“I should have been a lion,” she said. “This is bullshit.”
But then she remembered a distinctive Libra trait she most certainly possessed—the ability to see all sides. Her problem was that, until now, she took it too far. She allowed a distorted perception of balance to take over her life, operating in a constant paradox: I can be in the popular crowd without being popular. I can date Brandon even though I’m not one hundred percent committed. I can empathize with outcasts though I can’t remember that pain. I can be something to everyone as long as I agree. She realized she’d agreed herself all the way into being . . . how did Hannah put it? A fake ass bitch. But she rediscovered her principles. She retaught herself how to balance the scales appropriately so that she would no longer cheat her character or moral convictions.
She dropped her pen on the paper, abandoning her lists. She acknowledged her mistakes, her weaknesses, but she was unwilling to accept Casey’s version of herself.
“I’m bitchy, yes,” she said. “Check. I have a loud mouth. Check. I can be demanding. Check. I can even be impulsive. Better triple check that. But I’m caring. Big fucking check. And I believe I’m fair.” She fingered her pendant. “Ten checks. And above all, I want what’s best for the important people in my life. Motherfucking check.”
Balanced scales. Roaring lioness. She’d embrace both, lick her wounds, and wait, crouched behind the tree, tail swaying to and fro. Maybe a bit predatory, but she reasoned it was predatory protection. She’d wait and watch for the right moment to pounce on Casey and pull her back from the edge. Embrace her. Keep her safe. Because that’s what best friends do. They love. And forgive. Fiercely.
***
Hannah froze, mouth open, sandwich positioned at her lips for annihilation. Her eyes bore into Regan’s.
“Well?” Regan asked.
Hannah lowered the sandwich slowly. “Well, what?”
“May I sit down?”
Hannah stole a glance at Jeremy. “Why do you wanna sit here?”
“You know why,” Regan replied patiently. “So, may I?”
Hannah smirked. “Well, now, I don’t know.”
Regan huffed and plopped her tray on the table.
“I think it’s totally unfair that you expect us to welcome you with open arms now that your douchebag friends have rejected you,” Hannah said. She bit a large chunk out of her sandwich.
Regan exhaled slowly. “I know you do. And I’d think the same way. Now I’m gonna sit down . . . if that’s okay.”
Hannah jerked her head. Regan took it as a half-hearted invitation. She sat down beside Jeremy and opened her water bottle.
“So what’d you do?” Hannah mumbled with her mouth full.
“I broke up with Brandon,” Regan replied.
Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. I didn’t think you had it in you. Guess my little pep talk really did help.”
Jeremy was intrigued. What pep talk? He didn’t know the girls were friends.
Regan snorted. “Yep. All thanks to you, Hannah. Otherwise, I’d have never gotten the nerve to do it.”
“Ha ha,” Hannah replied. “But seriously. You really broke up with him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized he was a bad guy,” Regan said. She took a bite out of her own sandwich.
“It took you three years to figure that out?” Hannah asked, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“I’m a slow learner,” Regan explained.
“Evidently.”
Regan dropped her sandwich. “Look, are you gonna give me ’tude for the rest of the year if I sit here?”
“Don’t I have a right to?” Hannah asked.
“No, you don’t. Wanna know why? Because I apologized to you, and I meant it. And I’m making changes and trying to be better. Not for you. For me. But guess what? You benefit from them, too. So get over it, learn to forgive me, and move the fuck on.”
Jeremy crunched a carrot. He thought it wise to keep from interfering. Girl fights were . . . complicated. And completely outside the realm of his expertise.
“Move the fuck on?” Hannah asked, suppressing the grin.
“That’s what I said,” Regan shot back.
Hannah inhaled slowly, giving Regan a long, hard once-over with her piercing blue eyes. Decision made.
“All right,” she said finally. “But I get to make fun of your face jewelry.”
“That’s fine,” Regan replied. “I know it’s only that you wish you had some of your own. If you can stop being such a bitch, maybe I’ll do your eyes up like mine.”
Hannah smiled. “I don’t care to walk around looking like a glittery Barbie doll.”
Regan leaned over the table and shoved her nose in Hannah’s face.
“Everyone wants to look like a glittery Barbie doll,” she said softly.
The girls stared at one another. Hannah was certain she understood the underlying meaning to Regan’s words, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She worked so hard to be anti-feminine—embracing a stereotype that was forced upon her by the very people she despised. The people who abused her every day. All right, then. She would flip the script—try for an ironic existence—though she assumed they were too stupid to get it. And they were. But Regan got it. And Regan knew she was pretending—that she longed to swipe her eyelashes with mascara and wear the reddest lipstick. That she ached to feel pretty in her clothes instead of hiding away from everyone in boyish attire because they told her to.
“I don’t think I like you,” Hannah whispered, still staring at her love interest.
“You like me just fine,” Regan replied.
Hannah went back to eating her sandwich, quietly accepting Regan’s statement as truth. Because it was truth, though she’d never admit it aloud.
“You’re gonna do a lot of crying in the next few days,” Hannah said. “Prepare yourself.”
“Speaking from experience?” Regan asked.
“What do you think?” Hannah replied.
Silence.
“Just don’t let them see you do it,” Hannah said softly. “Makes it a million times worse.”
“I don’t care if they see me cry,” Regan said, finishing her sandwich.