They hurried into class before the bell rang. Regan slid into her seat, then took an inventory of the room, searching for him. It wasn’t her intention to stare, but as he sat in the back gazing out the window, she couldn’t turn away. She had a perfect view of his scar and the defiant chrome rod that intersected it. She remembered in the past when he tried to camouflage his wound. She witnessed on several occasions him pulling on the tips of his blond hair, trying hard to obscure his eye from sight. Now he sat exposed, and he didn’t seem to care.
She froze when he looked her way, locking eyes with her. Something unpleasant manifested itself in a frown that spread slowly across his face. She wasn’t sure if he was mad or confused, but something urged her to look away. Leave him alone. Everything went darker, and it was the first time she was afraid of him.
He wants to hurt me.
The thought shocked her, and her eyes bugged. His narrowed.
Stop looking at him! her brain screamed.
But the staring contest continued—neither willing nor able to concede victory. Jeremy finally broke the connection when a pen rolled off his desk. He leaned over to retrieve it. Regan turned around slowly, trying to register what happened—trying to make sense of his silent message.
“Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” Casey asked, leaning in her friend’s direction.
No response.
“Pssst! Regan! Hello?”
Regan whipped her head around. Her face was drained. “Huh?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Casey asked, glancing behind her shoulder. She caught sight of Hannah and lowered her voice: “Is it the lesbo back there?”
“The wha—? No! And don’t say that!” Regan hissed.
“Well, you act like she just assaulted you. That happened in ninth grade, Regan. Time to move on.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. You harass her all the time. And anyway, she didn’t assault me. Stop twisting it around.”
“I do not harass her,” Casey argued.
“Bullshit. I’m forever apologizing to her for you.”
“You talk to her?” Casey cried.
“I try. I don’t get much of a response,” Regan said.
Casey stared. “You talk to her?”
“Oh, shut up. You act like it’s weird.”
“Um, it’s weird.”
“I love you, Case. You know I do. But can you please try to be nicer? Just sometimes? I’m not asking for all the time. I know that’s too much for you. But sometimes?”
“What are you talking about? I am nice.”
“You’re mean to Hannah, and I don’t like it,” Regan whispered.
“Why do you even care?” Casey asked. “She’s a freak.”
“No, she’s not.”
“She wants to be in a relationship with you, Regan. She’s obsessed with you!”
“She’s not obsessed with me. And there’s nothing freakish about people wanting to be in relationships with each other.”
“Whatever. And by the way, I am nice,” Casey muttered.
Regan shrugged.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Casey said. “If someone hurt you, I’d take them out. I wouldn’t think twice about it.”
Regan thought for a moment.
“I don’t like people messing with you,” Casey went on.
“She wasn’t messing with me, Casey. I swear. When . . . when I told you initially, I was just a little freaked out. I think I over-exaggerated the whole thing.”
“Uh huh. No one messes with my girl.”
Regan smiled patiently. “I know. And she wasn’t messing with me. She misread the signs, that’s all.”
“You’re my best friend,” Casey reminded her.
“Yes. Now leave her alone, okay?”
Casey pursed her lips. “I’ll try. But if that bitch so much as looks at me weird—”
“She won’t,” Regan interrupted.
Casey glimpsed the back of the room and scowled at Hannah, who was oblivious.
“Go on and give me a look,” she dared.
“Casey. Stop.”
She turned to Regan. “There’s too many weirdos in this school.”
Regan ignored her and pulled out her history book. She watched their teacher walk in and sighed relief. Conversation over.
There was no reasoning with Casey over “the weirdos”—no shifting her point of view. She used to be one, and it was imperative she put the maximum distance between herself and them. She was embarrassed. She didn’t want any reminders. Regan, on the other hand, didn’t have an issue with reminders. She thought she should have tied her finger with string all along. Then she would have never forgotten who she really was.
***
“I saw your tenants moved out,” Jeremy noted as he lay on his back under the car, draining its oil.
“Bought a house,” Roy replied. “You know anyone who needs a place?”
“Yeah. Me.”
“You don’t work enough to afford the rent,” Roy said.
“I know,” Jeremy replied, rolling out from under the car. “But I thought you could give me more hours.”
“What hours? All your spare time goes to that thing,” Roy said, jabbing his thumb to the left where Jeremy’s ’78 Camaro sat. Still dead.
“I need to get out of that house,” Jeremy confessed.
Roy scratched his fluffy white beard. “’Cause you’re not a kid anymore?”
“’Cause I’m done paying his bills,” Jeremy said. He stood up and walked to the sink.
“I thought his disability did that,” Roy replied.
“No, that pays for the booze.”
Roy considered his employee’s position. He knew a little about Jeremy’s situation. He knew Jeremy’s dad was a jerk and that Jeremy was itching to graduate and leave Moutainview. He also knew Jeremy had very little money, so he helped him out when he could. He became a surrogate grandfather of sorts, glad to have a teenager around after his grandson left for college on the east coast. His grandson left behind his snowboarding equipment—lamenting that there were no good places to ride on the Atlantic—and Roy lent it to Jeremy, whose board was smashed last year by a drunken, enraged father. He turned a blind eye to Jeremy’s stolen lift tickets and turn style jumping. He’d bail him out of jail if he were arrested.
“He hits me.”
Roy’s head shot up. “What?”
“Roy, you heard what I said.”
“Jesus Christ, Jeremy, how could you never tell me?! When did this start?”
“Six years ago.”
Roy gasped.
“Look, I’m not telling you this so you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you because I need a place to live. I’ve got nowhere to go. You know I can’t afford your rent. So we’ve gotta figure something out.”