“I wasn’t going to.”
“I was just sitting there, and all of a sudden, Ashleigh Wright and Kyle Richardson were there, too, and they were saying some dumb shit about me. They wanted me to hear.”
Of course they did.
“And then, Kyle decided to shout some crap about my mom being a…” She blinks repeatedly. “I don’t know, Eli, it was like something tilted in me. I knew it was a cheap shot, and I knew he only wanted to get under my skin, but I just couldn’t help it. It was too much.”
The boy remains silent, not wanting to spook her into silence.
“So, I just walked over to him and punched him.”
He jerks around in his seat. “You what?”
“In the face.”
“Jesus, Cass.” The boy looks down at her right hand’s fingers, which he now realizes she’s holding at an odd angle. He fights a wave of nausea. “Did no one take a look at those for you in there?”
She doesn’t answer, instead giving him a smile. So goddamn soft.
“I’ll bring you to the ER,” he says, finally turning the engine on.
“I’m not spending hundreds of dollars on this. I’m fine.”
“Cassie.”
“Eli.”
“I’ll pay. I don’t care.” He can’t stand the thought of her being in pain, and if the only hurt he can help is the physical one, then God help him, he will.
She places her good hand on his, relaxing his fingers off the wheel. “I’m okay.”
The boy doesn’t buy it for a second, but he can wait a bit.
“He’s going to press charges,” she adds.
“What?” The boy frowns. “But he’s the one who started it.”
“Technically, he just made some dumb insult. I’m the one who got violent.”
Violent, his ass. How many times can a dog be kicked before it bites?
“So, what’s going to happen?”
“The officers said because I’m still a minor, I’ll probably only get community service hours, and there’ll be a record to my name.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
The girl shrugs. “I did it. I have to pay for it.”
“But he deserved it.”
“Yeah, he really did.”
The car becomes silent, the girl still pulling at her cuticles. Most times the boy looks at her fingers, they look ravaged. Never as bad as today, though.
“He was wrong in there, you know. It doesn’t matter what you do. You’re not like your father.”
“I know I’m not.” She tucks a knee to her chest, her beat-up Converse resting against the seat. “But does it even matter when that’s what everyone sees when they look at me?”
