![]() ![]() What’s a system? What did he know about mine? About anger? His life was perfect. “ Get it out of your system.” Whatever that meant. I’d have beaten the crap out of my so-called best friend, Vaughn, if I wasn’t so sure I’d kill him by accident. She arched an eyebrow, her way of asking what my problem was. “Nah.” I tried to gather phlegm, spitting sideways. ![]() She motioned to me with her head to climb up. “What was that for?” I tore the earbuds from my ears. My stupid neighbor, Luna, sat perched outside our treehouse, bouncing another pinecone in her hand and dangling her toothpick legs from a thick branch. ![]() Simple math, and a pretty good deal.Ī pinecone dropped on my head. Fred Durst might look like a ballsack in a cap, but he had a point. “Break Stuff” by Limp Bizkit was my designated ruin-shit anthem. My earbuds blocked out the sounds of birds, crickets, and crispy leaves under my feet. It had also earned me a trip to talk to this guy in a suit every week, who asked about my feelings. ![]() Whenever she glanced at my permanently busted knuckles, the waterworks started. I didn’t know what it meant, but it made Mom cry in her bathroom when she thought no one could hear. I drove a fist into the oak tree, feeling the familiar sting of a fresh wound as my knuckles split open.īleeding helped me breathe better. ![]()
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