Property damage: damage to or the destruction of public or private property
*
Amada sniffed as Robyn dabbed the gashes on his arm. He already had a square patch on his cheek, and his eyebrow had a deep scratch.
Amia sat on the countertop across from him, and continually bit the inside of her cheek as she watched Amada get treated. Ava emerged from the hallway with some gauze she had retrieved from the upstairs bathroom.
"How're you feeling?" she asked, passing Robyn a tissue.
Amada shrugged.
I stood by the fridge to help alternate the ice-cube bags for him. "At least you didn't need to get stitches. It was quite a nasty fall," I remarked placing the bag of ice next to Robyn.
When the nurse on the field was checking over Amada, she told us he would need bandage changes for the next week or so. The next day, Amada was in significant pain.
"Thanks again, Robyn," Amada grumbled as she re-wrapped the section of his arm.
Her eyes were too focused on his arm to notice when he said anything, so Ava said it wasn't a worry for her.
"How long until Amada heals up?" Amia asked.
"Probably won't go away for another few weeks or so, minimum. But he'll probably be sore for a couple of days," Ava informed as she packed up the first aid kit.
Amia shook her head, "God I hate him."
Ava and I looked up, "Hate who?"
Amia uncoiled herself and pushed herself off the counter top. "Our Father. Looks what he did to you!"
Amada shook his head, and wrenched his arm from Robyn as he begrudgingly stood up. He scowled, "Not everything has to do with our Dad!" He violently wiped his eyes, "Not everything is his fault!" He stomped past everyone, brushing off his sister's hand as he left the room.
Amia gritted her teeth, her hands curled into fists, but just as quickly, she sighed and blinked away tears of frustration. Ava made a flat smile, Robyn still somewhat stunned by Amada's sudden outburst. Ava reached for Amia and gestured for the backyard, "Come with me. I recently got a punching bag for the backyard, and I am going to teach you how to punch things."
Amia sighed as she followed Ava, Robyn continuing to pack up the remaining first aid kit. "Don't take it personally," I signed to her when she gestured for me to put the kit on the shelf above the fridge.
Robyn shrugged. "He's upset. I can understand the worry of wanting to live up to your parents' expectations. Sometimes you just don't think you've done enough. Mr Romano is a scary, manly guy, and having a cross-dressing son probably isn't what he expected." Robyn sighed as she scratched at her ears, "He just needs to let off steam. Just let the shock pass. Amada did just stack it in front of multiple schools, he's not gonna feel great for a while."
I considered her comments, pulling out my phone and swiping through my contacts.
*
Amada wasn't happy trudging behind me that afternoon. Because of his arm, he couldn't grip anything for long periods, so a bike ride was out of the question. It made for a long, silent walk.
"Where are we going?" he eventually asked as the pine trees cast long shadows over the dirt road.
"You'll see," I answered pocketing my hands.
When we made it over the hill, I could hear loud crashes. At the bottom of the hill, there was a mostly abandoned junkyard, filled with piles of broken-down cars, unwanted appliances and bits of discarded building materials. Amidst the junk, half a dozen boys threws things at one another, only for them to be smashed by a swinging bat.
Amada was understandably confused as we approached. "What is this?"
I offered a smile, "The guys come here every now and then to smash some crap. A good way to relieve stress so I hear," I informed, "Figured with what happened you must be feeling pretty shitty." Amada dropped his eyes, his sad expression turning to a pout. I gently hit his chest, "Come on, Am. Let's try breaking some stuff."
When we made it down there, Amada staggered behind me, while I was greeted with a bro hug from Dylan and smiles from the other Delinquents, Amada barely cracked a smile as a greeting.
"How're you feeling, little man?" Dylan asked.
Amada shrugged.
"Let's smash some shit!" Connor exclaimed, in one swift motion putting an arm around Amada and startling him out of his pout. "We found an entire crate of empty bottles and Alex brought his metal baseball bats. It's gonna be sick."
Amada's nose crinkled up, "Are you drunk?"
Connor scoffed, removing his arm from Amada's shoulder, "No. I just had a drink." He walked back to the other boys and produced an open box of beers.
"Seriously?" I asked.
Dylan rolled his eyes. "They'll do their own thing, I'll do mine. I ain't drinking if you don't wanna be alone," he informed.
