Interim (24 page)

She shook her head and moved to the left side of the page. She needed to feel better.

Punched Ethan in the nose after he threw black paint all over my best friend.

She smiled smugly. “Yeah, that’s right. I defend my friends.”

But the idea couldn’t mask her compunction—the shame growing slowly inside that suggested she was an egocentric friend. That everything was on her terms. That she never allowed Casey the freedom to make her own choices. That she wanted ultimate control over their friendship because she was certain she knew best.

“Who knows anything at twelve years old?” she asked aloud. “
Buuuuut
. . .”

She scribbled more.

Was there for Casey when her parents divorced. I let her scream at me and hurt my feelings because I knew it wasn’t about me. I knew she didn’t mean it. I stood by her.

Regan stared at the words. She had forgotten all about those five months in ninth grade. They were brutal. They revealed Casey’s deeply-rooted vulnerability—her fear of the future and doubt about lasting love. That was right around the time Ethan began pursuing her, this wounded girl searching for something—
anything
—to bring stability to her life.

Regan’s hand automatically moved to the right side of the page.

Didn’t prevent Ethan from dating my best friend.

She wished now she were typing the list because she would have cut and pasted that point at the top of the
Things I Did Wrong
column.

“I am a terrible friend, but not for reasons she thinks,” Regan said. “I should have protected her. That’s my job. I’ve always been the protector—the defender—and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

She fell silent.

“There’s nothing wrong with that!” she cried, thinking of all the people who were most important to her.

She imagined gathering them in a tightly knitted circle—Casey, Jeremy, Mom and Dad, Caroline, maybe even Hannah—and zipping them up in warm coats she fashioned out of her loyalty and commitment to their emotional care.
Emotional care coats
, she thought, grinning, watching Caroline try to unzip hers because she thought she was old enough to take care of herself.

She shifted on her elbows, catching a glimpse of the gold, rhinestone-studded Zodiac pendant swaying and flickering below her chin: Libra—the scales. She studied the pendant—scales perfectly balanced—and wondered where possession and ferocity came into play. After all, those were much more the traits of her Leo sister. But she owned them as well—that dangerous possession of her friends she tried to pass off as loyalty; her roaring queen-of-the-jungle words and actions.

“I should have been a lion,” she said. “This is bullshit.”

But then she remembered a distinctive Libra trait she most certainly possessed—the ability to see all sides. Her problem was that, until now, she took it too far. She allowed a distorted perception of balance to take over her life, operating in a constant paradox:
I can be in the popular crowd without being popular. I can date Brandon even though I’m not one hundred percent committed. I can empathize with outcasts though I can’t remember that pain. I can be something to everyone as long as I agree.
She realized she’d agreed herself all the way into being . . . how did Hannah put it? A fake ass bitch. But she rediscovered her principles. She retaught herself how to balance the scales appropriately so that she would no longer cheat her character or moral convictions.

She dropped her pen on the paper, abandoning her lists. She acknowledged her mistakes, her weaknesses, but she was unwilling to accept Casey’s version of herself.

“I’m bitchy, yes,” she said. “Check. I have a loud mouth. Check. I can be demanding. Check. I can even be impulsive. Better triple check that. But I’m caring. Big fucking check. And I believe I’m fair.” She fingered her pendant. “Ten checks. And above all, I want what’s best for the important people in my life. Motherfucking check.”

Balanced scales. Roaring lioness. She’d embrace both, lick her wounds, and wait, crouched behind the tree, tail swaying to and fro. Maybe a bit predatory, but she reasoned it was predatory protection. She’d wait and watch for the right moment to pounce on Casey and pull her back from the edge. Embrace her. Keep her safe. Because that’s what best friends do. They love. And forgive. Fiercely.

***

Hannah froze, mouth open, sandwich positioned at her lips for annihilation. Her eyes bore into Regan’s.

“Well?” Regan asked.

Hannah lowered the sandwich slowly. “Well, what?”

“May I sit down?”

Hannah stole a glance at Jeremy. “Why do you wanna sit here?”

“You know why,” Regan replied patiently. “So, may I?”

Hannah smirked. “Well, now, I don’t know.”

Regan huffed and plopped her tray on the table.

“I think it’s totally unfair that you expect us to welcome you with open arms now that your douchebag friends have rejected you,” Hannah said. She bit a large chunk out of her sandwich.

Regan exhaled slowly. “I know you do. And I’d think the same way. Now I’m gonna sit down . . . if that’s okay.”

Hannah jerked her head. Regan took it as a half-hearted invitation. She sat down beside Jeremy and opened her water bottle.

“So what’d you do?” Hannah mumbled with her mouth full.

“I broke up with Brandon,” Regan replied.

Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. I didn’t think you had it in you. Guess my little pep talk really did help.”

Jeremy was intrigued. What pep talk? He didn’t know the girls were friends.

Regan snorted. “Yep. All thanks to you, Hannah. Otherwise, I’d have never gotten the nerve to do it.”

“Ha ha,” Hannah replied. “But seriously. You really broke up with him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I realized he was a bad guy,” Regan said. She took a bite out of her own sandwich.

“It took you three years to figure that out?” Hannah asked, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m a slow learner,” Regan explained.

“Evidently.”

Regan dropped her sandwich. “Look, are you gonna give me ’tude for the rest of the year if I sit here?”

“Don’t I have a right to?” Hannah asked.

“No, you don’t. Wanna know why? Because I apologized to you, and I meant it. And I’m making changes and trying to be better. Not for you. For me. But guess what? You benefit from them, too. So get over it, learn to forgive me, and move the fuck on.”

