Page 2 of Massacre Monday

“Yeah, actually. Nico’s helping me now, so there’re three of us working at Iron Inque. Stop over any time, Adal. You’re always welcome.”

My wits fray. I’m stunned. With every last inch of resolve, I plaster a plastic smile on my face and try not to combust with jealousy. Are theytogether? He’s a tattoo artist now? What else have I missed?

Do I know himat all?

“Hi, I’m Wren.” The woman’s plump tits almost pop out of her tube top as she presents her hand. All of my martial arts instincts command me to grip her wrist and twist, but I simplyshake it limply, not capable of forming words.“Who’s this?” she asks Nico when I don’t respond.

“Oh, it’s just Adal and Oz’s kid sister. Ain’t that right, Pip-squeak?” His hand reaches across the divide to ruffle my hair.

Like a dog.

The carefully teased coiffure I spent an hour on tonight.

For him.

Without a word, I maintain my balance while turning on my heel, then walk straight back to my bike, plop the helmet over my ruined head, rev the engine, and take off.

I shouldn’t be driving like this. Wind freezes the tears on my face, so I slam the tinted shield down. No one other than my mother and Oz has seen me cry. Adal would make fun of me and Dad would tell me to grow some thicker skin. Iamtough, normally.

Except when a curvy cool girl with injected lips decimated my aspirations of any semblance of future happiness. A heavy sigh parts my mouth, steaming up my visor until I lift it again. No, it’s not even her I blame. She’s not the one who caused me pain tonight.

Pip-squeak? Hair ruffles? Making out with someone else in front of me? All hope that he’d see me as an independent woman has shattered.

I can’t go home now. Mom would ask what’s wrong and Dad would find out, then it would become athing. Adal will make gagging noises, and Dad will think about hurting Nico, which would only add to my shame.

So I pull into an empty parking lot of the North River State Park and cut the engine, then slip off my bike, setting the helmet on the back.

A bright yellow metal gate blocks the trailhead, which I skirt past, wandering off in a random direction with my hands on my hips. The world is almost too dark for me to see where I’mgoing, and I consider turning back, but the clouds over the moon drift away, a blaze of blue light guiding me on the asphalt path through the pine trees.

What an absolute waste of an evening! It took mehoursto fix myself up, to become someone different: a grown-up Pippi Freidenberg. Not justkid sisterPip-squeak.

But with my family, there’s no escaping that role. I’ll always be everyone’s precious little girl. Virginal and pure. Protected until I’mappointed.

At this point, I’ll fuck whomever so I can havesomeadult college experience and not be theSigmaLambda Psimember who was accepted only to score their agility points in the Greek events.

Water roars in the distance, the sound soothing my soul like the earth is crying for the loss of my hopes and dreams. As I round a formidable oak tree, a table of flat rocks spreads before me, rapids of black river falling over the apex of the ledge. The height is enough to make my steps slow to a crawl, but the hazy light of the night guides me toward the top, showcasing a log set up for serene summer night viewing.

It’s the perfect place to sob in sorrow. No one can hear me suffer as I relive the embarrassment of tonight’s drama.

Careful to step over branches and crevices, I meander toward nature’s seat, but when I approach, every muscle in my body locks tight.

At the crest of a flat rock jutting over the waterfall, the dark silhouette of a man is cast against the moonlight, with arms outstretched like he’s about to take flight over the edge.

A choked cry lodges in my throat as I quickly brush away the teardrops on my cheeks, blinking to make sure what I’m seeing is real.

It appears he’s contemplating an important decision. His head keeps checking beneath him, as if he’s calculating thedistance to the ether below us. There’s hesitation in his movements, with some unseen weight bearing down on his shoulders.

Is he going tojump?

“E-excuse me?” I call out, but the rush of water deafens my voice. The man must catch it on the wind, however, and lifts his face to the moon like it was the one who spoke to him. “Excuse me!” I yell louder while scurrying over the last plate of rock separating us.

When he spins around, shadows shield his face, and as I approach, a burgeoning regret buds inside me. Why did I speak up? The man’s height is not only soaring, but he’s broad in the shoulders with a dark fabric T-shirt stretched across strapping muscles.

I could be in danger. If he’s suicidal, I should attempt to save him, but I really hope he doesn’t take me with him. Things may be bad, but notthatbad for me.

With a lost breath and dry throat, I ask, “Are you okay?” There’s nothing I can decipher from his expression. I wish he would turn more to the light so I could communicate with him easier.

“Areyouokay?” He mimics my question with alternative inflection.