Chapter 52: Hurricane Angie

March 13, 1981

All storms have a moment of peak intensity. In a powerful storm, it’s the point where things are swept away, collapse, are destroyed. Where even robust structures are at risk of succumbing.

Just before Geometry, I thought we’d reached that point. I needed a stall in the restroom, and there was no room in the second floor restroom. I headed up to third floor, where there are only a few classrooms and it’s never busy. I sat down in the stall. Then looked up.

And read the words on the door.

Then read them again.

Then slammed my hand against the partition.

This crossed the line. In a huge way. I needed to have a discussion with Max. And Angie.

I was wrong. That wasn’t the peak. The peak came one class later. It hit just before 3pm. Spring Break might have allowed the area to clear, given those involved an easier means of escape. A return to détente. An eye of the storm. Even with the restroom; walls can be cleaned. Even with the talking; everyone knows guys lie.

But the storm peaked an hour too soon for that.

I was running late to Debate. The area behind the library opens onto three wings. It’s a high-traffic area, but you can step around a little decorative wall and be inches away from the crowd, almost in private, and yet near where you need to go. The wall is cinder blocks with open holes, but no one pays it much mind, because there’s usually just grass to see.

Today, there was light pink. Fluffy light pink.

Remarkably like the blouse Angie had been wearing that morning.

And the voice sounded like Angie’s, too.

“No. It’s OK. I didn’t mean that. No. Really. Really, I didn’t.” A thud. Crying. “I ... I didn’t mean it that way, I didn’t!”

I moved to look and saw a fist slam into my sister’s stomach. Saw Max look up and see me. He ran. I started to chase him, realized what I was doing, and stopped. Max couldn’t be the priority right now.

Angie was vomiting into the grass. I kneeled, checking her. Looked at her stomach. I was pretty sure it was just a deep bruise and not broken ribs.

I thought. I’m not a doctor.

“Angie, you need to...”

Her voice came out in a hiss. “Fuck. Off.”

“Angie! Your ribs might be bro...”

Still hissing, through clenched teeth, she bit off her words. “Fuck. The. Damn. Fucking. Hell. Off. Steve. Or. We. Will. Both. Regret. It.” Struggling to her feet, she grabbed her books. With her left arm. Then shoved past me.

I followed. “Angie, you need to see a nurse!”

She turned and tried to spit at me. It didn’t hit. Maybe that mattered.

“Go to your goddamn class and leave me alone! Fuck off!”

“Miss Marshall!”

Well, she was screwed. That was Ms. Chesney. Principal Chesney. The Juniors’ grade-level Principal.

“Come with me to the office, young lady. And you, Mr. Marshall, you can argue with your sister later. Get to class!”

I left it to Angie to declare or hide her injuries. My course was set.

I arrived a few minutes late to Debate. A first for me. Some teachers would give you a tardy with no chance to explain, and maybe even delight in it. Ms. Ames called me over.

“Anything wrong, Steve?” I’m pretty sure the look on my face made that obvious.

I took a deep breath. I was counting on how I’d seen her respond to things. As a teacher, bounded by rules and responsibilities, but as a coach, and a friend, informed by long-term relationships and an understanding that everyone needs space sometimes.

“Yes, Ms. Ames. But if I tell you what, you’ll have to call someone. Not about me. But if you call someone, the consequences may be bad for me. So, I’m going to ask you not to ask me about it.”

“Do I need to know? Will people be harmed if I don’t call someone?”

I shook my head. “You don’t. Not today.”

“OK. You’ve earned some slack, Steve. Go get busy on whatever you and Cammie are plotting today. And, don’t make me regret it.”

“Thanks, Meg. I really appreciate it.”

She gave me a slightly bigger smile, still colored by concern.

I headed over to Cammie, flopped in a chair.

“Anything wrong, Steve?” I must have looked like I needed a hug, to get the one I got.

“Yes.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Unless you can fix Angie’s heart, no.”

“What happened?”

“Max hurt my sister.”

She blinked. Blinked again. “Is she OK?”

“I think so. She’s in the office. Cursing. Chesney.”

She bit her lip. “You didn’t tell Ms. Chesney what happened? I mean, do you know what happened?”

“I know. I saw enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell her? Someone needs to do something.”

“Someone is going to do something.”

“Wha ... OK. Steve? Are you sure?”

I gave her a soft smile. “I may be a little unusual about some things, and I don’t much buy into the whole macho thing. But some things ... some things need to be handled personally. The guy way.”

“I get it. And, Steve? If it’s what you’re saying, I agree. Can you?”

“I’ll be fine. He won’t hurt me.”

“When?”

“As fast as I can find him when classes end.”

“Steve? Be careful and be safe. And kick his fucking ass.”

Class over, I checked Smoker Heaven. No Max. I made a beeline for my bike. I knew Max’s; it was there. So was Angie’s.

