“Get real,” Ethan said, popping his head out. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“Well, come down here and tell that to my fist,” Regan replied, balling her hands and lifting them beside her face. She noticed Alexia in her periphery.
Ethan threw his head back and laughed.
“I mean it!” Regan cried.
“I don’t fistfight with girls,” Ethan replied.
“No, you just throw black paint all over them for no good reason. You’re a fucking jerk!”
And that was the first time she ever said the f-word. Twelve years old. Seventh grade. Four thirteen in the afternoon on October 26.
“Fuck off, Regan,” Ethan replied.
“What? You scared? You scared of a girl?” she taunted.
That was the ticket. He sauntered down the front steps and stood directly in front of her.
“Take your best shot, little girl,” he sneered.
Open invitation. She couldn’t refuse. She aimed for his eye. Her fist made contact with his nose instead. Sickening crunch! Instant blood. Blood everywhere. Ethan wailed for his mother, who wasn’t home from work. He lurched toward Alexia whose terrified face disappeared behind her front door. Regan moaned at the shooting sparks lighting up her knuckles. What the hell? The punch was only supposed to hurt the other guy, right?
She burst out laughing even as the tears coursed her cheeks. She instinctively rubbed her knuckles, erasing the ghost pain that returned with the memory. Ohhh to sock Ethan in the face once more. She’d give anything. She’d take anything, including expulsion. But then where would that leave her future soccer career?
“Nowhere,” she admitted aloud.
She fell silent at the sound of crunching leaves directly behind her. She held her breath, hoping the intruder would carry on and leave her in peace. She wasn’t afraid. She was annoyed at the bother.
“Hey,” Jeremy said.
She wiped surreptitiously at her face, but he knew she’d been crying. Crying and laughing at the same time—a trick only a girl could pull off.
She didn’t answer. He sat beside her, knowing he was unwelcomed. He took the chance anyway, hoping she wouldn’t leave. She didn’t. She didn’t acknowledge his presence either.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shrugged. “For what?”
“For what I said about the sex being worth it,” he replied.
She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. “That happened, like, a week ago. Who cares?”
It was dismissive and passive aggressive and everything he knew would be her response.
“You do,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I do, too. It was wrong, and I shouldn’t have said it.”
“I don’t care.”
But he was right. She did care. She cared very much. And not even a return to her style roots could clothe the embarrassment she felt at being a spineless girlfriend to a bully.
“You don’t have to care,” Jeremy replied. “But I wanted you to know that I’m genuinely sorry. You’re right: I am the good guy here. I should be acting like it.”
His words did nothing but fuel her anger.
“I don’t care about your fucking journal,” she spat. “I know that’s why you really came here. I’m not saying anything about it. You hear? I don’t give a shit. I have my own problems.”
“I came here to apologize,” Jeremy said.
Regan jumped up. “I don’t need your apology! I don’t care about it! You don’t know anything about me! How about this: I’m a virgin, asshole!”
She grabbed her bag and stormed off. Jeremy followed.
“Regan, I’m sorry,” he said.
“Save it.”
He jumped in front of her, forcing her to a halt.
“Please, let me by,” she said.
She was a ticking time bomb. He knew it. Somehow he had to abate the anger, manipulate a friendship even if it wasn’t genuine. He knew that now. He had no choice. They had to be friends or else she’d destroy his life. And he had to do a better job with his words. He couldn’t say offensive shit anymore. Think, Jeremy, think!
“I’m a virgin, too,” he blurted. Came out of nowhere. What the fuck?
She stared at him.
“In case you were wondering . . .”
“I wasn’t.” But she was clearly flattered by his admission. She tucked her chin, partially obscuring the smile.
He took a deep breath. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Why would you volunteer any more information to me? You know, since you’re mad I know your secrets,” Regan asked, still hiding her face.
He searched for a reply. “Well, what’s one more?”
She wasn’t expecting such a dismissive response.
“Sooo . . . we’re just a couple of virgins,” she said, kicking around a pinecone.
“Evidently.”
“Sooo . . . where do we go from there?”
“What are you asking me, Regan?” His tone was playful. He didn’t know he had it in him, and the flirtatious question both shocked and delighted him.
“No! I wasn’t . . . it wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to suggest . . . !” She headed for the sidewalk. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God . . .”
Jeremy picked up his pace to catch up.
“I was just joking,” he said, laughing.
It felt strange to laugh. It felt strange to flirt with no ulterior motive. He should have been in manipulation mode, but the joke was genuine.
She smiled up at him. A pang of nostalgia gripped his heart as he watched her lips part, revealing perfectly straight teeth. He rather missed her braces, or perhaps it was the girl behind those metal brackets his heart longed for. He couldn’t help it. He had to ask. But she beat him to it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
“You do?”
“You’re wondering why I changed. You’re wondering why I’m dating Brandon.”
Jeremy shoved his hands in his pockets.
“He wasn’t always mean,” Regan said.
Yes, he was.
“I mean, he seemed to change in ninth grade.”
No, he didn’t.
“He really showed a lot of interest in me, and . . . I don’t know. It felt good.”
He manipulated you.
Regan sighed. “Okay, truth time. I got so sick and tired of being the champion for all the dorks,” Regan admitted. “You know?”