He bites his lip when I don’t say anything, perfect lip and perfect teeth, his eyelashes fluttering like he’s worried. And my eyes— No, don’t, eyes. Look. Look at him.
“Listen,” he says. He clears his throat, and then he does it again. A big, manly throat clear. “Look, Janie. I just—I just wanted to say . . . um. Look. I’m sorry, okay?”
He’s just standing there. Look at that, legs. He’s just standing there. If you would just do your freaking job, you could kick him sofuckinghard in the balls that he would never stand up again. If you’d just walk that distance, get a little closer, you could make it so he doesn’t hurt anyone again, ever.
But I’m pretty useless, honestly. Someone stole my spine.
“Get away from me,” I finally whisper. Getawaygetawaygetaway.
“Oh, come on, Janie. I’m trying to apologize here, okay? I just—Janie, look, I get it, I was kind of an asshole. But let’s face it, you’ve been a bitch. So let’s just call it even? I mean. Look, I already talked to Piper, she won’t say anything. We can pretend like it never happened if you want. Janie, come on. I miss you, okay?”
Oh, that’s nice. That’s—
That’s when I kick him in the crotch. As hard as I can, and it’s still not enough.
He’s on the ground, his hands cupped around his balls, panting, but he’s still looking at me, and he— He grins.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Aw, Janie. Okay, I guess I deserve that. We good now?”
I stare at him. Really, that was what I needed. I just needed to know what I was worth. A kick to the crotch, and he thinks we’re even.
We fall asleep to fairy tales, and the world rotates and revolves and time passes and we grow up and we understand that they are false. There are not heroes and princesses and villains. It’s not that easy.
But I think I unlearned that too well. There are no wicked queens or vengeful sorcerers, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t bad people. There are. There are some truly, truly shitty people out there.
And in here. Right in front of me.
That’s when I figure it out.
No one is going to believe me.
No one is going to help because no one is going to listen, because Ander told his story first and he told it better.
No one is going to save me or screw him over.
I get it. That’s the important part. I understand, so I can go forward.
“I was really drunk that night,” I hear myself say.
He’s still grinning. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is like it used to be when he talks to me: patient, teasing, playful, like I’m made of bird bones except when he’s on top of me. “You really are a lightweight.”
“I guess I am.”
“So we’re good?”
He almost looks sweet as he pushes himself upright, wincing. Almost hopeful.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
Walk, I order myself. I walk to him and slide down against the wall, slowly, next to him, leaving just enough space between our hands so that he knows I’m hesitant but here. Staying.
There is just one thing. “The notes,” I say.
He laughs. No, but really. He actually fucking laughs. “Yeah,” he says, awkward, aiming for adorable, bashful. “Sorry. I was—you know, frustrated. I missed you. Wes and I were talking, he told the guys . . . it got out of control. I’ll talk to them. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry. Wouldn’t that be so easy? Wouldn’t that be so much nicer?
His fingers find mine.
His hands begin to roam.
“Are we still going to the dance?” he murmurs, leaning in. His breath is hot against my neck, and I really can smell him now. Everywhere.
“I can’t,” I say, and clear my throat a few times to get my voice back to normal. “I can’t, my parents, it’s just bad timing.” Vague, vague. Lies don’t have detail. “But they’re leaving right after the dance.” Dad’s had this conference planned for months—he goes every year, and of course Mom will go with him this time. “Maybe you could come over?”
“Yes,” he says, almost before I’m done asking.
“I was thinking of having a bonfire,” I say. “Everyone could come over after the dance tomorrow. It’ll be fun.”
“Oh,” he says. “I thought it’d just be us.”
His hand is roaming, roaming, roaming.
I make myself stay. I make myself talk. “Well, they’ll have to leave eventually.”
His face is against mine now and I can feel it when he laughs. “Sounds great,” he says, his voice low, and then he’s kissing me.
He turns so that I’m cornered against the floor and the wall and he’s on top of me, my face in his hands, my lips in his mouth. I let him.
And when I finally break away, when he finally comes up for air and I can make excuses—parents, homework, I don’t know what I say to get out of there, but I’m out of there. I smile and promise and apologize, and then I run like Cinderella from Prince Charming with Ander’s wallet tucked into the front of my jeans.
Life is messy and the universe has an awful lot of people to keep track of. Sometimes things get screwed up. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Sometimes good things happen to bad people.
That isn’t fair.
Bad things should happen to bad people.
And they will. They will.
after
DECEMBER 19