“Stop what?” he snapped.
“Stop being mean to me,” she replied. “I know you’re angry and hurt. I know you don’t wanna talk about it. I know you don’t wanna be here. I know you don’t wanna be around me.”
She paused.
Jeremy looked away, afraid he would agree with her and make her cry.
“I’ll . . . I’ll just give you some space,” Regan said.
He nodded.
The guilt was insurmountable. He wasn’t looking for space. He just felt like he was with the wrong person right now. He loved Regan, and he knew she was trying to help him, but she wasn’t the person who could do it right. She was too much of a girl about it. He needed someone else—someone who wouldn’t ask him to share his feelings. He needed someone who would poke fun at him and give him a better perspective on the entire situation.
He searched for that someone all morning.
“Found you,” he said at lunchtime, sitting in a chair next to her.
The room was dark with only minimal light pouring through the window blinds.
“Never thought to hide out in the band room,” Jeremy went on. “Good choice.”
“They never lock that back door,” Hannah explained. “Always the front one but never the back.”
She opened her lunch bag and handed him a pack of chips. He took them automatically, like it was customary.
“Thanks,” he said, shoving a cheesy Dorito in his mouth.
She opened her own bag of Doritos and ate.
“So, you killed your dad,” she said nonchalantly.
Jeremy nodded.
“Heard it on the news. Like a trillion times.”
He said nothing.
“Too bad you’re nineteen. At least if you were a minor, they wouldn’t have flashed your name all over the screen.”
He snorted. Well, twenty now . . .
“Why’s it public knowledge anyway?” Hannah went on. “It’s nobody’s damn business what goes on in someone’s private home.”
Jeremy smiled.
“Your dad almost kill you?”
“Almost.”
“Did he have a weapon? There were conflicting reports about a gun being involved.”
“No, just his fists.”
Hannah fell silent for a moment.
“So, now your life is fucked from here on out? Traumatic event equals angry kid equals stolen property equals carjacking equals prison time?”
Jeremy snickered.
“Come on,” Hannah teased. “You know you wanna be a cliché.”
He was so happy he found her. She was exactly who he needed to talk to.
“I thought about it,” Jeremy said.
“And what would you do first?”
“Oh, start small. Petty theft. Maybe traffic pot for a while before I feel it’s safe to move up to the big leagues.”
“Naturally you’ll become addicted to drugs,” Hannah pointed out.
“Naturally.”
“And live in squalor in a whorehouse.”
“No other way.”
“And go on hooker binges because you have no self-worth,” she continued.
“None.”
“No violent crimes, though,” Hannah said. “Doesn’t fit your profile.”
“No no. I’ll be happy just to harm myself,” Jeremy replied.
They burst out laughing.
“Dude, your life is like a TV show,” Hannah said. “Shit like this does not happen to normal people.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Talk about sucking hard,” Hannah went on.
Jeremy glanced at her and grinned. “We’ve established that my life is awful.”
She laughed, then grew quiet.
They crunched in silence, every now and then making observations about the instruments in the room.
“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time your dad came at you,” Hannah said, eyeing him curiously.
“Not even close.”
“Why’d you never tell me?”
“Because we don’t talk about stuff like that,” Jeremy replied. “You said so yourself.”
Hannah nodded.
“He give you that scar?”
“Yep.”
“Why did he beat you?”
“Because he was angry and sad.”
“About?”
“Getting hurt on the job. Not being able to work. Mom leaving. Lots of stuff.”
“So you got it on both ends,” Hannah said. “At school and at home.”
Jeremy nodded.
“You were pumping iron for your dad, weren’t you?” Hannah said, realization dawning. “Didn’t really have anything to do with these jokers at school.”
Jeremy was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, it was mostly for my dad.”
“Those bench presses probably saved your life,” she pointed out.
He never considered that. After all, he wielded a bat. The bat was the weapon. But he never considered the strength behind that bat—the strength that came from pounding protein and push presses.
“I’m glad you decided to get in shape,” Hannah whispered, trying for a joke, but she couldn’t mask her sincerity.
“It wasn’t only that,” Jeremy confessed.
“Huh?”
“When I was lying there under my dad getting the shit beat out of me, I really thought I was gonna die. I would have died if it weren’t for you.”
Hannah tensed. “What are you talking about?”
“You spoke to me,” Jeremy replied. “You told me to fight.” He paused and grinned. “Actually it was more like ‘Get the fuck up and fight!’”
Hannah shifted uncomfortably.
“It wasn’t only my strength. I . . . I would have never found the last of it if you didn’t tell me. If you didn’t believe in me. If you didn’t remind me where I put my bat.”
Hannah turned her face and wiped inconspicuously at a tear.
“You saved my life,” Jeremy said.
“I did, huh?” she asked, facing the wall.
“Mmhmm.”
Pause.
“Then I guess you owe me a ‘thank you,’” Hannah croaked.
Jeremy laughed and stood up, balling the chip bag in his fist.
“Thank you, Hannah.”
He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. She hung her head.
“You can’t hide out in here anymore,” he said. “You have to start eating lunch with me again.”
“Jer . . .”
“I’ll use the I-killed-my-dad card on you all day long,” he replied.
Pause.
“I need you,” he whispered. “Please?”
Hannah exhaled a frustrated sigh. “Fine.”