Page 5 of Stone: The Precursor

Chaca turns to me, smiling, gesturing to the ring with his head. “Let’s go, El Búho. You’re up. Let’s get all that aggression out.”

His words make me realize that while I am tired, energy still buzzes inside me, my semi still pushes against my zipper.

“It’s this or pussy,” he states, crossing his arms, observing me.

The way I’m feeling, sex might not be safe. I pull off my shirt, ready to fight. His knowing laughter follows me as I climb into the ring, still wanting to hurt something or someone.

Chapter 2

10 years old

Westchester, NY

“Father wants to send her to boarding school.”

I squeeze myself tighter in my hiding space in the kitchen cabinet. Hearing my older Jace say it my chest hurts.

Boarding school? I’ve heard a few of the girls say it at school. Most times, they ignore me, but I’ve eavesdropped a few times to pick up on a few things, and boarding school is one of the things that everyone talks about. Who is going where, and which ones do what?

“Get rid of her you mean?” Adam’s scoff is angry. I recognize it. Adam doesn’t get angry often, but I know when he’s mad. He gets angry at our father. A lot.

“You know how he is.” Jace sighs. The blender whirls. He’s making a protein shake. Two bananas, one raw egg, blueberries, and whey powder. He makes it every day. He must be gettingready to work out with his best friend Silas. He’s gotten even bigger and taller, it seems, since he left for college.

“But why her? He didn’t send us away. She’s too fucking young for that shit. Where?” I close my eyes and try to think about where my father might send me. He hates me, so maybe I’ll go to Antarctica. That would be far enough away for him.

“Dana Hall in Massachusetts.”

“Massachusetts? That’s hours away,” Adam grouses, sighing. “What is wrong with him?”

“Exactly. She’s not ready to go to school that far away. She has no one except Maria when we’re gone.”

Jace’s words remind me that it’s true. I don’t have any friends except Maria. She’s my best friend. Adam sometimes talks to me, but he’s never home. Jace takes me places when he has time, but since he graduated from high school, I don’t see him except for holidays or when he comes by occasionally on the weekends.

The other girls at the all girls private school don’t talk to me since I’m known as the ‘mother killer.’ It began last year when the new girl, Kennedy, joined our third-grade class. She walked right up to me and said she heard that I killed my mother. Someone she found out that my mom died a few days after giving birth to me. I didn’t have any friends to begin with, but that sealed the deal and no one talked to me after that. Everywhere I went there was a rumor that she took one look at me and died. I know it’s stupid. I’ve read every book I can find on what happened to my mother, and she died from a brain aneurysm. She came home from the hospital and went to rest while my nanny took care of me.

Jace found out what they were calling me and told me to ignore them because they’re jealous. Of what, my eight-year-old self asked him? What could they be jealous of? Jace said something about them being upset that we have more moneythan they do, but I only have sixty-seven dollars in my piggy bank from when I helped Maria in the kitchen. I get a dollar each time I help her cook dinner. I cook with her every night. I know how to make almost anything. She teaches Jace and Adam sometimes too, but most of the time, they forget or are out with their friends or girls.

“You’re lying. How is it possible that our ten year old sister’s only friend is our 50 year old housekeeper?”

Adam’s question makes me lean forward, closer to their voices from my position under the cabinet.

“The fuck I am. And how could she have any friends? She has private tutors all damn day, and when she does go around kids her own age, they make fun of her.”

“Why the fuck do they do that?”

“I keep forgetting that you’re not here much. Typically mean girl shit, jealousy.”

“But doesn’t she go riding? Or have other classes?”

“No.”

“Christ.”

“It’s like he can’t stand her, and I can’t figure it out. Maybe you can talk to him?”

“Me? Why me?”

“’Cause I can’t stand him and you still give him some grace. I guess it’s that oldest child shit, huh?”