The Boxer and the Butterfly Read online

  Evernight Teen ®

  www.evernightteen.com

  Copyright© 2016 Sasha Hibbs

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-053-6

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For all of the lives lost at Party Rock and the families left behind still grieving for them.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  All my beta gals, Pamela Leonard, Claudette Harris, Tiffany Phillips, and Jill Phillips, I cannot thank you enough for looking at each line and helping weave together Autumn and Mickey’s story. Pam, I’m running out of creative ways to say thank you for all the formatting, putting up with all my last minute demands, and being my on-call tech support. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  Thank you Marcus Damanda, author extraordinaire and English teacher, for providing guidance on what Honors English looks like today.

  A massive thank you to Evernight Publishing for allowing me to write about sensitive topics, diversity, and current issues among our youth. Your continued support help bring these issues to light. A huge thank you to editor, Audrey Bobak, for polishing what fuzzy eyes can’t see.

  Gary Delligatti, thank you for providing much needed info on all things Italian … the food, language, customs. I would’ve been lost without your knowledge.

  Thank you to all my readers. This novel is so close to my heart. In its pages are the pain and struggles countless people have endured in silence. I hope this story has contributed in some way to giving those struggles a voice.

  And to my family, I love you. Thank you. My husband, Tim, your support and love continue to fuel that creative drive that from time to time produces an entire novel. My daughters, Aeliza and Ava, always remember there are two kinds of people in this world: good people and bad people. It really is that simple. I love you.

  THE BOXER AND THE BUTTERFLY

  Sasha Hibbs

  Copyright © 2016

  Chapter One

  While I sat in the last class for the day—Honors English—I fidgeted in my seat, waiting for my punishment to come. Usually nothing could shake my focus. This was my senior year, the last semester and the final months leading up to college life. I was driven. But last weekend I decided to have a complete brain disconnect and did something I would’ve never done. I still cannot come up with any kind of logical reason why I did it.

  Along with a bunch of other kids, I decided to graffiti the side of the school. We were caught by Mr. Romano, the same teacher I was staring at now as he lectured us about Beowulf, how we interpreted it, what we came away with, on and on and on. Pre-graffiti, I would’ve jumped in and voiced my opinion on the crazy mother in Beowulf. Not today. I had no words, only nerves creeping up my spine, driving me mad all day long as I waited for our principal to call my name out on the intercom ordering me to his office. I’d never been in trouble in my entire life, so I was seriously struggling with being in an unfamiliar role. What would Principal Oliverio do to me?

  Mr. Romano was new this year, and was Principal Oliverio’s younger half-brother. Not that I kept tabs on our principal outside of school, but had I not been told they were brothers, I would’ve never guessed. On occasion I noticed the two pass in the hallway and it felt cold, restrained. There would be a stiff nod at times, but nothing more. It was as though the two either worked to be completely professional, avoiding the conflict of interest that can be created by two siblings working together, or there were larger issues at hand.

  Principal Oliverio adored me. I was on my way to graduating top in my class, so in a sense, I was the educational pride of the school. Mr. Romano, on the other hand, was a great teacher full of passion for his profession, but as I found out last Friday, he was also a complete hardass.

  “Autumn Chamberlain, please report to the principal’s office.” The secretary’s voice leaked out of the intercom in a dull tone, resonating my doom.

  All heads turned my way. Oh, God. My palms were sweaty, my heart hammered away in my chest. I knew this was coming, but in those last few seconds it felt like I was suffocating. Choking down my fear, I snatched up my purse, my English book, and stood with the poise people expected of me. Smoothing down my skirt, I walked out of the room into the hallway where the click of my short heels sounded like nails sealing my coffin. Why was I being so ridiculous about this?

  After berating me, my mom and dad, the well-respected Frank and Estelle Chamberlain, went over what would likely happen. My parents leveled with me that they, being prominent members of the community alongside Principal Oliverio, were not without benefits. A “donation” would be made, appearances would be kept, nothing would go on my permanent record, and this “little incident” would soon be forgotten. Then why was I so apprehensive?

  Finally reaching the door that led to my fate, I stopped abruptly as I faced a boy barging out of the door, obviously pissed.

  Mickey Costello.

  My breath hitched in my throat as our gazes met. His blue eyes looked like a frozen tundra; an icy hell was captured there, cold and frigid. And he was staring me down as though I was the object of his irritation. He moved a little closer toward me. I was a timid rabbit, not sure what to do, but held in place under his spell. He let out a soft sigh. His lips curled up slightly, showing a devious grin, his white teeth glaring. He lifted his fingers to cup my chin.

  Oh, dear Lord, what was happening? Why was I standing still, paralyzed, unable to move away from him? My pulse thrummed in my ears so loudly I nearly didn’t hear him when he said seductively, “Stay out of my way.”

