“But … here?” She waved her arms at La Marquette’s splendor. Scott seemed like the type who would buy everything he needed from the nearest gas station mini-mart.
Scott wore an enormous red hooded sweatshirt with a drawing of a boom box on it and stood with his shoulders hunched. Two women carrying coffee cups passed. They glanced at both of them for a second and then moved on. Joanna wondered if any Swithin mothers were shopping here today. Certainly they came here—this was just the kind of place they would shop. She wondered who had told the headmaster about the possibility of hazing. A student … or a parent? A teenager would risk excommunication if he told. It seemed more the work of an adult.
“So,” Joanna said. They continued to stand in the middle of the frozen-food aisle. She didn’t want to start walking because he might not follow her, and then she would be walking away from him. Nor did she want to look inside his grocery cart—it felt like an invasion of his privacy. “H–how are you?” she fumbled.
“Eh,” Scott answered.
A woman with a cart cleared her throat, and Joanna and Scott stepped out of her way. Joanna looked at Scott. “Um, do you want to … get coffee or something? Sit for a minute?”
Scott paused for a moment, and Joanna winced. Of course he was going to say no. Of course he was going to snort and say, What, like we’re friends? This was a man who loomed over her and said, Boo.
But then he shrugged. “Okay. Whatever.”
He turned toward the coffee counter. She started pushing her cart to follow but noticed the carefully wrapped parcels of meat at the bottom of her cart. They were the only items in there so far, but when she added up the prices on the labels it totaled more than eighty dollars.
She backed away from her cart as if it were a territorial dog. Scott turned and looked at her. “What?”
Her eyes were still on the wrapped packages. Scott walked over and peered into the cart. “Lamb?” He chuckled, though not unkindly.
“I don’t know what got into me.”
He shrugged. “Just leave it.”
“Leave it?”
“Yeah. I worked at a grocery store when I was in high school. They make the workers put it back.” He gestured to the front of La Marquette where there were a bunch of kids manning the checkout counters. They weren’t the usual pimply, gangly, surly grocery-store workers; the girls had glowing skin and ballerina posture, and the boys, with their tucked-in shirts and combed, neatly cut hair, looked like student council presidents. Joanna found herself wondering where Scott had worked.
She glanced at her cart again. “I feel bad.”
“Jesus.” Scott rolled his eyes and gestured for her to follow him to the coffee bar. She stepped away from the cart, feeling as though she was fleeing the scene of a crime. When she flopped down at a table, her cart no longer in view, her heart was racing with excitement. She felt as if she’d gotten back at La Marquette for all its snobbish beauty, for all its cliquey women and baby carriages.
Scott asked what she wanted. Joanna gave him money, which he took and stood in line to order. When he came back, he sat down and took the lid off his coffee but didn’t add milk or sugar. Joanna stared at the faux-antique French posters on the wall, having no idea what to say.
“I’m so fucking bored,” he exploded, lacing his hands behind his head. “I’m helping out at my friend’s sneaker shop in Philly, but it doesn’t take up that much time.”
“Like, running sneakers?” Joanna asked.
Scott drummed his fingers on the table. “Designer sneakers. You wouldn’t get it.”
She squinted, thinking. “Is this the store that just opened near South Street in an alleyway? It used to be part of an old cheesesteak place?”
He raised an eyebrow accusingly.
“I read about it in City Paper,” she explained, almost as if she was making an excuse.
He pointed at her. “Well look at you. You get an A-plus.”
She shoved her tongue into her cheek. To him, she was a brownnoser at the front of the classroom, calling out the answer.
Scott raised his eyebrows. “Oh. I guess I should ask you about your new house, huh?”
“It’s all right.” She waved him away. “I’m sick of talking about it.”
He cocked his head.
“It’s just exhausting to unpack, that’s all.”
He was still watching her, not buying it. She sighed and leaned forward, aware of the crowds around her. “Are people out here typically … cold?” she whispered.
Scott’s eyes widened. He rested his chin on his palm, intrigued. “Cold?”
She rubbed her hand on the back of her neck. The overhead lights seemed to burn like ultraviolet. “I just mean … women in this neighborhood. Suburban women.” She gestured around them. The women she was referring to were on all sides. “How does one get accepted by them? Is there a password?”
He snorted. “How about, ‘You’re a bitch, and so am I’?”
She hid a smile.
Scott leaned forward. “Are you talking about those ladies that live next door to you?”