The Good Son by Carolyn Mills (free e reader txt) 📗

loser,” she said, “before you get yourself hurt.”

When she turned away, with that condescending smile still lingering on her face, I grabbed her from behind and wrapped one arm around her neck, attempting to pull her to the floor. She reached up and grabbed a handful of my hair. Suddenly she pulled away from me and I stumbled backwards. A few people started laughing. As soon as I regained my footing, I lunged at her. She grabbed my arm and twisted it hard, wrenching my shoulder, then, before I had time to register what was coming, her knee connected with my stomach. She released my arm and I doubled over, wheezing. With the slightest of shoves, she knocked me to the ground. I lay there for a moment, fully aware of how ridiculous I must have looked, but in too much pain to care. My stomach and shoulder were both throbbing.

Around me, I could hear kids hooting and hollering, the excited buzz that a good fight generates. Walter reached out a hand to pull me up and I took it gratefully. “Why did you do that?” Then, in a gentler voice, “You okay?”

“I think my arm is broken.”

Walter went with me to the office so I could call my mom. I needed her permission to sign out so I could get my arm looked at.

“You want to do what?” Mom asked. She was probably thinking about Ricky and how he used to skip school all the time when he was my age. “It can’t wait until after school?”

“Not really. I think it might be broken, but you don’t have to come get me or anything. I can walk to emerge from here.”

“Zoe, what happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” I said. “But I need your permission to sign out.”

“Fine,” she said, but I could tell she was worried and I hated that I was the cause of it. I hated that I might remind her of Ricky.

THE EMERGENCY ROOM AT THE hospital wasn’t busy. I only had to wait about fifteen minutes before being led into one of the examination rooms.

“You’ve dislocated your shoulder,” the doctor informed me. He took my wrist and gently guided my arm toward him. “Sit up nice and straight,” he instructed. “Can you shrug your shoulders for me? Perfect.” And with the slightest of motions he slid my shoulder back into place.

I had to wear a sling for a week and a half. The name of the girl I’d tried to fight was Jessie and the reason she’d taken me down so easily was because not only was she a wrestler, but also a known scrapper. I never got mixed up with Jessie again, but I didn’t exactly stop lashing out after my shoulder healed. I just chose better targets. Only people who were jerks. I didn’t want to fight everybody, just people who deserved it.

Mom couldn’t understand why I was suddenly getting into so much trouble. “It’s not like you at all, Zoe. Is there something else going on? You’re not doing drugs, are you?” She had cornered me in the front hall and was scrutinizing my face.

“No, Mom, I’m not doing drugs. I’m defending people.” Then, because I knew she wouldn’t understand, I pushed past her and stormed to my room. I didn’t want to talk about it. But I also didn’t want her to worry and get all worked up, so I came out a short time later and helped make dinner. I apologised for being rude and reassured her again that I wasn’t doing drugs.

Mom was going through her own rough patch. She’d had to quit her job cleaning for Dr. Richardson because she’d fainted there on two separate occasions and he told her that she was going to kill herself if she kept it up. By then, she was back to her regular hours at the new library so she didn’t need the second job as badly, but the fact that she’d fainted twice was worrisome.

“Just so you know,” I said to her as I rinsed the celery she’d handed me, “the people I get in fights with always have it coming. I’m not a monster or anything.”

“Oh, Zoe, I don’t doubt you think you’re doing the world a favour. I just wish you’d find another way to do it. Fighting is not the answer.”

“Sometimes it is,” I argued.

A FEW DAYS LATER, I was called down to the guidance office. “Sit down, Zoe,” Mr. Flagg said, motioning to the chair across from his desk. I was uncomfortably aware as I sat down of the black eye I’d received during my most recent altercation. “Your mom is worried about you,” Mr. Flagg said. “Why do you think she’s worried?”

My left foot bounced against the carpet. “Cuz I keep getting in fights?”

Mr. Flagg nodded, his eyes wide and serious. “She said you never used to be violent or aggressive and she doesn’t understand what’s changed.” He paused. “Do you know why you keep getting in fights?”

I shrugged. Mr. Flagg kept looking at me, waiting for a better answer. “I just get mad,” I finally said. I remembered, suddenly, Ricky using those exact words to explain why he’d smashed the mirror in the boys’ bathroom.

“And how do you feel afterward?” Mr. Flagg asked. “Do you feel bad about hurting any of these people?”

“I don’t usually care,” I replied. “Like I told my mom, they had it coming, one way or another.” But I did feel bad. I was turning into a horrible person. Even Walter had started to avoid me.

Mr. Flagg held my gaze. “It’s not up to you to avenge all the misdeeds of the world. You’re a good kid, Zoe. Your mom knows that, your teachers know that, and I think deep down you know it too. But you can’t keep going around punching people every time you get mad. If you’re not careful you’re going to end up with something much worse than a dislocated shoulder.”

I shrugged again, but I could feel his