catch any signs of comprehension.
But Jordi only smirked, once he’d composed himself. He grabbed his phone, hiding the fact that his hand was shaking. This wasn’t quite the expression he’d hoped to find on Peejay’s face, but his anger proved Jordi’s point even more. “You’re just mad I’m winning.”
“Winning what?” Peejay asked, yelling again already. Jordi clutched his phone with both hands. “The asshole Olympics? Winning at just getting in the way of things? Of destruction? How is that a point of pride? You’re a speed bump. That’s what you’re proud of right now. Being an obstacle.”
* * *
Jordi opened his mouth, but found even the word no didn’t want to come out. He tried to push it past his diaphragm. He could feel it there in his throat. He forced some air out, but all he managed was a glottal gulp. At least the smirk remained.
“You know,” Peejay said, no longer yelling, speaking directly in his ear, “you don’t have to be a minus in the world. Some people have a positive impact and some have a neutral existence, not harming but not helping, either. Just existing. And that’s not bad, really. It was what I thought you might be able to amount to. Some annoying neutrality.
“Your life, though, right now, makes the world worse. You suck the life out of it. You make it worse. That’s a choice you can undo.”
Jordi tried to step away from Peejay, now forcing his smirk. “Whatever,” he managed to say.
But Peejay stepped up to him again, his mouth now so close to Jordi’s ear that Jordi got goose bumps when Peejay spoke. “You are choosing to actively worsen the world. You are choosing to be worse than worthless.”
* * *
Jordi stepped away once more, but his back was now to the wall. He thought about his dad spewing vitriol at the television, about the week he’d spent locked in the building for some stupid reason he didn’t understand. This wasn’t how he’d expected Peejay to react. He hadn’t expected to be confronted like this. He was a bulldozer, not a speed bump.
Jordi thought about how often his dad told him the value of throwing the first punch, how most fights were won by the person who struck first. He’d never expected to fight Peejay, but this certainly felt like what was happening. The growl in Peejay’s voice, his flared nostrils, his constant encroaching.
So, though he hadn’t thrown a punch in his life, though he didn’t think about what would happen afterward, Jordi cocked his fist. This was what you were supposed to do with people who got in your way. That’s what his father had taught him.
He was cornered, trapped. Peejay wasn’t responding how he’d expected. He wasn’t tearful, apologetic, groveling. He was holding strong. He’d called Jordi a fucking speed bump.
Jordi swung.
Instead of connecting with Peejay’s face, though, his fist hit nothing, stopping a few inches short, as if his arm rebelled against the motion.
Neither of them had seen Omar follow Peejay up the stairs, hadn’t seen him standing off to the side while Peejay yelled. Now they saw him, his arm hooked around Jordi’s. In an instant he was pinning it behind Jordi’s back. It was easy to forget Omar’s strength while he roamed the halls with garbage bags trailing behind him. Much harder to forget when that strength was twisting your shoulder and wrist. Jordi let out a whimper.
“Should I let him go?” Omar asked, not wanting to be Peejay’s savior, not wanting to decide for himself which fight Peejay could partake in. He’d stopped the fist from hitting Peejay’s beautiful face. The rest was up to Peejay.
* * *
How Peejay wanted Omar to tear Jordi’s arm off. How he wanted to pummel him while his arms were pinned. How he wanted Omar to let Jordi go and have Jordi attempt another swing, to have a fair fight and, however much damage he took, open himself to harm Jordi.
Still, though, even now, too much of Hamish remained within him. He motioned for Omar to let Jordi go with a flick of his wrist. There was something about the gesture that hurt Jordi more than a punch ever could. Dismissal, again. Cast aside as if he were nothing more than a fly buzzing around. As if he hadn’t just single-handedly disrupted everything