“I’m so sorry!” Haley wailed.
Ben was too tired to be patient. “Look, I know I get on your nerves sometimes. It’s okay. Go get some sleep.”
“I hate myself.”
“Just shut up. You’re acting silly.”
“Why does everything bad have to happen to me?”
Ben had no answer for that one. “Go get some sleep. Come on. I’ll walk you to your room. Let’s both get some rest.”
His mother caught him just as he was about to close the door to his room. “You’re going to have a big bruise.” She gave him a bottle of Advil. “You may need this.”
Ben managed a sick smile. “Thanks.”
“How’s Haley? Are you two still fighting?”
“Nope. I told her to get some sleep. You do that too.”
Mom sighed. “Ben, I know that sometimes I’m a little absent—”
“Mom—”
“No, let me get this out. I really appreciate all that you’ve done. Sometimes when Dad is working late hours, I know I lean on you. It’s a big burden.”
Her insight surprised him. “Truth is, it makes me feel useful.”
She kissed his cheek. “Try to get some rest.”
“Sure.” In the privacy of his sanctuary, he stripped off his clothes, put on pajamas, took three Advil, and crawled into bed. Ten minutes later Haley knocked on the door.
Shit.
“It’s open.”
She came in. “Are you still mad at me? I’d hate you if you said that to me.”
“That’s the difference between us. I’m mature and you’re not. Go to sleep.”
“Can I sleep here tonight? On the trundle?”
“Haley, either you’re eleven or fourteen. Which is it?”
She sighed and left.
Peace at last.
Ben closed his eyes. He knew he’d eventually fall asleep because that’s what the body did. As far as restorative sleep went, well, that was as elusive as good dreams.
Chapter 7
On Monday, Ben felt the whispers behind his back, feeding his already hyperdeveloped paranoia. He avoided people by coming into classes a few minutes late and bolting out as soon as the bell rang. Lunch was the problem. If he showed up, there’d be a confrontation. If he didn’t show up, he’d look like a pussy. In his mind, action was better than avoidance.
Sitting at his table, he watched them watch him, their chairs arranged in a tight circle around their table. None of the guys had ever been shy about using their fists. Finally, JD slowly got up and walked over, his height and girth meant to intimidate.
Without looking up, Ben said, “Yes?”
JD spun a chair around and sat down, leaning his chest against the splat. He kept his voice low. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” When Ben didn’t answer, he threw his head back. “It’s Weekly, dude! You’re fucking wack!”
“Any other good cheer you care to spread, Santa?”
JD looked at him with lazy eyes. “Say something to Weekly, Vicks.” A pause. “Not for me, for Ro. She’s . . . conflict phobic.”
Ben fixed his eyes on JD’s face. The dude wasn’t a bad guy. Nor was Weekly. Ben did overreact. He glanced at Haley, who was looking at him.
The things he did for his siblings . . . both of them.
“Okay,” Ben said. “I’ll say something, but not for you, Ro, or Weekly or anyone else in your posse. I’ll do it for my sister because I embarrassed her.”
“Whatever.” Neither of them moved. JD said, “What’s with you and Ro anyway? Why is she always talking to you?”
“She’s a friendly girl. If it bothers you, I won’t talk to her.”
“It doesn’t bother me. I’m just curious.”
Ben didn’t answer. He stood up and, without waiting for JD, walked across the room. Ro had been sitting between Weekly and JD. Ben saw her push her chair away from Weekly to make room for him. Instead he sat behind Weekly on the outside of the circle.
Ben said, “You’re an asshole, but I was an idiot.”
Weekly said, “Yeah, I was an asshole, but I was drunk. I had an excuse. You’re just an asshole.”
“An idiot maybe but not an asshole,” Ben said.
“Open to debate,” Weekly said. “If you ever knee me like that again, I’ll kill you.”
“Have you seen my face?”
“Think about it, Vicks. A black eye or your dick?”
A protracted moment of silence. The guy was making a point. Reluctantly, the two of them fist-bumped. “Enjoy.” Ben got up and walked out of the room.
Just get through the rest of the fucking day. When the final bell rang, Ben was determined not to act like a fugitive. Walk slowly. Be calm. He missed the combination to his locker on the first try. The second time was the charm. As he was sorting through his books, he heard Ro’s voice.
“Hey . . .”
He turned around. “What?”
“You’re mad at me.”
“JD doesn’t like me talking to you.” Ben threw his books in his knapsack.
“He said that?”
“Go ask him. I’ve gotta go.”
She followed him out to the bike rack. “Can we talk for a second?”
“No, we can’t. And thanks for sticking up for me, by the way. I really enjoyed feeling like an ass at your behest.”
“My behest?”
“You asked me to come. I came. Now I’m not only a weirdo, I’m an idiot. Please leave me alone, okay.” He missed the combination on the bike lock and started over.
Ro said, “So you always have to agree with someone to be friends?”
This time the lock took three tries. Ben stood up, brushed off his jeans, and extracted his bike from the rack. Ro gripped her fingers around the handlebar. “Look. Weekly is an ass, but he wasn’t really doing anything to your sister. Yes, he’s a jerk, but he isn’t a pervert—”
“Stop!” Ben lowered his voice. “Just . . . stop!” He focused on her baby blues. They were wet. “Stop defending Weekly, stop telling me I’m wrong, and please stop talking to me, okay?”
She didn’t answer.
Ben dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t know why you’ve taken me on as your pet project. Well, I do know why. Everyone knows why. I don’t need your pity or anyone else’s pity, okay?”
“That’s true. You have enough self-pity for the entire world.”
Had she been a guy, he would have decked her. Instead he made himself look at her face. “That’s not just cruel, that’s bordering on unforgivable. No one is that horrible. What the hell is going on with you?”
She suddenly deflated. Her eyes gushed water.
“Oh God . . . don’t cry . . .” Ben hated when girls cried. When anyone cried, for that matter. He had witnessed enough tears for a second flood. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know it’s hard coming to a new school—”
“It’s not that!” Fat wet droplets were pouring down her cheeks. “I’m not crying for myself . . . well, I am crying for myself. I mean, who better to cry for than me? But it’s not because I was uprooted.” She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse. She paused to steady her voice. “I lost my sister, Vicks. I thought I might have found someone who could relate . . . for my sake, not yours. I told you I’m selfish.”