I took off on my bike, making a big loop around the school. As I was passing the office, I saw Angie. Alone. Going to the bikes. That means they hadn’t called Mom and Dad. Good.

She saw me, too. I saw her yell. I think it was “Steve! No!” But I could honestly say I hadn’t heard it.

No Max along the back drive, no Max at the loading dock (another smoker hangout), no Max at the back fields. When I got to Smoker Heaven, there he was. All the other smokers hanging out, chatting. In a knot, separate from Max. He had something in his hand. Probably a joint.

I dumped my bike and walked over. Not running.

“You hit my little sister, you worthless piece of shit.”

Max sneered. “Yeah, well, she deserved it for back-talking me, you fucking wimp. What are you gonna do about it, anyway? She’s a fucking bitch, always meddling, trying to get me to be ‘nice’ and ‘behave’ and ‘do things the right way’. Cunt. She needs to learn when to shut her fucking yap and stop nagging, and I taught her. And if you fuck with me, I’m going to teach you. And it won’t be a little love tap like she got.”

I was about ten feet away. Enough room to be clear of a charge. “You nearly broke a rib, you bastard. You left my little sister — your alleged girlfriend — vomiting in the grass and ran off like a coward.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not the first time she’s puked. Fragile little weak stomach of hers.”

I shook my head. “You are the most worthless piece of crap I’ve ever met. Not the worst that’s passed close to me, but the worst I’ve had the displeasure to know. And you deserve every last bit of what you’re going to get.”

“Yeah? You and what fucking army? These dudes?” He waved an arm towards the smokers. “We’re buds. Bud buds, get it? Besides, they couldn’t hurt a fucking fly.”

“Fine. Hit me then. Shut me up.”

“Yeah, right, wimp.”

“You’re just scared I’m going to whip your ass and hurt you as much as you hurt Angie.”

“Fuck you! You die!”

He charged me, wildly. Had he gotten me, I’d have been in trouble. He was considerably larger than I was. I thought he might have been held back a grade; he could be as much as sixteen. Heavier, taller, almost certainly stronger, and enraged.

He never laid a finger on me. I sidestepped, he stumbled, and my hand slammed into his left forearm. Hard.

Karate is a defensive art. Technically, I was defending myself. One of the principles is to disengage rather than force a fight. I’d done the opposite, baiting him. I knew that. It was a misuse of what I’d learned. Sensei Ken would not have approved. Would not approve, when I told him. And I would.

But maybe Sensei Ken had a sister. And an understanding of the times it’s necessary to take a stand.

Max grunted, catching himself against the side of the building. He tested the arm. “You are fucking so goddamn dead!” He charged again, with the same results, except it was the right arm.

Calmly, I said, “That’s for the bruises on her arms.”

He howled and charged again. This one went in the stomach. I didn’t have the arm strength to do to him what he’d done to a much smaller girl, but I could see that it hurt a lot.

Angie came around the corner on her bike, not as fast as usual. One hand holding her stomach. “Steve, stop! Stop! Don’t you hurt him!”

I gave her a look. “Sorry, Ang. Some things have to be done.”

“Don’t you do it!” Her eyes flicked. “No, Max!”

Max had charged again. “You fucking little bastard. I’m going to end this!”

He was right, in a way. He got close, I sidestepped, and the last punch caught him where no guy punches another guy unless there’s more at stake than winning a fight.

He went down in a heap, puking.

Angie had dumped her bike and was running, or trying to. Still clutching her stomach.

When he seemed to have stopped, I grabbed his hair, careful of any last-second additions.

“This is over, Max. Done. Finito. We’re even.” He groaned, shaking a bit. “But if you lay a finger on Angie, if you breathe on her, if you even look at her, it’s not over. Do you understand?”

I think he nodded.

Angie ran over to me. To me, not him. I’m pretty sure that mattered.

“What did you do to him?”

“What I needed to.”

“Dammit, Steve!”

“I told you, if he hurt you, hit you, I was going to stop him.”

“That is not your place! And the nurse said it’s just a bruise!”

“I’m your big brother. It’s my place. And we agreed. We always have each other’s backs.”

I saw a lot of things flow over her face. We were teetering on the brink. Some words would rebuild. Some would destroy. I made a decision.

“I’m going home, Angie. I am not talking about this now. And I’m not listening to what you have to say, either. If you can bike home, I’ll keep an eye on you. If you can’t, and won’t accept my help without talking about it, I’ll call Mom, which will kick over the first domino. But I am not talking, and I am not listening. We’ll talk about it all you want on Monday while Mom’s at the store.”

“You have no room to talk! None! Fuck you! I know things about you that you don’t think I do. You have no fucking room to run Max down after what I know. I know you don’t think I know, but I do! I do!”