“Yeah. I’m new, remember?” I said lightly.
“Yeah, but it’s, like, the middle of October. You haven’t made any friends yet?” Cal asked.
I hated the way he talked to me. There was always an underlying note of accusation in his words. Just like when he asked me months before if I had a medical condition. My fault I fainted. My fault I had no friends.
Apparently he had forgotten that I did have friends, that I drove them home after Tanner’s party months ago. I played to his forgetfulness.
“It’s hard making friends when you’re a senior and you’re new,” I said.
Cal shrugged. “Didn’t come with your dad?”
So he remembered my dad. Interesting. Perhaps I made a bigger impression on him at registration than I originally thought. I had an idea.
“He works a lot, which leaves me alone a lot. I’m not that close to him.” I made it sound just the slightest bit pitiful. I thought it couldn’t hurt to give the impression that I was a lonely girl with no real connections to anyone. Maybe that would make me a more attractive target. He could violate me thinking I’d have no one to run to afterwards.
He slipped his arm around my waist, and I jumped. His confidence unnerved me. Why did he think he had permission to touch me so casually?
“Well, I’ll be your friend, Brooke,” he said, pulling me into him. “Everyone should have at least one friend.”
“You’re very generous,” I said, trying to hide the sarcasm, but he heard.
“I’m not trying to be funny,” he replied. “I really want to be your friend.”
His words, his demeanor—the whole thing felt weird. Suddenly I wanted to be home with my dad, watching bad TV and talking with him about his nonexistent love life.
“Okay” was the only thing I could think to say. “So who are your friends here?”
Cal looked over at the boys sitting in a long line taking up most of the row.
“Well, you know Parker down there. And that’s Mike, Tim, Hunter, and this here is Aaron,” Cal said, pointing to the boy sitting beside him.
“Hi,” I said, addressing Aaron.
“What’s up?”
“Are you all on the swim team together?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Aaron replied. “How’d you know?”
“Oh, I just took a guess. I know Cal swims. And Parker, too,” I said.
“None as good as me, though,” Aaron said, and Cal shook his head.
“Whatever, man.”
We fell into an easy conversation, Aaron jabbering for most of it. He didn’t seem like a predator, but then there was a lot about Cal that suggested he wasn’t. I realized I needed to look at evil in an entirely different light. Most bad guys weren’t walking around with eyes bugged out. Most bad guys didn’t come across freaky and frightening, hiding in shadowed corners with insane grins plastered across their faces. Most bad guys were your normal, everyday guys moving through life like anyone else. Going to school. Going to work. Going to church, even. They were hard to spot, and that’s what made them so good at being bad. They were sneaky. They could get away with it, and they knew it.
Cal bought me a hot chocolate and walked me through the game as our team crushed the competition. I tried to ask him questions here and there, but he avoided most. He wasn’t interested in talking about himself. He was interested in football. Unfortunately, I learned more about that tonight than Cal. I realized I’d have to secure information in other ways, but I wasn’t sure how.
***
I was cleaning my station for the evening when Terry approached me.
“Hey, wanna make out in the back seat of my car when you get finished?” he asked, sliding into a chair.
I grinned. “Every girl’s fantasy,” I said, filling the last of my ketchup bottles. “How old are you anyway? Fifty?”
“I’m thirty-six,” Terry answered.
“Gross.”
He chuckled. “Seriously, what are you doing later?”
“It’s eleven. I’m going home. To bed.” I wiped down the bottles and placed them in the caddy.
“You’re so boring, Wright,” Terry said. “Why don’t you have a little fun?”
“Oh, I had fun. A few weeks ago when I had to look after my drunk girlfriends,” I said. “Will you please move your feet?”
Terry lifted his feet while I swept underneath him.
“I’m not talking about going to a party or anything. And you wouldn’t have to take care of anyone,” he said.
“Forget it,” I replied.
“Well, you’re gonna miss out big time,” Terry said. “I’m the funnest person to hang with.”
“That would be ‘most fun.’ You’re the most fun to hang with,” I corrected, putting the broom aside.
He smirked. “I’m not going to school for an English degree, Wright.”
“You’re going to school?” I asked. I was shocked. I thought Terry made being head chef at Patricia’s Diner his career choice. He was thirty-six, after all.