Momma Said "Knock You Out"

Lucy’s old pickup rattled into the parking lot, the brakes giving a soft squeal as she eased it into a tight spot under a leafless tree. She killed the engine but left the radio on. Some fuzzy alt-rock track buzzed under the dash.

Davie pulled his backpack into his lap but didn’t get out yet. Lucy leaned back against her door, lit a cigarette, and took a slow drag.

“You sure you wanna go in?” she asked, voice light. “We could still ditch. It’s not like we’re learning anything important anyways.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “I already did all my homework. I might as well turn it in.”

Her lips were soft and slightly chapped, but as she grinned her teeth peeked out, sharp and pointy like a predator's. Davie hesitated before leaning in, feeling a slight tremble in her body as they made contact. He could taste the faint tang of mint from her cigarette and the lingering smoky scent on her skin.

“Tragic,” she said with a sigh that barely tried to sound sincere. “I’ll see you at lunch, then.”

They walked in together, side by side. People noticed. They always did now.

Lucy was one of those people the school didn’t quite know what to do with. Some teachers tried to corral her. Most had stopped trying. She had a toe in every clique, invited to everything and loyal to no one but a tight few. The kind of person who could skip class and still get offered a seat at the top table.

And Davie? He wasn’t popular, but he was with her. That counted. It bought him a bubble of space—until she wasn’t around.

They split at the side hallway. Lucy waved him off with a two-finger salute, disappearing back toward the student lot, probably to bum a smoke off Dax or get caught up on drama from Cynth.

Davie turned the other way, head down. The hallway was mostly empty. His footsteps echoed across the linoleum. He stopped by his locker, spinning the combination with the bored rhythm of habit.

The door swung open with a quiet clunk. He swapped out a notebook for a folder, just about to close it again—

“Heya, Squirt.”

Davie froze.

Derrick leaned on the locker next to his, flanked by his usual shadows—one tall and twitchy, the other wide and grinning. His smile was lazy, but his eyes were anything but.

“Finally ditched your babysitter?” Derrick asked, tone all casual sweetness, like venom stirred into honey. “We’ve missed you.”

Davie didn’t answer. Just tried to shove his folder in deeper, like maybe he could disappear with it.

Derrick clicked his tongue. “C’mon, don’t be rude. We used to be close.”

The tall one snickered. “Quickshot.”

Derrick’s grin widened. “She doesn’t call you that? Huh. Surprised.”

Davie clenched his jaw. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Derrick said, hands up. “Just worried. That’s all.”

Davie stared at him.

“She’s a trip, isn’t she?” Derrick continued. “Real ride-or-die. Real intense. Makes you feel special. But you’ve seen how fast she moves on, right?”

Davie didn’t respond.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Derrick said, voice lowering like a secret. “You’re probably her whole world. This week. But come on—you’ve seen the pattern. You think you’re different?”

Curtis laughed under his breath. Leo leaned forward like he was waiting for a better punchline.

Davie finally turned toward him. “You don’t know her.”

“Don’t I?” Derrick said. “All fire up front, nothing behind it. She’s good at playing people. Real good. The trick is making everyone think they’re the only one.”

Davie gripped the locker door and went to shut it, but Derrick caught it and held it open with two fingers.

“You ever wonder what she really thinks of you?” he asked, voice going soft, digging in. “What her friends say when you’re not around? What she says?”

Davie didn’t answer. Just stood there, jaw tight, face hot.

Derrick leaned a little closer. “You’re cute when you’re trying not to cry.”

Then: the slam of a door at the end of the hall. Footsteps—fast and heavy.

Lucy’s voice rang out, sharp as glass: “What did I tell you, Derrick?”

Derrick turned just in time to see her storming toward him, fists clenched, eyes lit up like warning lights. She didn’t slow down.

“Well shit,” Derrick muttered. “Speak of the devil.”

“I told you,” Lucy said, closing in, “if you came near him again, I’d fucking ruin you.”

