Josie Guerrero is focused on one thing: getting accepted into the prestigious art studies program within the Art School at the University of Southern Washington. With thirteen weeks to create her sophomore portfolio, she knows she can't afford any d...
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Heavy skies follow me through Pullman.
The smoke billowing up from the fairgrounds catches in the soft breeze that's pulling the gray clouds above closer. The storm is moving fast, and with a low warning rumble of thunder, I'm guessing we won't be out here for long before the icy rain starts to pour.
Pulling off into the crowded field just outside of town, I find a spot close to the street and cut my bike's engine. This field is where the carnival that I took Josie to was set up. It's where most of the town's outdoor events are held, and since this bonfire is technically sponsored by the USW football team, it's a hell of a lot bigger than most parties. It's a front for fundraising since the beer and food aren't free, but really, it's just an excuse to throw a big-ass party without the cops coming to shut it down.
It's a party the team always goes to — mainly because we get free beer — but the only reason I'm here right now is because Luke heard Thompson says that Olivia and her roommates were coming tonight, and I'm not about to pass up an opportunity to talk to Josie.
According to her roommates, she hasn't been home the few times I've stopped by. I've sent her twenty-nine unread texts. She's ignored all my calls. And goddamn, at this point, I'm willing to catch a fucking pigeon and tie a letter to it just for the hell of it.
Pocketing my keys, I set into a slow jog, trying to ignore the pain radiating through my entire body as I weave through the crowd. It's been almost twenty-four hours since my fight, and I still feel like I'm fucking dying. The bruises on my face aren't that bad. I have a pretty nasty looking one on my jaw, but it's covered enough by the dark scruff on my face to not really be noticed unless you're looking for it. But the bruise spanning the entire side of my abdomen is so purple it's nearly black. It aches every time I walk, sit, lay down, speak, breathe, fucking exist.
I damn near cried at practice when Luke stiff-armed me on defense. And when Coach finally dismissed us to the showers, his eyes lingered on me as I grabbed my shit and left, mumbling something about needing to help out my brother with something in Creek View just so I wouldn't have to take off my shirt.
Because a few bruises on my face can be explained without much suspicion — the fact that I was hot-headed enough to get into bar fights for the past few years has solidified that excuse for me — but I'm pretty sure my cover would have been blown if my teammates saw my abdomen. Especially since, thanks to one of the hundreds of people in the crowd that night, a video of me shattering Hayden Prince's jaw has gone fucking viral.
Viral enough that I saw people crowding around each other on campus just to watch it together. Viral enough that Jordan sent it to me and said his wrestling coach showed it to him. Viral enough that my Russian Literature professor referenced it while he was setting up for his lecture, asking if anyone knew who Caustic was since, according to the gossip, he's a USW student.
It's fucking everywhere. Spreading across the internet like wildfire. And when the tag #whoscaustic started to trend locally, I damn near threw my phone across the room. Because fighting in front of two hundred drunken frat boys is one thing. Fighting under the lens of thousands — hundreds of thousands, maybe — is something completely different.