I smirked, and before I could answer, Amada called, "Toss me one."
Connor laughed, "Alright." He pulled one free and threw it towards Amada, but I intercepted it.
"Nah-uh," I informed.
Amada grumbled, snatching the beer from me, "Don't be such a prude, Dorm Guard."
As he opened the can, he went to take a sip. I went to snatch it again, but Dylan caught my hand. "Let him have this one," he said, "The more you tell him no, the grouchier he'll probably get." We watched as Amada took a long gulp, and cringe at the taste as he gagged. "I won't let him have too many."
I rolled my eyes, "Forgive me if I don't trust you guys with alcohol consumption right now." My words were snappier then I intended, but I was reminded of how Mia got herself pissed drunk on wine, courtesy of the Delinquents.
Dylan smirked, "Trust me, don't trust me, entirely up to you." He gestured to one of his friends, the metal bat being tossed to him as he rested it on his shoulders. "We gonna smash stuff or nah?"
I couldn't help but return the grin as the Delinquents roused Amada for his beer intolerance.
Quite suddenly, and close to my face, a bottle was thrown, and Dylan shattered the thing with a mighty swing. The glass shards scattered on the floor and momentum threw it against me. "Gee, thanks," I grumbled flicking bits from my hair and smaller shards from my jacket.
"Don't stand so close. Let's go!" Dylan called.
For the next hour, between three metal bats, we broke several bottles, smashed various appliances and had a pretty good time kicking and denting the hood of a broken-down car. Amada, for the most part, just watched and smirked every now and then at the destruction. Pretty quickly, the ground was covered in glass, making certain parts of the junkyard unapproachable.
I admitted it was remarkable how cathartic breaking things were.
I sat on the roof of another car next to Amada, and watched as the guys went nuts on a microwave, they cracked the plastic casing, crushed it as parts fell apart and kicked around excess pieces. It was probably the most boy-infested-testosterone-fuelled gathering I had ever seen.
Amada's good arm rested on his bad one like he was massaging it. "You okay?" I asked.
Amada shrugged, "I… I will be."
I patted him on the back. "Don't let what happened at track bother you," I said, "We all get nervous. And that was just a bad fall. Don't beat yourself up over it."
Amada tucked his legs to his chest and sighed, "That's not a good enough reason…"
I was about to object, but Dylan approached, doing tricks with the bat as he said, "Hey Amada, want a swing? We found a new car."
I shook my head, "Thanks Dylan, but with Amada's arm like it is, I don't think-"
"Give me the bat," Amada hissed, snatching it from Dylan. Dylan put his hands up in surrender and gestured over his shoulder to the other boys, who were still smashing the microwave. The car sat behind them.
The windows were still intact, and everything was in almost pristine condition, but it didn't have any wheels, and I suspected the front was hollowed out. If I hadn't known better I would have thought it was new.
The Delinquents stopped smashing the microwave and backed away from the car, all opting to watch Amada.
He paused in front of the boot and frowned. "This is weird with you all staring at me," he said over his shoulder.
The Delinquents apologised and found another appliance, a blender prime for the smashing. As one of the boys crushed it under their boot, Amada gripped the bat, swaggering in place to psyche himself up to destroy the car. At first, he did nothing, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to do it, but he brought the bat back and whacked it smack bang in the middle of the windshield, a spiderweb of cracks across the glass.
"Woo!" one of the boys called.
"Good hit!" Dylan added.
I watched Amada's arm tense up from holding the bat as he dragged it down the hood, leaned heavily on it, and panted through his teeth. I straightened at the demeanour change.
Amada repeated the blow, lifting and slamming it down on the windshield until it shattered completely and fell inside the car. The boys cheered him on, but the longer and harder he smashed the windshield, the closer to the edge of the bonnet I sat on I got. Dylan put a hand on my chest when I rose to my feet, giving me an eye and a very subtle shake of the head.
Amada's hits became frantic. He hit the bonnet, broke the side mirrors, whacked the remaining windows with the butt of the bat, ignoring which arm he used or when the bandage on his forearm started to loosen. At first silent, he started grunting, then yelling, then stringing small sentences together.
"This manly enough for you!" he growled, "Huh! Am I strong enough now!" He returned to the hood of the car and smashed its front so hard the number-plate skewed on the bumper. "This good enough for you!" He tried to use the bat to smash the metal, but something twanged in his arm and he yelled out in pain, dropping the bat and squatting down to cradle his arm.
