A collective sigh filled the room.
“And I’ve got another one coming right after you,” Mr. Walters said to Regan.
“Caroline will be much worse,” Regan said.
“God . . .” Mr. Walters groaned.
“And anyway, this isn’t my drama,” Regan went on. “It’s all theirs.”
“I’m far from drama,” Jeremy muttered.
“You’re the best kind of drama,” Regan replied sweetly.
Mr. Walters grimaced. “Ugh. None of that, please. And boys shouldn’t even be in your room. Jeremy, get out of here.”
“Gladly.” He was more than happy to leave. Right now he preferred Caroline’s company.
“Bye, Jer,” Casey said to his back.
“Whatever.”
The girls were alone once more. They stared at each other—neither sure how or where to start.
“Soooo, what earrings do you think I should wear?” Regan asked after a moment.
“Let’s have a look,” Casey replied, strolling over to the wall of accessories.
~
The bullet casings don’t smack you in the head so much if you keep a firm grip on the handle. It’s all about control. Control the kickback. Kind of like life: if you have firm control over your life, the setbacks won’t be so bad. You can deal with them better. Instead of being all emotional about something, you can step back, look at it objectively, and figure out a solution. Like blowing people’s brains out. That’s a reasonable, unemotional solution to my setback—the setback of being bullied on a daily basis. I used to have no control over my feelings about being bullied. I used to cry all the time. But then I took control. I took hold of my life, and I set into motion the plans I wanted to. I taught myself how to control my emotions, and now I look at my plight as a small kickback. The casings still slap me in the head every once in a while, but now I know what to do about them. Cling harder to the gun—my resolve—and keep pulling the trigger.
~
Hannah froze at the end of the table. She was the last to arrive for lunch—spending a good ten minutes in the bathroom debating the conversation she had with Jeremy several weeks ago. Yes, she had promised him she would start eating lunch with him again, but it took her nearly a month to actually do it. He didn’t press her. He waited, like good friends do.
She couldn’t deny the warm flattery that spread through her heart when he verbally defined their relationship a friendship. She wanted to be his friend, but she was never quite sure where they stood. She thought “acquaintances” would be as good as it got.
Regan didn’t exactly destroy that link between them, but she certainly complicated it. Hannah still harbored romantic feelings for her, and that turned what was already an awkward dynamic into an even trickier one. She didn’t want to be witness to flirtations and blatant sexual tension—all the shit that comprises a teenage romance.
Still, she couldn’t deny the loneliness. She missed Jeremy. She missed her . . . friend. The guy she could be open with whenever she wanted. The guy who left her alone when she needed. She didn’t realize his importance in her life until she felt him taken away. It was easy to be bitter. It was easy to be hateful toward Regan. But it was hard to eat alone.
She hovered over the table, staring at a bizarre scene.
“You sitting down?” Regan asked. “We’ve been wondering where you’ve been.”
“What. The. Fuck,” Hannah replied.
Regan glanced at Casey. Casey hung her head.
“What the fuck are you doing at this table?” Hannah clearly directed the question to Regan’s BFF.
“I . . . I know you don’t like me,” Casey whispered.
“Is this turning into the rejected popular girls’ lunch table? I mean, what the fuck?”
“You said that already,” Regan pointed out. “Three times.”
Hannah bent over and shoved her face in Regan’s. “What the fucking fuck is going on here?” she hissed.
“I asked Casey to eat with us,” Regan replied calmly.
“Why? Do you get to make the decisions for this table?” Hannah asked.
“Hannah, come on,” Jeremy said softly.
She whipped her head in his direction.
“I know she’s your girlfriend and all, and you think the sun shines out of her ass, but this is bullshit. This is MY table. This is YOUR table. This isn’t THEIR table. For Christ’s sake, haven’t they done enough? Haven’t they taken enough? They own the entire goddamn school! Can they not give us one lousy fucking table?!”
Curious students nearby turned their heads.
“We’re not trying to take your table,” Regan replied. “I asked Casey to sit here today because she’s going through what I went through.”
“And I should care about that why?” Hannah asked.
“I’m not asking you to care,” Regan replied. “I’m asking you to be nice.”
Hannah’s mouth dropped open.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She pointed at Casey. “That bitch made my life a living hell for THREE years. Do you hear me? Three years!”
The tears were inevitable, and they couldn’t come at a worse time. The cafeteria was filled with monsters ready to taunt and tease—ready to humiliate Hannah for showing emotion.
“I know I did!” Casey cried. “I know it! I was horrible to you, and I have no justification for it, okay? You understand that? I’m so sorry for what I did to you, Hannah. You don’t even know how much.”
“You’re only sorry because you’re an outcast now. If you were still popular, you’d still be a bitch to me. You know what I see here? Zero contrition. A fake ass bitch.” Hannah turned to Regan. “I was willing to let you slide because you were just so fucking pathetic. But I will not sit at this fucking table with that girl! I won’t! Not after everything she’s done! She can apologize until she’s as blue in the face as my fucking hair, and I will never believe her! Because she’s a liar!”
Murmurs rippled through the lunchroom. Jeremy saw a few teachers approaching.