Gee, thanks.
“I don’t say ‘dork’ in a mean-spirited way.” She waved her hand and added dismissively, “You know what I mean.”
Uh, riiiiight.
“It was easier to just—” She really didn’t want to say the word. “—conform.”
And you did a hell of a job.
“I know you think I’m pathetic,” she said.
A little.
“Say something!” she cried.
He shrugged. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. You already read my journal.”
She wasn’t sure if it was another joke, and waited for his cue.
“You can laugh,” he said.
“Oh, ha ha.” And then the “ha’s” turned into real giggles. And then those giggles turned into hearty laughter. For whatever reason, it felt good knowing he saw her as a gutless follower. Lessened the guilt.
He waited until she composed herself. He didn’t think it was all that funny, but he imagined she wasn’t only laughing at his joke. Perhaps she was laughing at him—having recalled something he wrote in his journal that sounded silly and stupid. He grew self-conscious.
“I better get to work,” he mumbled.
She swallowed. “Where do you work?”
“At a garage.”
“Doing what?”
“Fixing cars. I’m apprenticing.”
She nodded. “That’s cool.”
He said nothing.
“Which one?”
He hesitated. “Roy’s Body Shop.”
“Ohhh, I know that place. My dad had some work done there on his car,” Regan replied. “That’s, like, right around the corner.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by some time,” she offered.
When he didn’t answer, she grew embarrassed.
“Um, I work at a bakery. During the off season,” she said.
He nodded.
“I mostly decorate cakes,” she went on.
He continued nodding.
She fell silent.
I don’t know how to do this, he thought. I don’t know how to be her friend.
He has zero interest in being friends, she thought.
The words stuck in his throat, and he cleared it to clear them.
“You can come by whenever. The garage, I mean.”
Her face brightened.
“If you bring cake,” he added, and forced a smile.
“I can do that.”
“I . . . I hope this means you forgive me,” he said softly.
“I do,” she replied immediately. “Guys are always saying stupid stuff. I understand that.”
He chuckled. “I suppose so.”
“Well, now you can’t complain about knowing none of my secrets,” Regan offered.
“Huh?”
“I dropped, like, the biggest one on you!” she said. “Hello?”
“Ohhh, right, right,” he replied. “But then I gave you another one, too, so you’re still O for, um, about a thousand,” Jeremy explained.
Regan bit her lip. “Hmm, I guess you’re right.”
What could she share with him? Oh, a million things, easily. What would he want to hear right now? She instantly knew.
Jeremy checked the time on his cell phone. “I’m late. Roy’s gonna kill me.”
Well then, this was the perfect secret to share.
“I always wanted to be your friend,” Regan said. “Bet you didn’t know that.”
He stood stunned, his mind flooded with a trillion questions and no time to ask them. She did it on purpose! He looked down the sidewalk toward the garage. And then he looked back at Regan helplessly.
“Don’t you need to go to work now?” she asked.
Her face was unreadable, allowing him no further insight into her claim. What the hell was she trying to do to him? If this was a joke, then he’d label it the worst kind of bullying—emotional torment that does permanent damage.
“You know I have to,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off her face.
“Then I guess you better go,” she said just as slowly.
He stormed off, muttering under his breath. He was over it—over her little game. She always wanted to be his friend? Bullshit. There were plenty of opportunities, but she chose them. Even now, she couldn’t or wouldn’t break free from them. That made her one of them still, and he couldn’t be friends with his enemy. He knew it was paramount to try—even if he had to fake it—but he didn’t want to share her. He shouldn’t have to! And, anyway, she still owed him. She owed him all her feelings and a better fucking apology. And while they were at it, her body, too. Yeah. That’s right. She had no problem touching him without permission—tactlessly poking at his scar. Maybe he ought to poke her and see how she liked it.
God, he wanted to back her into a corner—smash her right up against the goddamn wall—hold a gun to her temple, then kiss her lips gently. I love you. I hate you. The image didn’t even bother him. He found pleasure in the fantasy of tasting her tears while his tongue explored her mouth. I love you. I hate you. The pendulum swung. Love. Hate. Good. Evil. Right. Wrong.
Victim. Vigilante.
Sanity.
Slipping.
***
She parked her mother’s sedan in an empty space beside the blue-gray building. She sat for a moment practicing breathing exercises for cardio endurance, imagining running up and down the field with Jeremy chasing after her. Heart palpitation. And another. She fixed her eyes on the faded plastic business sign—Roy’s Body Shop—with patches of red missing from several letters.
You wanted to be friends, her brain reminded her.
She nodded and glanced at the cupcakes sitting in the passenger seat.
And he did say to bring cake.
She grinned, peeling back a stray hair that was plastered to her cheek. Her sweat dried earlier, making everything around the perimeter of her face crusty and dry.
“Why didn’t I shower first?” she said aloud. “I’m revolting.”