Blackbird.
Sure, my friends and I have been into her since she showed up at our inner-city elementary school, quiet and reserved and too pretty for South Prescott. The other children didn’t like her because when she first started going to school with us, her clothes were too nice, her hair plaited, like a little doll.
The thing is, while they saw all of that and thought of wealth and snobby Oak Park assholes, we watched Bernadette morph from a doll into a statue. Day after day, the same clothes. Her hair got wilder and more knotted, her shoes worn.
For years, we watched her dip lower and lower into poverty and pain, and we felt powerless.
The only thing we could agree on was that none of us could ever have her. Because as much as we loved Bernadette, we always loved each other, too. She could destroy us from the inside out and we knew that, even at a young age.
Thinking back on it, I’m like, what the fuck, bro? Destroy us from the inside out? Huh? How? By being the perfect Havoc Girl? By fitting in and getting along with five fucked-up misfits that barely belong in society?
No way.
The only reason Bernadette couldn’t be one of us at first, was because we were all selfish.
Well, not today, Satan.
My hand squeezes around the handle of the knife. We have guns, Havoc does. I mean, we didn’t used to, but things are changing. We’ve morphed from a kiddie gang ruling a high school into something else, something sinister and wicked and black.
“You can do this, Hael,” I tell myself, waiting for the front door of a particular motel room to open, for Neil Pence to step out. Once he gets down the steps, I can move out of the shadows, wrap my arm around his neck, and drag him into the trees at the edge of the park.
I can kill him.
Quietly. Painfully. Cover my hands in blood for Bernadette.
My entire life I’ve watched my father beat on my mother, use her as a punching bag for his drunken nights and his jobless days. There’s nothing I hate more than a man who chooses to treat a girl in his family with disrespect.
Nothing.
Besides, I’ve turned into something strange, a whore who can’t stop fucking, who doesn’t know what to do with his feelings, or how to help anyone. This is the least I can do, really. Dad is still in prison and, god-willing, he’ll stay there. Mom is safe, at least for now. I mean, if the parole board doesn’t jam their heads up their own asses and decide to let him free.
I lick my lips, adjusting my grip on the knife. Neil Pence is out here, fucking a prostitute who looks about the same age as Bernie. Blonde hair, big tits, curvy. I should kill him just for that.
Mostly, I’m killing him because I’d do anything to make sure that Bernie makes it to adulthood without falling into the hands of a predator.
That’s all I want. I’ve got simple needs, you know. I’m easy to please.
Something in the darkness draws my attention, and I shove to my feet, spinning around and swinging the knife in an arc at my would-be attacker. Fortunately for me, the person coming at me is just as good as I am and manages to miss having his throat split open from ear to ear.
I would never forgive myself if I killed Aaron Fadler.
“Dude, what are you doing here?” he asks me, sounding tired. We’ve stopped chasing Bernadette around, sure, but it’s impossible to miss her when she steps foot on campus every morning.
Her sister is dead; she looks broken.
I drop the knife to my side as Aaron studies me, waiting for an explanation of some sort.
“You know what I’m doing here,” I retort, glancing over my shoulder to make sure that Neil hasn’t left the motel yet. All seems quiet on the Western front. I look back at Aaron, and in his eyes, I see a reflection of my wants and needs.
“We followed you,” Aaron adds, stepping back to lean against a tree. He looks like a strong wind might blow him over. I slip the knife—the very same one my dad used to cut me once upon a time—back in its leather holder and then tuck the whole thing in my pocket, so I can cross my arms. “They’re all here, around the corner.” He pauses and looks away. “Waiting for me to bring you back.”
“Is this