Page 150 of Hellbent

“S’good,” she said.

“Then tell your face,” Alicia said.

Joey wondered what was wrong with her expression. She was too aware of it now, wearing it like a mask. The bottle suddenly felt large and silly in her hand, a prop. The girls seemed so much older, their frail frames and drugged high lending them an otherworldly aura, as if their feet were floating an inch above the dirt. Joey felt clumsy and common by comparison, a flightless bird.

Scotty enabled the light on his iPhone and rested it on a concrete ledge by a pile of rusted beer cans. Graffiti covered the walls and ceiling, the bubble letters and vulgar sketches made menacing in the severe light.

“Alicia,” Connor said, “that was the last beer. Wanna grab the other sixer from the cooler?”

Alicia’s lips peeled back in a smile. She ran her hand up her throat as if feeling her skin for the first time. “Sure, Connor.”

She held up a pale fist to Joey. “I was just kidding earlier,” she said. “C’mon, gimme knucks.”

Joey lifted her hand, but Alicia lowered her fist and turned away, the other girls snickering in a matching low key. Alicia slid an anorexic shoulder along the wall to the hatch, the other girls trailing her, so pale and insubstantial they looked like shades. They slipped through the cramped space without slowing.

As soon as they vanished, Scotty stepped over, blocking the way out. Joey sensed Connor sidle up behind her.

Blocking her in.

All of a sudden, Joey felt her awkwardness lift. She was aware of the scuff of Connor’s shoe in the dirt, the distance to the concrete walls around her, the latent power of her muscles. Her heartbeat ticked in the side of her neck, as steady as a metronome.

This part wasn’t scary or intimidating, not like drinking beer or bumping fists or figuring out how to smile the right way.

This part felt like home.

As she started to turn, Connor grabbed her belt in the front and pulled her close. She let him. He was big enough to bow her lower back, her face uptilted to his. His breath smelled like tea leaves.

His hand curled over her belt, knuckles pressed into her lower stomach.

“You know why you came,” he said.

Joey said, “Let go of me.”

He kissed her.

She kept her mouth closed, felt his stubble grate her lips. Behind her she heard Scotty laugh. Connor pulled his face back but kept the front of her jeans clamped in his fist.

She said, “Let go of me.”

Connor loomed over her. “I don’t think I want to just yet.”

She stepped away, but he tugged her buckle, snapping her back against his chest.

“Oh,” she said sympathetically. “You think you’re in charge.”

Calmly, she chambered her leg high and pistoned her heel through his ankle.

The snap sounded like a heavy branch giving way.

Connor stared down at his caved shin in disbelief. His foot nodded to the side, ninety degrees offset from the ankle.

Joey said, “Three … two…”

He screamed.

Scotty yelled, “Crazy bitch!” and charged her, lowering his shoulder for a football tackle. Sidestepping, she took his momentum and redirected him into the wall. His face smacked the concrete. It left a wet splotch. He toppled over, his legs cycling against the pain, heels shoving grooves in the dirt.

Joey placed her hand on Connor’s barrel chest and shoved. He fell hard, landing next to Scotty. He was still making noises.