"Well, why the hell . . .” Troy starts to yell, then he takes a deep breath. He pulls over and slams his car into park, shutting off the engine. We're in the parking lot of a laundromat, and he gets out, walking around before slamming his fists on the hood of his car and yelling to the sky.
I should be scared. Troy is looking and acting like some sort of caricature from an abusive boyfriend movie, and we're still on our first date. But I'm not. There's something about the way his eyes look that tells me he's not angry at me, and in fact, he's got a lot of rage inside him, but there's something about the fact that he actually pulled over and didn't keep yelling at me that tells me to approach him.
"Sorry," he gruffly grumps as I come out of the car. "I shouldn't have yelled."
"No . . . but I'd like to know why you did," I say softly, taking his hand. "Yesterday, you were Superman, as Dani called you. Today, I can tell you're not having the best of days. What's up?"
Troy shakes his head, and I respond by not letting go of his hand, but instead squeezing it. "Come on, Troy. You didn’t make me spend six periods today debating in my head whether to call you up and cancel this date based on your rep, rip up my neighbor's flower pot, come to my house with what looks like a shiner nearly a half-hour early, and then go screaming to the sky like you're challenging Thor to strike you with a thunderbolt, and not get to at least talk to me. Tell you what. Change that Crab Shack plan to Mickey-Dees, and we can still go hang out at the Point. But if you think you're getting in these jeans tonight, buster . . . well, you might as well keep on yelling.”
Troy stops trying to pull away and instead tilts his head, looking at me differently than he had yesterday or even a few minutes ago. Yesterday, I'd been a piece of meat, a hot piece of meat, I could tell, but just meat nonetheless. He’d still had that look when he picked me up. But now . . . Troy looks at me like he's seeing me for the very first time. "Okay. Uh, I only got twenty bucks though, so are you cool with just a Big Mac meal? I might be able to spring a McFlurry if I can scrape some change from between the car seats."
"Or," I say, patting my pocket, "you can let me give you the five bucks that I have in my pocket, and the two of us can both eat what we want. But I don’t think we’ll need it—I mean I’m pretty sure we can both eat McDonald’s for less than twenty bucks."
Troy smiles a little, and I like this smile. It still makes my body do little pulses of strange feeling, but it's a warmer, more honest smile than before. I smile back. "Deal. But only if our total goes over twenty dollars."
We drive to McDonald's and get our meals, the smell of the fries filling the car as we drive the few miles out to the Point. It's the local Lover's Lane and is situated on a small rise, not really a point in the river, but close enough to have earned it the name Slater's Point. Shutting off his engine, Troy opens the bag then closes it. "Do you want to eat in the car or outside?"
I think about it and look out at the sunset. We're still in late summer, after all, and the sun doesn't go down for another half-hour at least. "That rock over there looks kinda nice. What do you think?"
Troy sees where I'm looking, and a little smirk comes to his face. He's obviously been up here before, and I'm betting he's done more than just have a picnic on that rock. However, his smirk falters, and that haunted look comes back to his face. "Okay. It's a good spot, I think."
We take our paper bags of food over to the rock and sit down, unpacking. Troy's a bit surprised when I fold my hands and bow my head, and when I look up, it's my turn to be embarrassed. "Sorry. Habit from my Mom."
"Your Mom's one of those, huh? Not my scene, but I respect it,” Troy replies, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. "From what I've seen, if there is a God up there, he isn't interested in my life."
"What do you mean? Your life seems pretty perfect in my opinion. Big man on campus, easy path to college, tons of friends . . .”
Troy sets his burger down and looks at me like I'm crazy. "You're serious, aren't you? Jesus, Whitney, you really don't know me very well, do you?"
It’s my turn to be angry, as if somehow I'm supposed to know Troy Wood's life story. "Excuse me, Mister Five-Star QB, but they don't issue out your biography along with the Social Studies textbook. Admit it—until yesterday, you didn't even know who I was! You're not the one who's spent three years being called Pancake Nelson, or do you think I didn't know about that?"
I realize I’m raising my voice and standing up, and I've not even taken a single bite of my food. Troy stares at me, his powerful jaw muscles working, and he sets his burger down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're right. I was wrong. I'm sorry, Whit . . . just, today's been one of those days that I'd like to forget, you know what I mean?"
"What happened?" I ask, sitting back down on the warm rock. "And I'm not going to crack any jokes, I promise."