The rest of the day I waited for the axe to fall. I kept checking online, waiting for an appearance of the list and the beginnings of a lynch mob. For the stares to start, cell phones to be passed around, or for lockers to suddenly sprout more secrets from the intensely private personal files of Charlotte Webb.
But, nothing.
Ty the Executioner waited for the right moment to strike.
And it was killing me.
Snow dusted my boots as I tromped on the sidewalk that framed the school field. The familiar rumble of Bernie’s engine had me straightening my back with resolve. Roach could always pull me back from the brink but not this time. My hurt was too great. Even Superman needed the Fortress of Solitude. If I didn’t get some time to think…I’d embrace the crazy.
And once I did that, there’d be no turning back.
I snuck a glance at Bernie. Owen mashed his face against the window in the back seat. Too bad it didn’t snap under the pressure and decapitate him. That would have been nice.
“Charlie, get in.” Roach poked her head out the driver’s window.
I kept walking.
“Owen told me what happened.” I stopped and looked at her then, saw how she glared at Owen in the rear view mirror. “And the boy will be duly punished. Possibly skinned alive. Twice. Nay, thrice over. But please, can we talk about it?”
Yeah, Roach did want to commiserate with me, of that I was certain. She was my best friend, but I also knew she worried I’d take any bitterness I had toward Owen out on her as well. Guilt by sharing the same gene pool.
“I’ll still help with the show, Roach,” I assured her. “And I don’t really blame Owen. Who is a fucking. Little. Idiot.” Roach idled in the street. “But I need some time, okay?”
“What about your date tonight? Still on?”
“As far as I know.” I shrugged. “I’ll fill you in later.” As Roach gave Bernie some gas, my gaze skirted over Owen who mouthed, Sorry.
“You look a little, well, I guess desperate is the word, Charlie, you okay?” Tony met me in the alley behind Up-A-Chuck. He’d answered my knock on the bay door.
Behind Tony - a smash of pots. Swears. The bludgeoning of something dense and likely bloody.
“Do you have to go and help with that?” I asked out of politeness, a trait that reared its ugly head occasionally. I think the last time was in the seventh grade.
“Naw, they have it under control.”
Perfect. I cut to the chase. “Is Eric working today?”
“Rumor has it he took the day off to get ready for some hot date.” Tony eyed me with concern. “You’re not here to break my boy’s heart are you? To take the moon out of his sky, the stars from his heavens…”
Melodramatic, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a matt of dark chest hair. I had to ask, “Are you sure you’re not Italian?”
Tony shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a romantic.”
I did some digging. “Did anyone, say, about this tall,” I held up my hand to Ty’s height, “big, beefy,” I rounded my shoulders and tried for a stunned expression, “and lacking brain cells drop by to see Eric? Maybe about an hour ago?”
“Are you jealous? Because I know for a fact, Eric would never ditch you for a girl who fit that description.”
I straightened with a snap. “Not a girl, a guy. A big dumb jock who’s after my blood. Never mind. I guess I’ll find out tonight.” I shuffled away from the restaurant.
“Wait, if Eric calls, do I say you were looking for him?”
“No. Yes. It doesn’t matter.”
“Want his phone number?”
“He’s not answering.”
“He’s a bit of a luddite. Grace still married?”
I slipped out of the alley and into the street.