Brutal Youth by Anthony Breznican Page A

refrigerator. There were two cartons in there, one unopened, the other half-empty. Lorelei took what she thought wouldn’t be noticed—two packs. The recycling bin by the trash was full of stale-smelling empty beer cans. When her mother drank that heavily, she sometimes forgot her quantity of consumption. Many times, Lorelei had seen her mom nursing a hangover and searching the couch cushions, demanding to know where her smokes went—ignoring the overflowing stinking ashtrays in the living room and back patio.
    For the first time, Lorelei was happy to see that recycling bin so full.
    *   *   *
    That had been Friday. On the next Monday, Lorelei opened her backpack and took out two sealed packages—Morley Lights.
    The Grough sisters stared at her. They were standing at their usual spot near the side entrance after school, shaded by the cover of the smoking bushes. Finally, Mary Grough spoke. “Morley?” she said. “And lights ? What is this shit? I said I wanted Alpacas!”
    “No, you didn’t!” Lorelei cried back, holding the packages out like she was about to get an electric shock. “You said you wanted cigarettes. So here they are.”
    “Don’t tell me what I said!” Mary snapped, nodding at her younger sister, Theresa, who stepped forward to snatch the packs out of Lorelei’s hands. “And I told you I wanted a whole carton,” Mary added. Anne-Marie Thomas snagged Lorelei’s hair between her stubby fingers, yanked it once, and gave her a shove toward the sidewalk. Mary said: “You got till Friday. Either I’ll be holding a whole carton in my hand, or your pretty little scalp.”
    After Lorelei hurried away, the Groughs stared at each other blankly. Theresa held the unopened cigarette packs between them—undeniable proof of what had just happened.
    They menaced a lot of the younger girls. No one had ever taken them seriously before.
    *   *   *
    “Can we help somehow?” Davidek asked. He was hanging out with Lorelei and Stein on the second floor every morning now, glad to be out of sight of the Fanboys up on the third, where his homeroom group’s lockers were. He had gradually ingratiated himself with Lorelei, who no longer rolled her eyes every time he spoke.
    “Do either of your parents smoke?” she asked hopefully. Davidek shook his head. She looked at Stein, who was struggling with his locker clutter.
    “You spend a lot more time worrying about people who treat you like crap, Lorelei,” Stein said, his head in the metal box. “Not so much on the people who are actually your friends.”
    Lorelei crossed her arms. “My friends would help me instead of lecture me.”
    “How does giving those girls what they want make them stop?” Stein asked, still not looking at her. Lorelei groaned, scooping up her bag and stalking away down the hall.
    Davidek watched her go. Stein didn’t, but wanted to.

 
    NINE
     
    The next morning, Davidek failed to gather his stuff and move to the second floor fast enough. As a result, his face was now pressed against the fan grate again. His tie fluttered before him in the stainless steel drum, its tip nipped by the roaring whirl of the blades.
    “Almost there!” Morti cried. “Push a little harder!” Two of the larger Fanboys shoved all their weight against Davidek’s back. He felt the metal grate flex and shut his eyes, imagining the bars giving way and his face plunging into the gnawing metal.
    That’s when the tie caught. It drew tight on his collar, but only for an instant as the clasp popped open and the clip-on knot slipped easily through the bent grate, clattering around in a crimson blur before being ejected on the other side of the whirring blades.
    The Fanboys fell back, cackling, hooting, and high-fiving each other. Morti had confiscated a freshman girl’s change purse and opened the contents over Davidek’s head, and the pennies, nickels, and dimes flashed against the blades in metallic agony as the older boys ran away.
    Davidek