  He jerked his hand away and shoved past me. I was rattled. Stunned. What in the hell just happened? Mickey Costello had a reputation, and after that experience it would seem the negativity associated with him was true. He reeked bad boy all the way.

  Finally letting out the breath I’d been holding, I shook off the remnants of Mickey’s spell and walked through the door leading to Principal Oliverio’s office. Our secretary, Mrs. Smith, was seated behind her desk. Looking over the rim of her glasses at me, she said in her monotone voice, “You may go in.”

  Silently, I pushed the door open and walked into his office. Shutting the door behind me, I immediately caught sight of Principal Oliverio gazing out his window, his hands behind his back, his shoulders squared with tension. He definitely looked mad. Was I to blame for his rigid posture, or was it the equally pissed off boy who stormed out before me?

  After the door clicked shut, Principal Oliverio turned to face me. “Please have a seat, Autumn.”

  I slid down into the leather upholstered chair facing him, trying to breathe in and out evenly so as not to give away how scared and shaken I truly was. He never sat. After staring at me thoughtfully for what felt like forever, Principal Oliverio finally said, “I trust you know why you’re here.”

  Words jammed in my throat, I mechanically nodded my head. Leaning against the window pane, the light caught on Principal Oliverio’s receding hairline made him look more sinister than I remembered.

  “Let me preface what I’m about to discuss with you by stating that I frown upon school destruction of any kind, Miss Chamberlain. Typically”—he seemed to be choosing his words carefully—“this kind of situation could be dealt with discreetl
y. But Mr. Romano has personally involved himself as he was the one to witness the misconduct.”

  Where was he going with this? My mind started to race as I began to think of horrible scenarios, ones where my record would be scarred by the one stupid thing I did in my life. Or community service where everyone coming and going could see me picking up litter alongside the road like branding a scarlet letter on my back for the world to see. Or worse. Oh, no. I couldn’t even think about it. Could my one poor decision end up with me being on probation? No, no, no!

  I cleared my throat. From somewhere I gathered enough courage to ask, “What do you mean?”

  “I think you and I both know normally this would result in mild punishment, but my hands are tied and Mr. Romano and I have come up with something, however unconventional, that we can both agree on,” he said, looking down at me as though he were struggling to say enough for me to understand but equally refraining from divulging too much.

  “Okay,” I squeaked out. I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say, but I needed to know. The suspense twisted my insides. My future hung on his lips and it was killing me.

  “We have a student, a senior who needs help completing his academic requirements in order to pass a particular class.” He paused as though evaluating how I was processing his words this far and then continued. “With the last semester just beginning, there is still time for this student to catch up his grade, allowing him to apply to certain colleges should he choose.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I asked.

  “As you are slated to be the valedictorian, what better student do we have than you to catch up this student? Tutor him, if you will.”

  “What do you mean? Like I need to make sure he passes?” I asked, somewhat astonished at how things were turning out nothing like I predicted.

  “Exactly. Mr. Romano,” he said through gritted teeth, “suggested the two of you pairing up in his class for a joint grade as that would ensure you taking your part in this serious and guaranteeing that this student pass Mr. Romano’s Honors English class.”

  “What? Are you kidding me? How is that fair? I can’t be held responsible for someone who, according to you, is failing the class. I have good grades because they are my own, not averaged in with someone else’s.” I crossed my legs, my spine snapping straight with irritation.

  “I could exercise the most serious punishment within my power and I promise you this pales in comparison, Miss Chamberlain. For reasons of his own, Mr. Romano wants this student to pass his class. I, on the other hand, want this boy out of my school forever, and as Mr. Romano is the hold up, there is little I can do but place this in your hands and trust that you’ll understand the situation,” he said, his voice clipped.

  I was completely baffled, but I could see the resolve in Principal Oliverio’s gaze. I wasn’t going to win this. Reluctant to find out who my new responsibility was, I finally asked the dreaded question.

  “Who is it?”

  “Mickey Costello.”

  Chapter Two

  I felt confident our conversation was over. The bell rang and I bolted from the principal’s office and ran to my Jetta. Sliding in, I sat with my hands gripping the wheel, ignition off, trying to digest what just happened.

  After arguing that Mickey and I didn’t have Honors English together, Principal Oliverio made it perfectly clear the schedule change would be taken care of. I still reasoned that if Mickey was in Honors English, why in the world would he need help? He’d have to have done well enough in all prior English classes to even be in Honors English. The only comment Principal Oliverio would make regarding my questions was that Mickey failed the first semester and he needed to pass the second in order to graduate without that blemish on his transcript. That was no kind of answer at all. Why would he have worked that hard to quit in the last semester of Honors English?

