“What? I didn’t become him.”
“You did. When I first moved back, you had this gross aura of arrogance. And when I tried to talk to you, you pushed me out of the way and called me a ‘fucking goth freak.’”
“I did?”
“Yep.”
“Well, shit. I don’t want to be Brian O’Reilly.”
“If it’s any consolation, you’re not anymore. But only just recently.”
“I’ll take it.” I run my hands down my face and then back up through my hair, trying to recall when I might have had this encounter with her. I can’t believe I was such a douchebag.
We’re both quiet awhile. Deep in thought, I guess. Utterly relaxed by the scalding water.
“It sucks about your mom,” she says quietly, her head back, eyes closed.
I expect her to say more—the usual “I’m so sorry . . . I can’t imagine how you feel . . . You poor thing . . .” But it never comes. She never says another word about it.
TWENTY
“I thought you said you weren’t going to go all Fight Club.” Dr. Dave studies the new bruises that have appeared since I last saw him.
“I didn’t start this one, Doc. Brett, I guess to save face after I beat the crap out of him, blindsided me on Monday. I merely defended myself. If I’d responded like I’d wanted, his face would look like this and mine would look the same as last week.”
I can tell from his look of utter disapproval that he totally buys this story.
“But I think I might have gained a friend thanks to that asshole. When Jordyn saw this”—I gesture to my face—“we sort of bonded.” I tell him how we’re carpooling again, how I got fired from the dog shit job, and how Jordyn gave me all her weekday shifts and ditched school with me.
“So now you’re friends with Jordyn?” Dr. Dave has completely abandoned his notebook. And his disapproval. He doesn’t even call me out on ditching.
“Crazy, right? I mean, I totally thought she’d hate me even more for being some stupid Neanderthal football asshole and fighting again, but then she’s ditching school to make sure I’m okay.”
“And there’s a history there?”
“Yeah. I mean, we were friends until her parents divorced and she and her mom moved away. We tried to stay in touch at first but, well, you know how it goes.”
“Well, I think it’s good you have someone to talk to. Just don’t screw it up by trying to sleep with her.”
“Seriously? You think that little of me?”
He flips back in his little notebook. “You want I should show you my notes?”
I hold up my hands. “I know. But in all seriousness, she’s too goth for me. I like girls who don’t feel the need to hide behind layers and layers of makeup. And the thing is, she’s actually a pretty girl without all that stuff. Maybe I should refer her to you.”
“Don’t you think it’s interesting how hiding behind layers bothers you, yet you hide behind your own shit?”
“Whatever.” And damn if I didn’t walk right into that.
“So, no notebook. I take it you haven’t been keeping up on my assignment.”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Well, do you think you can try to write in it a little this week? Not every day. Say, twice?”
“I’ll try.” But I probably won’t.
? ? ?
At school the next week, people have stopped blatantly staring at me. The bruising above my eye is at that in-between purple-slash-green phase, and I wear it proudly. My lips are practically healed. The cuts on the upper are gone and the lower is scabbed but not in an overly disgusting way. But my ribs still hurt like hell.
Jordyn and I have taken to leaving campus for lunch every day. Today we’re at Wendy’s, as I have insisted on treating and she understands my financial situation.
“You remember when our moms met here, like, every day? I’m only just getting over my Wendy’s fatigue,” Jordyn says as we take our trays to the only free table in the whole place.
“You ever wonder why they lost touch? I mean, I thought they were pretty close, but maybe that’s because my mom never had many friends.”