A.M. Jenkins - Breaking Boxes

CHAPTER 1

My brother, Trent, always makes me want to laugh. Even when I'm sitting at the breakfast table, even when my face is so asleep that only years of habit can get my mouth to open for the cold cereal my hand is shoveling in.

"You're torturing me, Charlie. You know that?" he says, measuring out his coffee. He's got his back to me. I keep scooping cereal in. "Can't you turn your alarm down just once? Or at least set it to something else. That country stuff's killing me."

Trent's always wide awake the moment his feet touch the floor. He doesn't even start making coffee until he's showered and dressed. Me, I hit the snooze button a couple of times every morning. And I take my shower the night before, so I can sleep till the last possible moment.

Trent starts singing at the counter. With his back to me. "My dawg is dead," he moans. "That ankle-gnawing mongrel. The sheriff shot him with a sawed-off, and now I don't got no dawg."

"Shut up," I say, but I can feel a grin trying to crack its way across my face.

Trent runs water into the coffeepot. "My wife done left me, nair nair ." The nair nair is his way of twanging like a guitar. "I hit the snooze alarm three times, and she had to hear this stupid song at seven A.M. , nair nair ."

"Twice," I say. "I only hit it twice."

"Three times," Trent tells me, punching the start button on the coffeemaker. "Three times I had to hear Johnny Joe Billy Bob Bucket singing through his nose instead of his mouth. Now I've got some song stuck in my head. What is it? Something about boots under a bed?"

"Don't ask me," I say. "I was asleep."

"It's a plot." Trent brings his plate over to the table and sits down. He eats bagels for breakfast, I eat cereal. It's been that way ever since it's been just the two of us. "Country's trying to take over rock. Every year, a little less steel guitar, a little more percussion. Next thing you know they'll be wrecking their instruments on the stage."

"They're already doing that," I point out.

"See?"

I'm kind of starting to wake up. The steamy smell of coffee makes its way over to me. I like the smell of coffee. I just hate the taste.

I'm sitting there sniffing when it hits me. There's something I've got to warn Trent about.

"Hey," I tell him. "You might get a call at work today. I might be getting into a fight."

I can hear the coffee trickling into the pot. Trent's bagel is in his hand; he hasn't even taken a bite of it yet but he sets it back on the plate.

"Why?"

My cereal's gone, but now's not the time to take the bowl to the sink. "Some guys've been hassling me, and I decided today I'm going to take care of it."

"What have they been hassling you about?"

I know what he's thinking. He's thinking it's got something to do with him. I look him right in the eye and tell the truth. "Nothing special. Just some rich jocks who get their jollies by acting superior."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

"One hundred percent," I tell him.

Trent nods and takes a bite of bagel. He's a powerful guy, Trent is, lifts weights and all that, and if he wanted to, he could take those guys out with his little finger. If I asked him to, he might. But I'm not exactly scrawny myself, and even if I was, I wouldn't ask.

And Trent would never give me some stupid advice, like go tell a teacher or just ignore those guys. He knows telling a teacher would just make things worse, and he knows if I've decided to fight, that means I've already ignored it as long as I can.

Trent's one reason I look at other high-school people and I think, What a drag, having parents who give you stupid advice when they don't even have a clue what your life is like. Parents you have to lie to, because they screw things around so you have to choose between lying and getting into trouble. Trent understands that you can get into a ton worse trouble by running to teachers than by standing up for yourself.

"The school's got my work number, don't they?"

"Yeah," I say, though I'm not really sure because they've never had to call about me before. "If they don't, I'll give it to them."

"You sure you can handle this?"

"Yeah." I take my empty bowl to the sink, rinse it, and put it in the dishwasher. Trent's eating his bagel, kind of absentminded. His coffee's done; I pour him a cup and put in the creamer till it's the right color. "I'll be all right," I say as I put the cup down in front of him. "Don't worry."

"Thanks. But I will."

"I know," I tell him, picking up my books. I also know he worries about me not having a lot of friends like he does. Any friends, if you want to get technical.

And now I'm getting in a fight. I should tell him it's okayI'm fine, I don't need anything from anybody, I don't ask anything except to be left unhassled.

Today I'm just going to have to ask a little louder, that's all.

I don't say anything, I just turn at the front door and wait till I'm sure he's looking at me. Then I nod, once. He hesitates, then nods back and even lets himself give me a little smile as I head off to school.

That's the thing about Trent and me. It doesn't take a whole lot of words to get things said.

It doesn't take long. Between first and second period, I have to go to my locker and there they are, the three of them. Or Luke Cottington, mostly. Old David and Brandon are just along for the ride, you can tell. Maybe I'll leave them alone, when I start.

"Hey, Charles, nice shoes."

I'd have nice shoes too, if I was a rich parasite like Cottington. He's always the first one out of the gate when it comes to being an asshole. He's in my homeroom, they all arethat's why our lockers are close together, and why all our last names start with C. Luke Cottington. David Carlson. Brandon Chase. And me, Charlie Calmont.

They haven't come over yet. Maybe they won't. Maybe they'll just stay over there, and I won't have to take care of it today.

"It's Char- lie ," says Brandon, drawing out the last syllable. I toss my algebra folder onto the floor of my locker with the other ones. Probably I shouldn't pick anything up yet. Keep my hands free. I stand there, acting like I'm looking for something. Waiting to see what happens.

"Charlie," says Luke, right in my ear. "I like those shoes, man. You get those at Valu-Mart?"

David starts laughing. "No, man. He got them out of the Dumpster back of Valu-Mart."

Very funny. I won't be leaving David alone after all. I'm getting mad now. It's going to be easy.

"Hey, Charlie," says Brandon, and I feel a hand on my shoulder.

Then the hand's gone; I've knocked it away, and Brandon's staggering sideways with one hand to his mouth.

When we lived in East Texas with my mom, I spent a lot of time hanging out by myself at the community center. There was this black belt who used to teach classes in tae kwon do, and even though we never had the money for classes he showed me some stuff. And I let him, even though I usually don't like to take things from people.

So I'm not afraid. And Luke and David can't decide what to do now. Should they check on their pal Brandon or jump me?

At the same time, I can't decide what to do. Should I go after Brandon again, or try for that asshole Luke while Brandon's down? Or should I just get my stuff and go to class?

"Don't fuck with me," I tell Brandon as he straightens up. He's mad now, too, he's coming at me, but stupidlike, with his whole body instead of his fists. I can't remember how to throw him, so I just take a jab at his face, and even as he's blocking it my other fist's already buried in his stomach.

Then somebody's got me from behind and Mr. Payton, the vice-principal, has Brandon from behind, and Luke and David are acting like they're just part of the crowd, like this is a play they just happen to be watching. Some friends.