“Well, I’ll have the southwest jalapeno burger, medium rare, with fries. And bring us an appetizer sampler too please,” Marcus says. He’s being appealingly regular after getting shut down. It’s refreshing.
My stomach grips at the sound of a big, juicy burger. I think about giving in and tapping into my hidden funds. No. I can’t do it. I can have some ramen when I get home if I’m still hungry. Who am I kidding? Of course I’ll still be hungry.
After the server leaves, Marcus shifts awkwardly before finally speaking. “You didn’t order that because of money, did you?”
I can feel my face flush. I hate talking money with Marcus. His family’s loaded. He doesn’t get it.
“Dude. You know I got this, right?” he says. “Just order a meal already. I’ll get the chick back here.” He waves at the server, who’s just getting ready to type our order into the screen.
“Marcus, don’t. You’re not buying my dinner. This isn’t a goddamn date.”
He ignores me and when the server reaches our table he says, “Cancel the quesadilla and make that two jalapeno burgers. And another Coke.”
My face is burning. I stare intently at the effervescence coming off the top of his Coke.
“Sure thing,” she says, heading back toward the monitor.
“You’re not exaggerating when you talk about your dad making you work, are you?” All Marcus’s usual bravado is gone. This is as close to a serious conversation as we’ve had since . . . And it’s in the middle of a goddamn Applebee’s.
I shake my head.
“Tyler.” He sighs. “I just thought you were making excuses because football made you . . . whatever. If it’s just because you gotta work, I’m sure Coach can figure something out with your boss.”
I glance at the door again.
“Talk to me, man,” he says, leaning in.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Marcus. You have no idea what it’s like to have to go to a full day of school and then work enough to pay for your gas, groceries, clothes, fucking toilet paper even, because your dad’s a total prick who hates looking at your stupid fucking face because it reminds him of his wife who killed herself. You can’t possibly understand how, every time you think about football, all you can focus on is how you’ll never see your mom’s face in the crowd cheering you on. You can’t possibly understand how it is to be faced with the rest of your miserable fucking life without one person who gives a shit what you’ll make of yourself.”
I take a deep breath and try to shake it off. “Can we talk about something else? Who are you screwing this week?”
Marcus meets my eyes, and for a second I see pity, but he pulls it together and tells me about Twelve.
“I think you’ve got the right idea, not being tied down to one girl,” I say.
“Dude. Sheila’s awesome. What are you even talking about?”
“I don’t know. I feel like she’s, I don’t know, not the same anymore.”
“Well, duh. People change.” He nods to me as he takes a giant gulp of Coke.
“I know. I get that I’ve probably changed more than most. But I think maybe we’re just not good together anymore.”
“Well, don’t do anything stupid until you’ve really thought about it. Sheila’s been good to you. She deserves at least that.”
I sigh. “You’re right. And I do know she’s been good to me.” Until my mom died and she didn’t know how to act anymore. But I can’t tell him that.
After what might be the best burger I’ve ever had in my pathetic life, Marcus picks up the check without a word. I don’t fight it because A) I really can’t afford it, and B) that burger was freaking delicious.
EIGHT
It’s Friday, and Sheila’s scheduled a “face-to-face” with me for tonight. She does this occasionally. She’ll talk about how I need to appreciate her more and she knows I’m going through a lot and she’s trying, but I need to try harder and then we’ll have makeup sex and things will just go right back to how they were.
As soon as I round the corner by the auditorium lobby area, a wad of tinfoil hits me on the chin.
“You’ve got good aim for a chick,” I say, bending over to pick up the trash.
“For a chick? You really do think the world revolves around you, don’t you?” Jordyn glares at me.
“Most of the time it does.”
“Why are you here?”
I head to the bench farthest from her and make myself comfortable. “Eating lunch,” I say around a huge bite of my pathetic sandwich. I had to use the last of the sliced turkey for dinner and the remaining roast beef was barely enough for half a sandwich today, so it’s mostly mayo, mustard, and lettuce. I can barely taste the meat.
“Look, Tyler, I don’t really have much of a choice where I eat. I don’t have a place in our little social hierarchy. I don’t have a table I’m welcome at in the cafeteria. This is my only option.” She sighs heavily. “You know, you didn’t used to be such an asshole.”
“I thought I was a motherfucker.” I grin at her before taking another bite.
She gives me the finger. Then she plugs some earbuds into her phone and turns her back to me.