Everyone had fallen silent, and watched with a dark stare as Amada gritted his teeth and forced himself up. "Is anything about me good enough…?" He breathed as he started punching the hood of the car, slamming his fists desperately to make dents in the hood.
Dylan let me past him to console Amada, who shoved me away when I got close. "Does any of this shit make me a man now?" He shoved me again, "Huh! Is all I gotta do to prove that is pick a bloody fight!?" As if to answer his question he swung at me, quite aggressively, and I narrowly dodged the punch.
He tried to strike me again, but I caught his arm, his strength unable to overpower mine, as I twirled him around, wrapped my arm around his throat and dragged him backwards. With the loss of balance, Amada stumbled back, unable to unlatch me as I lowered him to the floor and held him in place, not choking him but not letting him get up.
"Amada, calm!" I hissed in his ear.
"Of course," he choked as he pulled at my arm, "Because no man makes a bloody scene!" He struggled a moment longer, his legs kicked up some dirt, before going limp. His eyes were welling with tears, but his nose scrunched up as he tried not to sob.
"Amada, what's going on?" I muttered to him.
*
Amia stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, every breath heavy through her nose and her glare powerfully hateful.
At the foot of the gate was her Father, and an opened black car as several of Mr Romano's workers fitted three suitcases in the boot. Mr Romano re-buttoned his black coat as he approached his daughter with open arm, offering her a charming smile as he held her face in his hands.
"Il mio piccolo gattino, perché un viso aspro?" His Italian was soothing to listen to, but it caused Amia to pull her face from his grasp.
"Non puoi chiamarmi così, padre," Amia snapped, "Mi stai portando via mio fratello, e per cosa? Perché non è abbastanza di un uomo per te?"
The twins didn't speak enough Italian for me to have any idea what the two were saying. But the bite in her voice, the tears in her eyes, the silence when I entered the kitchen this morning and found Amada comforting his sister; I knew something was wrong.
Against her wishes, he placed a kiss on her forehead and turned to look at me. "Track," he remarked in English, "Interesting choice, my boy. Not quite what I was after, but you did your best with what you had, I suppose." When he spoke, he pulled at his sleeves, dusted off invisible specks and beamed me a wide grin. "A valiant effort. I do appreciate your help. You've managed to make progress where I simply couldn't." He turned to face the car out the front, frowning as he added, "But if the likes of you couldn't help change my son over such a long period, then I believe my more drastic measures will have to be enforced. I'll be sure to pay you for your time, Mr Becks, as promised."
Amia lifted her eyes, a hurtful expression fixed in her face.
I had never known real heartbreak. I always assumed it was a myth or something to dramatise grief or loss. But those eyes, that wounded look, made something in my chest break. I was unable to breathe a word as Amia shook her head, and she fled into the dorm.
My legs felt like lead, too heavy to move, too stuck to the floor to lift. I stared wide-eyed at the ground, somehow managing to voice, "Where're you taking Amada?"
Mr Romano's smile became flat, a forced curve as he answered, "A type of Military School. I have connections with the warden who instructs disgruntled and misbehaved boys. Agreed to take Amada for a term to see what can be done."
When I took in a breath, my chest ached. "Isn't that a bit excessive… sir?" I croaked, trying to push through the ache.
"Perhaps. But as I've said, sometimes excessive is what's needed. I will not have Amada embarrass his family because of-"
"Who he is?" I finished, trying to keep my voice level and firm.
Mr Romano paused, turning his eye to me, his lip twitching as he clicked his tongue. "Am I gonna get crap from you too, boy?" His voice was terrifying in a way I could scarcely understand. It was deep and calm, but there was a hint of annoyance, a strange trace of exhaustion. "Believe it or not, I do love my children, Mr Becks. They might not believe it, and you may not believe it, but quite frankly I couldn't give a rat's arse about whether you believe anything I have to say. But Amada said yes to my proposal. He recognises he has a problem."
"Only because you've told him he does." I found something in my core that allowed me to speak up with some resemblance of confidence. "What you saw at that track meet didn't mean what you think it means. He won that for Amia, and Estelle was just bagging him over it."