  Letting a frustrated sigh escape between my teeth, I turned the key, firing up my Jetta, and backed out of the parking lot. My head was spinning in circles as I drove out onto the main road. How was it fair that Mickey Costello was my responsibility? What agenda did Mr. Romano have? Why would he care how I was disciplined or if Mickey passed his class? And why would our principal go along with it? It didn’t add up. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  I was going to have to come up with a game plan on how to tackle Mickey. Thinking back to our run-in, I couldn’t fathom how to approach him about us working together to achieve the grade I needed in Honors. But then again, I was a Chamberlain. We didn’t lower ourselves like this. My parents would convince Principal Oliverio to see things my way. Screw Mickey. I wasn’t going to let some badass loser mess up the bright future I’d worked my ass off for.

  Driving through the entrance of our gated community, I decided this wasn’t for me. It wasn’t fair. Not trying to minimize what I’d done, but the school could cover up my mistake with a paint brush. Nothing could change my grade but me. Adding Mickey Costello into the equation wasn’t going to cut it.

  I pulled into the driveway leading up to our white two-story home surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns. My mother made sure our home had the greatest curb appeal. She knew where every blade of grass belonged. Killing the ignition, I jumped out of the Jetta and ran inside. My parents would side with me. Fix this. Make this problem go away. There had to be another way to dole out punishment other than pairing me with Mickey.

  As the regional director in West Virginia for Clarksburg Trust Financial, my dad was on another business trip. But my mom would be lounging around the house somewhere. If she or I needed, my dad was only a phone call away. If she couldn’t fix it, he would. Throwing my keys on the granite countertop, I walked through the sliding glass doors leading to the outside veranda.

  “Mom?”

  She wasn’t outside and I paused for a moment, trying to remember if her car was even in the driveway. I’d been too caught up to even notice. I walked back through the doors and came into the kitchen. I looked around but only found fresh cinnamon rolls, meaning our maid, Mary, was recently here. Hearing the shuffling of feet, I turned to see Mary coming from the living room into the kitchen.

  “Oh, hi, Mary,” I said. “Have you seen my mom?”

  “She’s at the Country Club. The committee called for her earlier,” Mary said, grabbing a Lysol wipe and cleaning off the stovetop.

  “What for?” I needed to talk to my mom while my anger was fresh.

  “I think they’re wanting to organize a fundraiser and needed your mother’s input,” Mary said, her back to me as she attended to her task. “Is there something I can help you with?” She looked over her shoulder at me.

  “No, that’s okay,” I said, a frustrated sigh escaping me.

  Mary raised a sharp, skeptical brow at me. “If you’re sure.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “Okay,” I said. I needed someone to talk to and I couldn’t call my mom at the Country Club and interrupt one of her meetings. She would tell me that unless I was dead, dying, or on fire, while attending Country Club business she should never be interrupted.

  “You know I got into trouble, right?” It was embarrassing bringing it up, but I knew Mary was aware of my little debacle.

  She gave a stiff nod while continuing to clean the stovetop.

  “Principal Oliverio called me into his office today and instead of this thing going away like it should, he told me that I have to help this boy at school raise his grade as punishment,” I said, full of confidence Mary would jump to my defense.

  “And?”

  “And? What do you mean?” I said incredulously.

  “And, what’s the problem?” Mary asked, her brows drawn up.

  “Well, for starters, why should I have to tutor anyone as punishment? Secondly, my parents donate enough money to school that me having to do anything is ridiculous. And lastly, this boy in particular is hopeless,” I said, anger welling up inside me thinking about him.

  Mary put her wipe down and brushed
her hands off on her apron. “You’re asking me to evaluate your situation? Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  With her faced scrunched up, Mary looked like she was ready to say some things I might not want to hear.

  “You painted the side of a public wall, Autumn. And you think your punishment for that, your penitence should be paid for with your parent’s money?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but the words were jammed in my throat. It didn’t sound that ridiculous in my head, but when she voiced it I felt awkward.

  “Well?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Did you know that in some countries what you did would result in a public flogging or worse?” Mary’s lips were pursed. She was obviously disgusted with my behavior.

  “No, I, uh….” I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. This was so out of character for Mary. But what could I say? I asked for her opinion. This wasn’t the one I expected. I guess she wasn’t on my side after all.

  “Then what would be a fair punishment for you?” Mary asked, throwing this all back on me.

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. My parent’s money fixed everything. But having her insinuate that it was wrong, verbalizing it and making it real, made me feel ashamed for the first time in my life.

  “Perhaps it’s time you face the music you wrote and dance to its tune. You did the crime. Helping a boy raise his grade in your last semester certainly is far from the worst thing that could ever happen to you, Autumn,” Mary said, her gaze softening toward me.

  “But…” I started. Mary cut me off.

  “No, Autumn. The right thing to do is clean up your own mess, and if that means tutoring a hopeless boy, then you’ll be faced with another task in addition to the damage you did to that wall,” Mary said.