Sarah sits down with her tray.
“Shit,” she says. “Be right back.”
She starts to get up but Molly says, “Wait, let him come.”
“No way! You—”
“It’s okay,” Molly says.
I guess it’s too late to talk about it more because they stop, and then Scott says, “Parker, I heard what happened. Can we talk a minute?”
“She doesn’t want to hear it,” Sarah says. She’s not using her Mama Bear voice; she’s using a caught-in-the-middle-and-have-to-choose-sides voice and this breaks my heart even more. I haven’t had the chance to tell her it wasn’t his fault.
I stand. “I wasn’t going to eat anyway.”
“We’ll watch your stuff,” Molly says.
I hold out my hand and Scott’s forearm pushes up against it.
Scott leads me outside and we walk for a minute, not in a straight line so I can’t tell where we’re going other than it’s out on the grass.
“I’m really sorry. Trish shouldn’t have said those things. You’ve got to believe me, I didn’t put her up to it.”
“I should have known better—I’m sorry I was a bitch in class.”
“No, I get it. I’m really pissed at her and she knows it.”
“But is it true? You want me to leave you alone?”
“I didn’t say anything like that. I only talked to her about the running. I didn’t even tell her we’d ever been together.”
“Maybe she got it from Jason. I don’t care. I just want to know if it’s true.”
“Of course not. I don’t want you to stay away. We’re friends.”
“Just friends.” My heart pounds because I didn’t say it on purpose. It just popped out and I really wish it hadn’t. It’s honest, yes, but this isn’t the moment I’d have chosen to go there again.
He laughs but it’s forced. “Well, we’ve only just met, sort of.”
I push my hands flat on my jeans. I’m afraid of what else might pop out if I open my mouth again.
He says, “It’s just complicated, you know?”
I try to smile but it feels like a grimace. I don’t know whether to back up or push forward.
“You can’t fool me, Francis. I know what that really means.”
“And what’s that?” he asks in his smiling voice, his sad smiling voice.
“It means something’s embarrassing or hard to confess, not that it’s actually complicated.”
“Ah, you’re too smart for me.”
I stop walking and turn to face him. “You don’t get off that easy. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
“What?”
“This doesn’t have to be a long conversation. You used to love me, then I broke up with you, and sometime after that you stopped loving me… yeah? Or no?”
“Jesus, Parker… do you love me?”
“Yes.”
I guess I’m pushing forward.
“Okay… did you love me a month ago?”
I frown.
“Be honest.”
“Not exactly, but—”
“It just switched on again?” He snaps his fingers. “Like that?”
“No, but…” I don’t know how to explain it.
“See?” he says. “It’s complicated.”
I guess he’s right. “You’re too smart for me.”
Silence.
“Please take me back.” I hear how this sounds and add, “To the cafeteria.”
“Okay. I really am sorry about Trish.”
I just nod. We don’t talk anymore.
With all the work I did over the weekend it doesn’t take Molly and me long to finish in the library. We did our trig homework in class so we don’t have to wait for Kent. I head for the track and she goes back to her mom’s classroom, but then I turn toward the street. I didn’t lie, I was going to talk to Coach Underhill, but I can’t seem to do it now. It’s been a miserable day and I have nothing left. Aunt Celia’s quiet ride home I could cope with, but everyone at the house, and Petey and his energy… just the thought of it all exhausts me.
I usually call for my ride later so no one’s expecting it yet. I decide to walk home. I need the meditation, to calm this storm in my head. It’s two miles and I haven’t walked it for more than a year but I know the way.
After about a half hour I’m ready to call it a failure. I can’t clear my mind. Scenes from the past few days play out, over and over, like songs stuck in my head. Even replaying the good scenes doesn’t help—they either make the bad ones seem that much worse or they just make me feel pathetic again.
Is this self-pity? God, that would be rock bottom. But no, I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, myself included. Part of why I’m walking out here is I don’t want anyone to see me like this… except you can’t hide from yourself, or at least I can’t, me and my troll brain, always watching, always on alert. Maybe part of this wretched feeling is its vagueness. Maybe if I pin everything down and look at it honestly, I can sort it out, or at least see that it’s not as overwhelming as it feels.