Misbehaved

“Rem! What the fuck happened? Are you okay?” he asks, frantic.

I nod shakily.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Ryan yells at the nosy assholes surrounding us. They’re smart enough to listen.

“Can you help me up? I can’t move my ankle, and I think I’m hurt,” I say, gesturing toward the blood coating my legs.

Ryan sighs and scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re not hurt, Rem. You, uh, started your period.” He coughs.

“I’m eleven!” I screech. I feel blindsided. I mean, I guess I knew it was coming. But, I thought I had another year or two. I bet if I had a mom, I’d be more prepared. God knows my dad would rather hang himself than have this conversation with me. And now poor Ryan is stuck with the job.

“It is what it is.” He shrugs. He stands and pulls off his black tee, his chest bare except for the cross tattoo on his right peck that one of his friends gave him at a party. He tugs the shirt on over my head, then lifts me into his arms like a baby. Ryan makes sure the shirt covers my backside and walks out of the skate park, just as the kid he knocked out starts to stir.

“Ethan! Grab our boards,” he snaps. Ethan scrambles to do as he says.

Ryan takes me home, fills the bath for me, and then goes to the store. He comes back with two different boxes of tampons, three types of pads, panty liners, ibuprofen, a couple of DVDs, and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.

“What’s all this?” Surely, I don’t need all of these.

“The lady at the store said these ones,” he picks up a box of tampons that look different from the others, “are easier for beginners. I guess they don’t have the applicator or some shit.” He shrugs.

“These ones are normal,” he says, flipping another box over. “And if you don’t want to try those, you can just stick with pads. But don’t ask me the difference, because fuck if I know.”

I can’t help but crack a smile.

“And the rest?” I ask, amused.

“The ibuprofen is for the cramping. The chocolate, well, I’m not really sure,” he says, itching his head. “She just said it’s a must. The movies are because there’s not shit on TV, and I’m bored.”

“You’re staying with me?” I ask, surprised. “You can go back to the skate park, Ry. I’m fine here.”

“Nah. Rem and Ry for life, remember?” he says, bumping my fist with his and finishing the secret handshake we made up a few years back.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“It’s no big deal.”

But it was to me. That’s the real Ryan. Fiercely loyal and scary as hell. Ironically, a couple of weeks after that incident, I broke my ankle for real, and it wasn’t anywhere near as traumatic.

I walk out of my room, trying to find an excuse not to go to school today. No one is going to stop me. I don’t have any rules in this house. I kind of made up my own as I grew up, but I think I did a pretty good job because I’m not a drug addict, pregnant, or dead in a ditch. The house looks relatively okay. Not clean by any stretch of the imagination, but Ryan hasn’t thrown a party in two weeks in here, and it shows. I text Christian.

Me: How did it go yesterday?

Christian: Fine, I think? I’ll tell you all about it today.

Me: I’m not coming to school today.

Christian: Y?

Me: I don’t know.

I do. Because I don’t want to face Pierce. But I don’t want to admit it either.

Christian: I’ll come see you after school then.