The Bad Boy with a Heart of Gold

✖ Chapter 10 ✖

Toni ended up picking me up and waited until later that day, when we were back to UCF's campus to ask the question I knew she'd been itching to ask all along.

"So," she started. We'd already been sitting on the grass for a few minutes as we powered our laptops and set out to do some homework. She cleared her throat and leaned back, her hands fanning over the grass blades and looking at me like I was a puzzle. "What were you doing in Sawyer Logan's house?"

I took a sip from my water bottle, thinking how to best approach this.

With the truth, probably.

I sighed. "Mr. Davies and the Principal have assigned me to tutor him this year."

"Wait, what?"

"It's for extra credit." I shrugged. "I figured an altruistic activity such as helping the local screw up graduate would look really good for my college applications."

Toni turned to me slowly, almost as if she were expecting to come face to face with a serial killer.

"You do realize it's not altruistic at all if you do it for your benefit, right?" she said.

I waved my hand. "Look, what matters is that he does need help." I thought about the freshly open wound on his lip and the gory bruise on his side, in the back of my mind figuring that he needed help in other areas outside of my expertise too. "If it happens to be that I get some benefit from it, why would that be wrong?"

"It's not wrong, it's just..." Toni bit her lip and looked down at her laptop. "I can't help but worry."

I stayed silent as I put my password into my laptop and opened a word document to write an essay for World History, which was ironic because Toni was referring precisely to the history between our families.

Yes, papa had given a shot to Jack Logan years ago. And Jack had proceeded to let papa down, time and time again. He'd shown up late for work and got reprieves. Then he'd shown up drunk and still papa would not quit on him. The one that finally did it was when, after working on a car, the customer had come back a day later and complained that his engine had powered down in the middle of I-4, which could have very well cost him his life. Instead of apologizing and fixing the issue, Jack had gotten in a fight with the customer.

A literal fight with fists.

The risk of a lawsuit was what finally opened papa's eyes.

Sawyer had shown up at our home a few days later, begging papa to give Jack his old job back. Mama fed him a couple of arepas and then papa bundled the boy into his car to drive him back home. Problem was that Sawyer had been so distressed, we'd never seen him like that before. I always wondered if it was just an act to really convince papa. So the Martinez women got into the car as well—I did, only because mama forced me. We drove down to Jack Logan to return his kid.

He opened the door, pushed Sawyer inside without sparing him a glance and spat on the floor where papa stood. I was so shocked by that, that my brain stopped functioning. The words they exchanged sounded to me like they were underwater, but I knew by the tense air that they weren't good.

And then Jack Logan did the unthinkable. He punched my papa in the face and screamed, "Fuck you, you sanctimonious spick."

Those words I could never forget. And although papa could, mama would never forgive. For years she'd resented the son as though he'd been the one to set up the scene for the father.

That was the last time I was at the Logans. Until today.

I started typing the title of my essay like it was no big deal. "Sawyer would never hurt me, if that's what you're concerned about."