“Anyway,” she argued, “I know him. He’s a junior and he’s going to be the starting quarterback next year.”
Paqu heard that-she understood status. Still, Ophelia was only a freshman, and the boy was a junior. She forbade O to go to the party, but then went to a party of her own and O simply left the house and went down to the beach, where she found the party around a bonfire and also found Quarterback, who soon took her away from the party and down the beach where they could be alone.
Anyway, O was small and Quarterback was big and all weight room, protein powder, supplements, maybe testosterone the way he was acting-anyway, he was strong and wouldn’t let go and she couldn’t rip her wrist away so she was thinking Fuck me.
Not, like, wanting him to.
Like, wanting him not to.
Quarterback offered her an alternative. “At least blow me.”
He started to push her down to her knees.
176
Your nuts can’t lift weights.
Okay, maybe they can, maybe you’re that guru who nut-lifts five-pound stones from the Ganges, or you’re that guy who wins the Darwin Award on YouTube and becomes an eRoom legend, but as a rule there are no reps you can do to strengthen your junk against a well-placed knee delivered with bad intent.
Which O had.
Which O did.
She just cocked that knee back and let fly and then Quarterback was on the sand on his knees and O should have walked away right there, but she paused to admire her handiwork and Quarterback lunged and cracked her one in the side of the face.
O was stunned.
He grabbed her by the front of her shirt, took her down, and fell on top of her. His junk was hurting way too much for him to focus on his original intent, but now he was in a rage-all he wanted to do was hurt her, and he pressed her down into the sand and pummeled her ribs. She could hardly breathe, her head was still whirling, and she knew she was in big trouble.
Except not.
Because suddenly she felt the weight literally being lifted off her and this one guy had QB by the neck and another was pulling her to her feet.
Ben asked, “Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?” O answered.
Ben said that she didn’t.
“Did this guy hit you?” Chon asked.
They didn’t recognize each other. It had been years since the school in the canyon. O just vaguely recognized them as seniors.
“Yeah.”
Chon shook his head at QB and said, “Not cool.”
QB was jacked up and a little overconfident from the gym and the fact that five of his boys rolled in just now to back him up so he actually said, “Mind your own fucking business, asshole.”
Then he grabbed O by the front of her shirt like he was going to haul his property away.
Chon’s kick came up and snapped QB’s elbow like a Popsicle stick.
QB went down screaming.
None of his boys wanted any piece of Chon after that, so they picked QB up and carried him down the beach.
Chon stood there, breathing, coming down from the adrenaline.
“Do you have a name?” Ben asked the girl.
“O.”
“O.”
“It’s really Ophelia,” O admitted.
“I’m Ben. This is Chon.”
Yes, O thought.
Yes it is.
My magic boy.
177
Yeah, except the magic boy was fucked.
Not enough voodoo in the world to pull him out of this shit.
The starting quarterback wasn’t gonna start-not next season, maybe not ever with that broken wing-and his family had considerable swag in Orange County. You put that up against the son of a dope dealer with a bad track record of his own and Chon was going to jail.
Maybe prison, because he’d just turned eighteen.
O wanted to stick up for him. Said she’d press charges against QB-for sexual assault, battery, her mom knew lawyers who would help him, but Chon told her not to.
A survivor of the high school experience, he knew what she couldn’t-as a freshman, her high school life was already going to be miserable. If she took his side in this thing the whole school was going to make her into the slut, the cocktease who got the star QB injured, who ruined the season. It was going to be bad enough as it was; there was no sense in making it worse.
He told her to let it go as just a fight on the beach.
Ben talked him into going to see his dad.
Here’s why this was maybe not Ben’s best idea.
178
Here’s a story about Chon and his dad:
Chon’s mom took off the day John came home from prison, but she came back a few days later on the pretext of picking up her juicer but really just to bust balls.
Bad timing, because John was coked up and pissed off and the two of them got into a fight. Not an argument-a fight — and John pushed her up against the wall and raised his hand.
Fourteen-year-old Chon stepped in.
Shoved his dad aside and yelled, “Leave my mom alone!”
John smirked. “What? You a man now? You the man?”
Chon stood his ground.
Which was a mistake because John hit him with a closed fist, right in the face. Chon’s head snapped back with the impact. Chon put his hands up and rushed forward, but, as Taylor screamed, John beat the uncouth piss out of his kid. Pushed him backward over the arm of the sofa and punched him in the face, the head, and the body. Rolled him onto the floor and kicked him a few times. And when Taylor tried to pull him off he turned on her.
Chon tried to get up off the floor but couldn’t, and finally his mom ran out the door. John came back, loomed over Chon, and said, “Don’t you ever raise your hand to me again. You give me respect.”
