The Notorious R(uth) B(arakat) G(rimaldi)

Chapter 45: Excitement on the Brooklyn Bridge

"Long time no see, you little English faggot."

The voice was so out of place that for a second Ruthie's brain refused to process it. They were all on the expanse of the Brooklyn Bridge, almost back in Manhattan. They'd taken the subway to the High Street station on the Brooklyn side so they could walk back into the city and enjoy the views and the nice weather.

Then Elliott closed his eyes and turned toward the voice, and Ruthie realized it was Brett. Gordon and Pepsi were already walking quickly toward Ms. Pomerantz to tell her what was happening.

"What on earth are you doing here, Carmichael?" Elliott's voice was casual, but Ruthie could see how he'd tensed up. Joanna, who was standing next to him, swallowed, eyes wide.

"Don't act surprised, I know the pussy police department was on the horn to Pomerantz practically before my plane took off," Brett drawled. 

Ruthie realized that she hadn't seen Brett in a couple of months, and those months hadn't been kind to him. He appeared to have put on a little weight while hiding out on his parents' property, and he badly needed a haircut. He looked out of shape, unshaven, almost slovenly.

Ms. Pomerantz appeared, flanked by Pepsi, Gordon and Linda, her phone in her hand. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carmichael, but this is a closed field trip," she told him, trying to sound firm. "You can't just fly to New York on your own and join us at your whim."

"Shut up, bitch, this has nothing to do with you," Brett answered, keeping his eyes on Elliott and Ruthie. A few gasps went up at his casual use of the pejorative toward a teacher. Ms. Pomerantz flinched a little, but held her ground. The other pedestrians on the walkway merely parted and went around the knot of teens standing on the bridge. They were either tourists, busy taking photographs and talking to each other, or seasoned New Yorkers, who minded their own business until told not to.

"I'm not a student at that fucking school anymore, you don't have any authority over me," Brett continued. "I'm just a private citizen, enjoying one of America's most iconic tourist attractions. I have as much right to be here as anyone else."

They faced off for a few seconds before Ms. Pomerantz spoke again. "Well, that's fine, then. I'll expect you to do your own thing and leave us alone, all right?"

"Fuck off."

Next Mr. Woods, a parent chaperone, spoke up. "Brett, I know your parents from church, and your dad from the rotary. I can't believe they'd want you talking to a teacher like that, son."

"I'm not your fucking son."

Ms. Pomerantz bit her lips together and made a decision. "Come on, then, kids, let's keep going, okay? We have a tour bus meeting us on the other side, and we don't want to be late." To Brett, she added, "Stay safe, then, Mr. Carmichael, we'll see you back in Warren."

But Brett stepped forward, in Ruthie's direction. Elliott also took a step in Ruthie's direction. This would be their third physical altercation, if things went that far, and Elliott hadn't come out well on either of the two occasions.

"You want to watch it, and don't touch her, faggot," Brett said in Elliott's direction. "You know how I feel when you touch my girl.

"And if I find out that you've been fucking her while you guys have been here, I'll fucking kill you. I'll fucking take your dick off at the balls."

Ruthie rolled her eyes, though she was feeling anything but in an eye rolling mood. Seeing Brett, standing on the Brooklyn Bridge, was almost surreal; she felt as though she might wake up at any moment and find that this was all some bizarre dream. The sky above them was blue, the river below gray, and she could hear horns honking and people calling out to each other, yet the feeling of unreality remained.