07. Bigger Things

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"JUKEBOX PLAYS HANK 'I'M SO LONESOME I COULD CRY'." - George Strait (Every Little Honky Tonk Bar)

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Maybe I'm just being biased because they're my siblings, but I don't understand how they have so many people following their every move. Christ, Ang's fourteen and I've already had to chance more guys off my lawn than Mr. C, and the guys treating Curly like God were like the twelve apostles of Will Rodgers. The shrill yell of the bell was still echoing through the halls and growing out the last few announcements before we all took off for the weekend. Kids were pushing through the doors like water when a dam burst, a weird mix of leather jackets, knit sweaters, and wealth was all I cared to notice before I pulled my hands into my pockets and looked around. Curly and his friends were standing in front of me, taking turns body-checking each other to the ground. Angela, on the other hand, was next to Sylvia Jones and popping a bubble between her teeth.

She didn't look half bad -- Sylvia, I mean. Her short skirt and dark eyeshadow made her look more like a hooker than a high schooler, but she'd always been like that. Besides, I didn't pay enough attention to her to care about that kind of shit, all I cared about was the St. Christopher hanging around her pale neck. I pushed past Curly and whatever kid he was fighting with now and moved towards the two girls leaning against the cold brick wall. Angela was picking at her chipped nail polish and dropping the flakes onto the dying grass. Beside her, Sylvia was twisting a strand of her freshly bleached hair around her finger. The second she noticed me, her once soft gaze hardened and ran her tongue over her poisonous smile. At this point, Ang tipped her head back and groaned. "Can I go one fucking day without you starting a fight?" If she were Curly -- or I was three percent less stable, I woulda popped her in the mouth. But I've never hit a girl, and I wasn't about to stoop that low. So, I took the high road and yanked on one of her curls before threatening to wash her mouth with soap. She muttered something under her breath but had enough sense to shut up and walk away while my back was still turned. But Sylvia was a whole different broad.

"Nice necklace," I said immediately. Sylvia's snarl depend as she raised one manicured hand to hold the saint against her palm, the closest thing she's ever felt to holy. I guess it was kind of ironic, the only time Dally didn't have it around his neck was when it was clasped around hers. "What?" She asked with fake pity, "sad I'm off the market?"

I swear, girls like Sylvia came with receipts in their bras. And guys like Dallas Winston took full advantage of them. Throwing words like that around didn't do much to me -- sure we slept around a few times, but that was outta jealously and not because I gave a shit -- besides, I knew she'd be "back on the market" by this time next week. "I'm lookin' for the guy who gave it to you."

She raised an eyebrow, slowly running her tongue over her teeth. Then, with her hands on her hips, she smiled. "Why do you wanna know?"

I didn't hate Dallas. He was a weird kid who showed up in town, spends most of his nights sleeping in a fucking bar, and decided beating the shit outta some Socs was his purpose in life. We've had a few Rumbles of our own, usually on the Curtis' front lawn or outside of Buck Merrill's bar, but we never stayed pissed at each other for too long. If I decided tomorrow Bryon Douglas was getting too cozy with Ang, Dal would jump him with me, no questions asked. But apparently, I meant the asshole could chuck a rock at my window last night without a reason, too.

I leaned back on my heels and cocked my head to the side. Syl was still watching me close -- close enough I could see the gears turning in that empty skull of hers. "C'mon doll," I hummed, "you like a good fight just like the rest of us." I knew I had to be quick. I wasn't afraid of Dallas, not one bit, but hitting on some other guy's girl doesn't go down real smooth around here. If Syl didn't take a swing at me herself Dal would, Angela would, most of the Curtis gang would try, and I doubt Marley of all fucking people would let it go. "Didn't he cheat on you last time? How'd that make you feel?

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