“Ha! What exactly are you gonna do? Tell someone?” He glanced around the empty hall. “You really think anybody’s gonna believe you? With your reputation I’m amazed anybody still trusts a word you say.”

She didn’t respond with words.

Her fist came up in a tight arc and smashed straight into the bridge of his nose.

There was a sickening crack. Derrick reeled backward, slamming into the lockers behind him, hands flying to his face. Blood smeared across his fingers instantly, dripping from between them. Curtis cursed. Leo backed off like he’d just seen someone set off a bomb.

Lucy stood over him, her hand trembling slightly, knuckles already red and swelling.

Derrick was on the floor, moaning, trying to blink through the blood. Lucy loomed over him.

“You don’t have to trust me,” she said, voice low and burning. “But if you ever touch Davie again, I promise your nose isn’t the only bit of you I’m gonna break.”

He looked up at her, dazed but furious. But he didn’t speak.

“And I know you won’t say shit,” she added, voice cutting. “Because no one wants to admit a bitch like me knocked you flat with one punch.”

She stood up, flexing her busted hand with a wince. “C’mon,” she said to Davie.

He followed.

They were halfway to the lot before either of them spoke. Davie’s hands still shook a little. Adrenaline, he guessed.

Lucy beelined straight for her truck, blood still blossoming wicked red over her knuckle. She dug a crumpled napkin out of the glove compartment and wrapped it around her hand, hissing, and waved Davie into the passenger seat. Then she started the engine with her other hand, jaw set, and peeled out of the lot before anyone could spot them.

By the time they hit the old quarry road, her breathing had slowed, settling into the same lazy rhythm as the ditches and fields streaming past the windows. Davie sat quiet, half-hunched against the door, staring at the swelling in her hand and then at the streaks of blood she’d left on the steering wheel.

“You okay?” he asked, eventually.

Lucy’s mouth twitched. She kept her eyes on the road. “That’s my line, dumbass.”

He picked at a thread on his sleeve, the adrenaline wearing off, leaving a hollow churn in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or guilt. Maybe both.

She shot him a quick look. “Seriously. I’m fine. Are you?”

Davie nodded, too fast. “Yeah. Just—he’s a dick, but he’s not usually that…” He trailed off.

“Creative?” Lucy snorted. “He’s an amateur. He just thinks he’s inventing ways to get under your skin.” She flexed her fingers, testing the napkin’s grip. “It’s basic.”

Davie thought of Derrick’s eyes, their practiced cruelty, how they seemed to know just where to poke. “He said you’ll get bored of me.”

Lucy barked a laugh. “He wishes.” She pressed the gas a little harder. “Let’s be real. If I was into boring, I’d pick someone loaded with those plastics.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I think…” He swallowed, not sure why it was coming up now, not sure he wanted it to. “You’re the only reason they leave me alone. Like it’s not even about me, it’s about you. Who you’re with.”

Lucy’s eyes flicked to him again, this time with a weird gentleness. “You want me to leave you be?”

He shook his head with such force he nearly bit his tongue.

“Good,” she said. Her voice dropped into something softer, “Because I can’t.”

She rolled the window down, flicked the bloody napkin out into the wind, and let her hand ride the air current. “It’s dumb. I don’t know how to explain it. If I go a day without talking to you, my brain just… breaks. Gets all loud and weird.”

Davie didn’t say anything.

So she pulled into a shady turnoff beside the quarry lake, engine idling in the quiet.

She leaned her head back against the seat, stared at the sky through the windshield. “I’m not good at this,” she admitted. “I just—don’t know how else to show it. That I care.”

Davie reached across the seat and gently took her hand. The swollen one. He held it carefully, thumb brushing over her scraped knuckles.

“You already do.”

For a long moment, they just sat there—windows down, truck creaking, breeze rustling the trees around them.

Lucy exhaled. Her body uncoiled.

And when Davie leaned his head onto her shoulder, she let it stay there.

Warm. Quiet.

Safe.