“I’m coming!” I yell.
“I’m okay. I think I bit my tongue. Who the hell is out here grouse hunting on their lunch break?”
It was true. We’d stowed the equipment in the four-car garage and skipped the second half of the school day to go fishing. It wasn’t the first time. Usually, we were so alone out here, we’d forget the rest of the world existed. It was just Kat and me, the buzzing of large insects and the occasional rustle of wind through the cattails. Our whoops of joy at a bite or a decent catch would echo through Long Island Sound like the whole world belonged to us.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little match girl and her poor beggar friend fishing for their dinner.”
We look up to the bridge to see Henry and some of his nasty friends ransacking our fishing spoils. Henry dumps our cooler full of baitfish, and they writhe and flip, suffocating on the wooden planks of the old bridge. Then he flings our catch back into the stream. Some chubby towheaded loser grabs our poles and breaks them over his knee.
“Hey, stop!” Kat screams. She does her best to stride toward the shore, her waders full of water and more of a hindrance than anything now. “Assholes,” she mutters as she struggles to climb out of the water.
“It’s not worth it,” I say, keeping my voice quiet so the bullies don’t hear us.
“That was my favorite pole!” Kat protests.
“Even the dead fish can’t cover up your trash smell,” Henry taunts.
His goon breaks my fishing pole, too, and Katelyn audibly moans. Katelyn likes to believe we’re all on equal ground and attempts to climb out like she’ll go toe to toe with Henry Shaw. But I understand there is no even ground beneath our feet, and while my fear will always be ex-communication, Henry’s only worry is saving face. I have a lot to lose, while Henry is ever-protected by his privileged circumstances. He won’t lose anything, no matter how atrocious his behavior.
Kat charges up the hill, sopping wet and shaking with rage. I scurry behind her, readying myself to jump in and keep her safe from assholes who aren’t afraid to throw punches at girls.
“Remember they’re armed,” I tell Kat as she passes me.
“I can’t believe you’re such a low life that you’ve got to leech off my family for everything. Catch a hint. Leave! Go get a job and live your own life, you loser. We’ll never get your stench out of Wainscott Hollow!” Henry taunts me.
“Don’t listen to him, Heath. If anything, you’re the glue that keeps this family together,” Kat says loud enough for them to hear her.
“Come on, Shaw, they’re just fishing. Let’s go. It’s not cool to fuck with your sister like that,” one of his friends says.
I recognize him as Eddie Lind, a guy Henry hangs around with at Fairmont Academy, one of the only ones who doesn’t seem like a total idiot. I barely know the guy, but he usually goes out of his way to greet Kat and me in the hallways. He doesn’t act as entitled as the rest and therefore stands out in a sea of wealthy douchebags.
“Fuck off, Eddie. It’s none of your business.” Henry turns his ire on his minion.
“Like, you think this is having a good time? Harassing your sister and your step-brother or whatever? I’d rather husk corn, to be honest.”
Henry’s rage is uncontainable. He turns it on Eddie, forgetting momentarily about tormenting us. He attacks his friend, throwing punches like a tornado and catches the poor guy off guard.
“Henry, stop!” Kat screams at her brother.
Eddie is on the ground, blood gushing from his newly broken nose. He backs away from Henry, pushing his sneakers into the gravel to create distance between himself and the psychopath as he slides along the gravel. The Lind kid is loaded like the rest of them, and I’m sure his parents paid a pretty penny for the nose. Realization dawns on Henry’s thuggish face, and he summons his remaining brethren away from the scene.
“Fuck these losers. Let’s get out of here!” His remaining trio of friends throw conflicted glances our way before taking off running.
Kat is kneeling by Eddie, offering a clean fishing rag his way. She gets right in and pinches the bridge of his nose, telling him to tilt his head back. Blood doesn’t scare her. “My brother’s a jack-ass. A first-class moron.”
Lind just rolls his head and moans.
I kneel beside her, and up close, I can see that the poor, rich jock’s nose is broken. When I try to sit him up, he’s dead weight in my arms, and his eyes roll back in his head. Probably a concussion to boot. Henry is an idiot. What’s he thinking, turning on his own? He’s about to be in a butt load of trouble.