Jeremy crunched a carrot. He thought it wise to keep from interfering. Girl fights were . . .
complicated
. And completely outside the realm of his expertise.

“Move the fuck on?” Hannah asked, suppressing the grin.

“That’s what I said,” Regan shot back.

Hannah inhaled slowly, giving Regan a long, hard once-over with her piercing blue eyes. Decision made.

“All right,” she said finally. “But I get to make fun of your face jewelry.”

“That’s fine,” Regan replied. “I know it’s only that you wish you had some of your own. If you can stop being such a bitch, maybe I’ll do your eyes up like mine.”

Hannah smiled. “I don’t care to walk around looking like a glittery Barbie doll.”

Regan leaned over the table and shoved her nose in Hannah’s face.

“
Everyone
wants to look like a glittery Barbie doll,” she said softly.

The girls stared at one another. Hannah was certain she understood the underlying meaning to Regan’s words, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She worked so hard to be anti-feminine—embracing a stereotype that was forced upon her by the very people she despised. The people who abused her every day. All right, then. She would flip the script—try for an ironic existence—though she assumed they were too stupid to get it. And they were. But Regan got it. And Regan knew she was pretending—that she longed to swipe her eyelashes with mascara and wear the reddest lipstick. That she ached to feel pretty in her clothes instead of hiding away from everyone in boyish attire because they told her to.

“I don’t think I like you,” Hannah whispered, still staring at her love interest.

“You like me just fine,” Regan replied.

Hannah went back to eating her sandwich, quietly accepting Regan’s statement as truth. Because it was truth, though she’d never admit it aloud.

“You’re gonna do a lot of crying in the next few days,” Hannah said. “Prepare yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?” Regan asked.

“What do you think?” Hannah replied.

Silence.

“Just don’t let them see you do it,” Hannah said softly. “Makes it a million times worse.”

“I don’t care if they see me cry,” Regan said, finishing her sandwich.

“Easy to say when you’ve never experienced the repercussions. Trust me on this. I’m trying to help you out,” Hannah said.

Jeremy reluctantly chimed in. “She’s right.”

Regan bristled. “If it hurts, why can’t I show it?”

“Because they’ll hurt you worse,” Jeremy said.

“You don’t seem to care about it anymore,” Regan pointed out. She eyed his Ranch dressing, then dipped her carrot in it.

“Because I lift,” he said.

“Huh?”

Hannah grinned in understanding.

“I lift. If they come after me now, I’ll break their necks.”

Regan blinked.

“He’s stronger, you dope!” Hannah cried, chuckling. “Haven’t you noticed no one gives him shit this year? He’s got the guy advantage—testosterone. Well, he’s always had the guy advantage. Just now he’s done something with it.” She waited.

Regan lifted her eyebrow.

“His muscles, Regan. Jesus Christ. Don’t you know anything about physiology?”

“Soooo, you and I need to grow muscles, then?” Regan asked.

Hannah snorted. “We’d never be as strong. And anyway, you don’t need to worry about punches. They’ll just attack you psychologically because you’re a pretty girl.”

Regan rolled her eyes.

“They get physical with me because I look like a dyke. If I were little and cute like you, I’d only have to worry about the verbal assaults.”

Regan shifted uncomfortably. “Can we change the subject?”

“Why?” Hannah asked. “You wanted to sit here.”

“And I know you two don’t talk about this stuff,” Regan said.

That was true. Hannah and Jeremy never talked about bullying. They talked about video games and snowboarding and how much they hated their dads. But that was
their
conversation, not hers.

“I thought you’d want pointers,” Hannah said.

“I don’t need pointers,” Regan replied.

Hannah considered her. “No, you don’t need pointers. But that’s not the reason you want to change the subject. You’re uncomfortable hearing about our abuse because you used to be on the other side. You identified with the people who treated us like shit.”

“Hannah, come on,” Jeremy said.

“I’m right, though,” Hannah said to him. “Aren’t I?”

Regan nodded. Hannah wasn’t expecting that. The threesome sat for a time in silence, chewing and thinking.

“Well, go on then,” Regan said.

“Go on with what?” Hannah asked.

“Making me feel badly. Giving me victim pointers. Go on. I’m ready for it. As long as you promise to be done with it today.”

Hannah thought a moment. “Okay, deal.”

Jeremy wiped his mouth and sighed.

“So what’s first, Jer? Jesus, we’ve never even discussed it,” Hannah said.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“I do,” Hannah said. She looked Regan over. “What secrets have you shared with Casey?”

Regan’s heart plummeted to the floor.

“Well?” Hannah persisted.

“Everything,” Regan breathed.

“Okay, then. That’s the first thing you’re gonna deal with. By the end of the week, everyone will know all your shit.”

“Oh my God,” Regan whispered. The image of wrapping her breasts flashed into her mind. Was it a big deal if people laughed at her about it? Uh, yeah. It was a big fucking deal!

She shot up from the table and headed for Casey. When she reached the popular group, she stood waiting for someone to acknowledge her. No one did.

“Have you shared my secrets?” she demanded, glaring at Casey.

Casey turned her face even as Ethan forbade her to. She stared at Regan.

“Have you?” Regan pressed.

“What secrets?” Casey asked.

“Any of them!”

“Would you like me to?”

Hannah’s voice echoed in her head:
Don’t let them see you cry
. Her eyes welled. This was Casey. Her BFF. Confidant. Other sister.

“Would you do that to me, Casey?” she whispered low. Barely audible.

Casey hesitated, eyes fixed on Regan’s. And then Regan saw the imperceptible shaking of her head:
Everything’s fine. I would never do that to you. Don’t worry.