She emerged, a slew of emotions battling it out on her face.
He knew not to say it. But he was gonna fucking say it.
“Congratulations.”
She was silent.
“You’ve got yourself a winner right there.”
“Shut up.”
“Hope the sex is worth it.”
He only said it for the reaction. He hoped as the words shot out of his mouth that she’d give him a good one. A fierce blush, hurled insult, maybe even a shove. He wanted to hurt her as she’d hurt him. He needed to see it on her face—those precious seconds of ripe, raw pain—before she hid it under a mask of composure.
Her face screwed up in confusion. The corners of her eyebrows drew closer together the longer she stood considering his words, like a seamstress was working on her slowly and carefully to make the stitch line up just so. He watched those brows, and then his eyes moved to hers. They were too dark, and he couldn’t read the message. Until she gave it to him.
“You’re supposed to be the good guy,” she said softly.
The words punctured his heart instantly, and he turned his face, unable to look at the girl awaiting an answer. He tried to conjure his anger once more to justify his comment. She deserved it. She deserved anything ugly he’d ever say to her. But he couldn’t make himself believe it, and so the anger remained hidden somewhere deep, letting embarrassment fill his heart to the brim instead.
He listened as she pushed through the door, and only turned in her direction when he knew she was safely out of view. He couldn’t let her see his face. He knew it betrayed his shame, and he wasn’t ready to apologize.
“She deserved it,” he muttered, waiting for the vigilante to agree.
You’re an asshole, it replied, and he was confused by the response.
***
“What?” Brandon asked, staring into his girlfriend’s eyes from across the lunch table.
“What?” Regan snapped back.
He paused, confused. “Uh, that’s what I asked you. You’re looking at me like you hate me. What the hell did I do?”
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Regan replied curtly. She speared a carrot on her tray and shoved it in her mouth.
“Sooo,” Casey interjected. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to her best friend. “Did you guys see the new Brad Pitt movie?”
Brandon ignored her. “Wanna try again?” he asked Regan.
“What do you mean?” she replied between crunches.
“I don’t know, Regan. You put sparkles on your face, and suddenly you have an attitude with me all the time. I don’t get it.”
Regan delicately touched the side of her left eye that sported a few pink and purple jewels. Body jewelry. Eye art. Something she always loved but never wore because she knew Brandon would have something to say about it.
“You look ridiculous,” Brandon muttered, tearing open a small package of Saltines.
“I like them,” she replied, sitting up straight. The words were the perfect mixture of girl power and petulance.
“I know you do. I just don’t understand why. And I don’t understand why you’re wearing all these silly outfits lately. What are you trying to prove? What are you trying to tell me?”
“They’re not silly,” Regan replied coolly.
“You look like something out of a Japanese anime cartoon.”
“So I saw the movie,” Casey said loudly. “And he was totally hot. Old, but whatever. Guys have a way of aging gracefully, don’t you think?”
“I am not a cartoon,” Regan spat. “I’m a person.”
“You look like you’re five years old, and your mom let you dress yourself for school,” Brandon shot back.
“Brandon . . .” Casey whispered. Even she knew he went too far.
Regan drew in her breath. “I like the way I dress. I like it so much better than how I used to dress when you basically told me what to wear. And I don’t plan on changing how I dress, so you can either deal with it or kiss my ass.”
Brandon’s mouth dropped open. And then his lips curled into a grin.
“I’d love to kiss your ass, Regan. I was hoping for an invitation, but lately you haven’t given me one.”
“O. M. G,” Casey whispered.
Ethan snickered beside her, and she smacked his leg under the table.
“Do people need to know our business?” Regan cried.
She wished she’d said nothing. She knew Brandon’s motivation—to embarrass her in front of their friends. Well, no, his friends. And he didn’t just want her to feel embarrassed but to voice it, too. He got exactly that.
She realized as she stared at him that they’d been playing their own version of a color war since the beginning of the school year. The louder and more colorful her outfits became, the more his true colors showed through. And his weren’t like hers—bright and cheery. His were dark and dangerous.
“Oh, like you don’t share everything we do with Casey anyway,” Brandon said dismissively.
“So not the point!” Regan replied.
Brandon propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.
“What do you want from me, Regan?” he whined.
“I want you to stop being a jerk!”
“How am I being a jerk?” His face remained hidden behind long, slender hands. Desk job hands, she thought a long time ago. He was no working man.
And then her courage showed up. Just like that.
“I heard the way you talked to Hannah this morning,” she said.
Brandon raised his face slowly, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Huh?”
“In the stairwell,” Regan explained. “This morning. I heard the things you said to her. Don’t try to deny it.”
Brandon thought a moment. “I didn’t see you there.”
Regan shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I was there.”
“What, like hiding under the stairs or something?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s weird.”
“That’s not the point. The point is that I heard all those awful things you said. Don’t deny it!”