Jordyn convinces me to go to school on Wednesday. She says I look scary and that no one will dare say anything to me about the fight. We agree to carpool today, but I make her pick me up at the corner; I don’t want to risk her having a run-in with my dad.
“The swelling’s gone down some,” she says when I get in.
“I didn’t bother to look. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
She puts the car in park and reaches into the backseat. She struggles with the fastener of her bag and has to practically climb into the back. It’s amusing watching her squirm and grunt. If someone were to pass by us they’d get a pretty nice shot of her ass.
“Need some help?” I ask.
“Got it.” She sits back down and produces a compact.
“No. No more makeup.”
“Shut up. This’ll work.”
I sigh and allow it. I’ll just wash it off when we get to school.
The compact houses something creamy. Jordyn rubs her finger in it and gently dabs it under my eyebrow.
“Hmm.” She climbs back to her bag and this time produces . . . lip gloss?
She unscrews the cap and pulls out a wand of oily tan liquid, dabs it on my eyelid, and lightly spreads it with her finger. “There.” She lowers the visor so I can see. The bruise is still there but not quite so in-your-face. And it doesn’t even look like I’m wearing makeup.
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re right.”
“I’m always right, Tyler. Haven’t you realized that by now?” She smirks at me and then shifts into gear.
As we wait in the horrific line to the parking lot I admire her work in the visor mirror again. “You’re good with this stuff.”
“Thanks.”
“But you know you don’t need it, right?”
Her ears and cheeks flush pink.
“I mean, wear it if it’s your thing, but you have the kind of face that doesn’t need makeup. You were always pretty.” Jesus, stop talking.
She taps on the steering wheel. It’s awkward as hell now.
“Look, I’m not coming on to you or anything, I’m just stating a fact. You have a nice face,” I say.
Then she looks at me and we both start laughing.
We finally reach the entrance to the parking lot—why there’s only one entrance is beyond me—and she picks a space toward the back.
“So, you want me to, like, not go in with you, right?” she asks, not looking at me.
“Why? Do you think I’m embarrassed to be seen with you?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not even a little. Besides, you’re pretty much my only friend at the moment.”
“It’s your funeral. Shit. Sorry. I mean—” She looks completely mortified.
I start laughing so hard, my aching head throbs. “That’s why I started bugging you at lunch, you know. You’re the only person who would dare say something like that to the guy who just buried his mom. Please don’t start apologizing for it. It’s a figure of speech. I’m not as fragile as everyone’s treating me.” But then I remember my flirtation with the razor blade in the shower and I feel hot with shame.
“If you say so.” She pulls her bag from the backseat and it hits me in the head, right where Dad slammed it into the cabinet.
“Agh!” I feel for blood.
“Shit! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say. And it is. It snapped me out of my shame, at least.
When we walk through the gates of hell, it’s unclear if people are staring because of my face or because Jordyn and I are walking together. I can tell the attention makes her uncomfortable, so I tell her I’ll see her later and duck into a bathroom.
I go right for the mirror, turning my head side to side to examine the damage.
The makeup blends the really bad parts of the bruise into the less bad parts, but my eye still looks pretty gross and my lip is still swollen. And no matter how much I may want to, I can’t even leave school. I’m stuck here until Jordyn wants to go.
The first bell rings. I can hear the panic of people rushing to class. I take one last look at the disaster that is my face, and then turn to confront the masses. Only I don’t make it far. A couple of guys from the team enter as I’m reaching for the handle. Jason and Bryce. They play offense. And they’re inseparable.
“Dude,” Bryce says looking at my eye.
“Shit, man.” Jason shoves Bryce out of the way to take his turn gawking. “What the hell happened to you?”
“What the fuck do you think?” I say. They obviously have amazing memories.
Bryce puts his hands up and backs away. “Hey, man. We’re cool.”
“Come on.” Jason taps Bryce on the shoulder and they sneak past me.
I really wish I had my car.
? ? ?
I get a lot of sideways glances in my first few classes, but no one dares to address it.
Until lunch.