In the Break Read Free

the head.
    “Stop it,” Jamie said after a few more flicks had hit him.
    That was ammunition for Alex to flick him harder.
    School had just begun and September was always the hottest month, though there were olive trees shielding us from the morning
     sun. And Mrs. Brown had to be late this day of all days.
    Alex flicked Jamie again, really hard.
    Jamie just looked down at that ground.
    “Cut it out,” I said to Alex. Other kids were now watching.
    Alex flicked Jamie again.
    What enraged me was to see Jamie flinch before he was even hit. I pushed Alex hard on his shoulder.
    He came forward, trying to flick my head, but I just kicked him in the stomach, the way I’d seen these Thai kickboxers do
     on television. Nestor, my father, would sometimes watch sports on TV before he went to work and I’d watch with him. The kickboxers
     just wailed on each other using their hands, feet, knees, and elbows even. I noticed when they came forward they led with
     a kick, a lifting of the knee and snap of the foot. That was what I did to Alex. And it caught him right in the belly.
    Right when Mrs. Brown showed up.
    Jamie was as surprised as I was that Alex was suddenly crying. I was sent to the principal’s office, where my only regret
     was that I cried too when she told me how much trouble I was in.
    Now, I almost felt like crying. Rather than help Jamie moments ago, I had just stood by. Amber was the one who had intervened,
     not I.
    After some time she said, “That’s why he wasn’t at school.” She stared at the waves and her voice sounded scratchy.
    Jamie had told me he didn’t feel well, was why he missed school on Friday. “What?”
    “F wouldn’t let him out of the house until he mowed the lawn. He wouldn’t do it Friday and he wouldn’t do it yesterday. He
     just sat in his room. Until this morning.”
    We had talked on the phone and he’d said he didn’t feel like doing anything. But the hurricane swell got him off his ass.
     And it wasn’t even here yet. I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing.
    Some of our friends came in from the water, though most of them hadn’t seen anything. Greg Scott had but he was too polite
     to mention it. I could tell by the way he looked at Amber that heknew. In fact, everyone knew that F was an asshole and yelled at Jamie sometimes. Nobody talked about it, it was just growing-up
     shit. F was a cheap jerk. Jamie was big now. Some shit would go down, no doubt about it.
    While picking up my board I told Amber we should go. She got her board, stuffed her towel into her backpack, and, in a slight
     daze, followed me, Greg Scott walking with us. When we got up to the highway, there was no car. F must have taken it.
    “Now what?” Amber said. Her long brown hair was coming out of its tight braid. Her face looked more linear than it really
     was, making her look older, tired.
    “You can leave your boards at my house,” Greg Scott said. He was such a pal, unlike Mr. Has-It-All Greg J.
    And we did, which was nothing new. I carried my board under my right arm, and Jamie’s under my left arm. An hour ago we had
     two cars. Now we had no car and four boards to carry. Greg Scott’s father saw us approaching and came out and took Jamie’s
     board from me, helping us to place them all in the garage.
    “Where’s Jamie?” Mr. Scott said.
    “He had to get home suddenly,” Greg Scott said. He looked at his father. His father asked no more questions.
    I didn’t feel like carrying my pack all the way back home, so I left it with the boards. Amber left her wetsuit and stuff
     too.
    Greg Scott walked with us back to the street. His father resumed the weeding he was doing. “Take it easy,” Greg Scott said.
    “Yeah,” I said. Then Amber and I began the long walk back toward our houses.

CHAPTER 3
    Behind The Strand, the name of the beach houses just north of Playa Chica, were large tract homes where Jamie lived. His father,
     Mr. Watkins, had been a really nice guy, coming to our