“We might as well throw these away.”
It was like one of Mom and Dad’s arguments. The hot anger, blaring and choking, filled the car, and it was rising over my head. At that point, I was probably as mad as he was. And it scared me.
“Are you crazy?” I asked. “You’re a pig. And who’d sleep with a little pig? I’m sick of this shit. We’re done.”
His fist swung through the air and met the driver’s side window. The glass crunched and shattered onto the gravel as I grabbed my purse, jumped out of the car, and ran. The thought of what could’ve happened if I’d stayed in the car propelled my legs to run harder. Pretty soon his car was pulling up beside me. He begged me to get back in the car, but I just kept going.
Not listening not listening not listening. The chorus to the Maroon 5 song played on repeat in my head until he gave up and I eventually reached a Super America gas station.
When Mom picked me up I kept it simple, “He has jerk and jealousy issues.”
She hugged me and said she was proud of me for not putting up with a guy like that. I hugged her back as she smoothed my hair. Right then I got a twinge of what it must’ve felt like for Mom. Being stuck somewhere and letting yourself get pushed to the edge.
“Guys like that, honey,” she said, “only get worse with time.”
Although it’s a C plus for effort, Chip fails with the song request. It doesn’t make me swoon and it doesn’t make me sad. I’m not even embarrassed anymore. My jaw tightens as I turn and throw another eye dagger at Chip’s table. I don’t know if Sean is bored with the song or he notices my reaction, but he starts doing a beat-boxy sound into the mic and flows into a fast version of Maroon 5’s newest song.
My scowl turns into a big embarrassed smile, and Mom and I laugh. Whether he really is or not, Sean is singing to me. I’m too unsettled to look right at him but his deep, mellow tone is making me a little dizzy.
The rest of dinner is incident-free even though I can feel Chip burning eyeholes into my back. We get up to leave before Chip and his family are even done with their food. I chant my new mantra in my head and walk past him like I never saw him in the first place.
As we pass the hostess stand and Sean, I lean over and mouth to him, “See ya at 9:30.”
He nods, smiles, and strums a new song. Since I don’t feel a morbid need to wait around for something else embarrassing to happen, I grab Mom’s keys and head to the car while she hands the cashier her bank card.
FOUR
Sipping my chai latte, I click back and forth between screens on my phone, time checking every one to three minutes. It’s been fifteen minutes since I sat down at Java Joint, but that’s my fault. I got here twenty minutes early. I thought it’d be nice to get here first, just for the satisfaction of watching Sean walk in and make his way over to sit by me for once. I clink the ice in my cup and smile over my straw as Mom’s words ring in my head: “Don’t overthink everything, just be yourself, but maybe a little more chill.”
Since it was kind of new for her to give me boy advice, it felt nice. I also followed her suggestion and took a quick shower and changed. Nothing crazy though. Mascara, lip gloss, and a ponytail. I didn’t dress up but the Belmont Bengals T-shirt I’m wearing is pretty tight. I take another drink and click to check for any non-ringing phantom phone call or messages. Nope. 9:26 p.m., and nothing.
It’s possible Sean might not even show up. Maybe something better came up, like a party or call from one of the Prom Court girls, like Molly Chapman or Jane Hulmes. I pucker my upper lip at the thought of Jane. Just thinking about her tastes like lemons. If Maisey Morgan’s considered our class’s biggest dork, Jane would be considered the biggest diva. And by diva, I mean her yearbook superlative should read “Class Bitch.” For some reason, half our class buys into her bullshit and she’s as close to a reality TV star as Belmont High could get. She’s got this flawless olive skin, dark eyes, and her teeth are so perfect it’s been rumored that she wears a flipper. Jane struts and sails through the hallways as if she’s fresh off a pageant stage, which makes sense, because she pretty much is. Obnoxious but true: she actually wears some of her pageant crowns to school.