"What about when he dressed as a girl? Those panic attacks he's had over not being manly enough? Not seeing himself as being good enough?" Mr Romano countered, "How about when he was a young boy, and he hated himself because he wasn't as big as the other boys? Wasn't as tough? Didn't see any value in his own gender as a man?" Mr Romano was bigger than me and was quick to show me as he stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders back, all the while keeping his hands resting on the buttons of his jacket. "When his mother died, he latched onto his sister, instead of his Father, his cousins, his aunties, his family, because out of everyone in his life, he was ashamed of himself. And the only image he could see of himself that he thought was acceptable was his strangely identical twin sister. But that's started to crack, and with that everything that makes him my son, strange wardrobe habits and all, has started to crack. He isn't Amia, and he will never be able to copy her forever. I have protected what I can of his name and his reputation from family and community, and soon I will not be able to do even that!" His voice was getting louder, but he wasn't quite shouting at me. He cleared his throat when he was about to. "I've discussed this with him. He is going."
I watched him fix his tie, his attention turning to Amada who walked out the front door with his last bag. "Hey, son!" Mr Romano greeted, embracing his son in a massive hug.
I believed Mr Romano's intentions were, in his opinion, genuine. He was a man who loved his son, but the discomfort in Amada's eyes, the way he looked off to me during the embrace, I doubted Amada knew.
Within moments, the girls stood out the front to see Amada off, watching, and in Estelle's case inhibiting, the men pack away the last of Amada's things.
Amada hugged the girls one by one, each giving a murmur of goodbyes or some final words of advice. Mia emerged from the dorm and jumped into his arms. "Do you have to go?" Mia signed.
Amada made a sad smile, and nodded, "Yeah… I've got to go."
"Are we able to visit?" Bonnie asked.
Amada shrugged as he straightened. "I don't think so," he answered, "I don't think military bases are known for their social hours." He forced a laugh, but no one joined. "I'll only be gone for a few weeks, not even the whole term if all goes well."
There was a staggered pause. "Gonna miss ya," Bonnie admitted.
Amada nodded, "I'm gonna miss you too." He leaned forward and hugged her. My eyes were locked on Mr Romano, who stood halfway down the path, watching his son.
"Take care of yourself," Bonnie added, and in a fleeting moment gave Amada a peck on the cheek.
The motion surprised everyone, Ava and I sharing a particularly surprised look, as Amada pulled away. I expected a beet red response, a stutter, some sweating, anything that acknowledged Bonnie just gave him a kiss on the cheek. But his face remained expressionless, his eyes unfazed by the gesture as he looked to his sister.
Amia's eyes were puffy, and her face was screwed into a scowl for her brother. I had overheard Ava early this morning telling her that if she didn't see her brother off, she would regret it.
After a silent stare off, Amada made a single nod and hugged her. Amia buried her nose into his shoulder, her eyes screwed close as her hands clutched fistfuls of his jacket. When the hug was over, he walked to me, pausing to consider a hug or a handshake in the presence of his Father.
Not caring, I opened my arms out for a hug. Amada took it hastily, burying his head into my chest. I felt his body tremble in my grip as I rested my chin on the top of his head.
It was weird, the feeling that rested in the pit of my stomach. Not to sound depressing, but I had been used to people leaving- family, friends and so on- but the moment was always dwarfed because I knew they would come back. I knew Amada would come back yet there was this lingering sense of dread that I couldn't shake that I wasn't going to get him back.
I had only ever had sisters, and in a weird sense, I thought of Amada as a little brother. A strange, Italian little brother, but one I wanted to protect, to help, to guide in a weird way I assumed was designated for little brothers.
"I'm not crying." Amada's words disrupted my thought.
I gently rubbed my hand on his back, "I know, buddy."
Mr Romano held a hand out to his son when all the pleasantries had passed. When he got to the car, Amada disappeared inside it, blocked by Mr Romano as he tipped an invisible hat to the girls and sat next to him, his men closing the door after their boss.
"Déjà vu," Ava muttered, turning on her heels and disappearing into the house, Robyn promptly behind her. The other girls scattered to do their own things, namely drink some tea and bitch about what had just happened, until Amia, and I stood on the porch.
I gulped, turning to her and managing to say, "Amia-"
She held a hand up, wiping her cheek, "Don't!" she demanded, her voice cracked, "Just don't." She walked back inside.