Interim (29 page)

He bristled. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just don’t wanna hold hands.”

She sighed. “I understand.”

“Look at the way these people are staring at me,” he said. “Like I’m the bad guy.” He snorted and shook his head.

“Who cares what they think?”

“I mean, my dad attacks me. Almost kills me. I defend myself, and I’m in the wrong?”

“You’re not in the wrong, Jer. They’re just scared. We don’t exactly have a lot of students in this school who’ve taken someone’s life. You’re a . . . novelty.”

They turned the corner.

“Did you really just call me that?” he asked.

“I don’t mean it to sound flippant. But it’s true.”

“You make me sound like a sideshow freak,” he replied, automatically touching his scar.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Stop,” she said softly.

“Stop what?” he snapped.

“Stop being mean to me,” she replied. “I know you’re angry and hurt. I know you don’t wanna talk about it. I know you don’t wanna be here. I know you don’t wanna be around me.”

She paused.

Jeremy looked away, afraid he would agree with her and make her cry.

“I’ll . . . I’ll just give you some space,” Regan said.

He nodded.

The guilt was insurmountable. He wasn’t looking for space. He just felt like he was with the wrong person right now. He loved Regan, and he knew she was trying to help him, but she wasn’t the person who could do it right. She was too much of a girl about it. He needed someone else—someone who wouldn’t ask him to share his feelings. He needed someone who would poke fun at him and give him a better perspective on the entire situation.

He searched for that someone all morning.

“Found you,” he said at lunchtime, sitting in a chair next to her.

The room was dark with only minimal light pouring through the window blinds.

“Never thought to hide out in the band room,” Jeremy went on. “Good choice.”

“They never lock that back door,” Hannah explained. “Always the front one but never the back.”

She opened her lunch bag and handed him a pack of chips. He took them automatically, like it was customary.

“Thanks,” he said, shoving a cheesy Dorito in his mouth.

She opened her own bag of Doritos and ate.

“So, you killed your dad,” she said nonchalantly.

Jeremy nodded.

“Heard it on the news. Like a trillion times.”

He said nothing.

“Too bad you’re nineteen. At least if you were a minor, they wouldn’t have flashed your name all over the screen.”

He snorted.
Well, twenty now . . .

“Why’s it public knowledge anyway?” Hannah went on. “It’s nobody’s damn business what goes on in someone’s private home.”

Jeremy smiled.

“Your dad almost kill you?”

“Almost.”

“Did he have a weapon? There were conflicting reports about a gun being involved.”

“No, just his fists.”

Hannah fell silent for a moment.

“So, now your life is fucked from here on out? Traumatic event equals angry kid equals stolen property equals carjacking equals prison time?”

Jeremy snickered.

“Come on,” Hannah teased. “You know you wanna be a cliché.”

He was so happy he found her. She was exactly who he needed to talk to.

“I thought about it,” Jeremy said.

“And what would you do first?”

“Oh, start small. Petty theft. Maybe traffic pot for a while before I feel it’s safe to move up to the big leagues.”

“Naturally you’ll become addicted to drugs,” Hannah pointed out.

“Naturally.”

“And live in squalor in a whorehouse.”

“No other way.”

“And go on hooker binges because you have no self-worth,” she continued.

“None.”

“No violent crimes, though,” Hannah said. “Doesn’t fit your profile.”

“No no. I’ll be happy just to harm myself,” Jeremy replied.

They burst out laughing.

“Dude, your life is like a TV show,” Hannah said. “Shit like this does
not
happen to normal people.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Talk about sucking hard,” Hannah went on.

Jeremy glanced at her and grinned. “We’ve established that my life is awful.”

She laughed, then grew quiet.

They crunched in silence, every now and then making observations about the instruments in the room.

“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time your dad came at you,” Hannah said, eyeing him curiously.

“Not even close.”

“Why’d you never tell me?”

“Because we don’t talk about stuff like that,” Jeremy replied. “You said so yourself.”

Hannah nodded.

“He give you that scar?”

“Yep.”

“Why did he beat you?”

“Because he was angry and sad.”

“About?”

“Getting hurt on the job. Not being able to work. Mom leaving. Lots of stuff.”

“So you got it on both ends,” Hannah said. “At school and at home.”

Jeremy nodded.

“You were pumping iron for your dad, weren’t you?” Hannah said, realization dawning. “Didn’t really have anything to do with these jokers at school.”

Jeremy was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, it was mostly for my dad.”

“Those bench presses probably saved your life,” she pointed out.

He never considered that. After all, he wielded a bat. The bat was the weapon. But he never considered the strength behind that bat—the strength that came from pounding protein and push presses.

“I’m glad you decided to get in shape,” Hannah whispered, trying for a joke, but she couldn’t mask her sincerity.

“It wasn’t only that,” Jeremy confessed.

“Huh?”

“When I was lying there under my dad getting the shit beat out of me, I really thought I was gonna die. I would have died if it weren’t for you.”

Hannah tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“You spoke to me,” Jeremy replied. “You told me to fight.” He paused and grinned. “Actually it was more like ‘Get the fuck up and fight!’”

Hannah shifted uncomfortably.

“It wasn’t only my strength. I . . . I would have never found the last of it if you didn’t tell me. If you didn’t believe in me. If you didn’t remind me where I put my bat.”

Hannah turned her face and wiped inconspicuously at a tear.

“You saved my life,” Jeremy said.

“I did, huh?” she asked, facing the wall.

“Mmhmm.”

Pause.

“Then I guess you owe me a ‘thank you,’” Hannah croaked.

Jeremy laughed and stood up, balling the chip bag in his fist.

“Thank you, Hannah.”

He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. She hung her head.

“You can’t hide out in here anymore,” he said. “You have to start eating lunch with me again.”

“Jer . . .”

“I’ll use the I-killed-my-dad card on you all day long,” he replied.

Pause.

“I need you,” he whispered. “Please?”

Hannah exhaled a frustrated sigh. “Fine.”

He still held her hand. It felt natural to pull her close until her face rested against his chest. Her arms encircled his waist, and they stood hugging each other in a perfectly awkward embrace. His sister, he thought, in another, better world.

“I’m only eating with you because you’re my friend,” she mumbled into his chest.

“That’s good enough for me,” he replied.

***

Regan stole glances at the cafeteria door. She’d given Jeremy space all morning. She thought he’d, at least, eat lunch with her.

The heat built to a small fire of shame that played about her cheeks. She was embarrassed to eat alone. She was embarrassed to
be
alone. She searched the lunchroom. Not there. Neither was Hannah.

The realization didn’t slap her in the face. It was a quiet kind of truth that rose up slowly in her heart like the water level in a pool after a slow, steady rainstorm—soft and full. Too full. She wasn’t even angry about it—that he preferred to be with Hannah over her. She just accepted it, letting her heart drown in too-deep water. It was salty from her tears. She watched them plop one by one onto her sandwich, turning it mushy and inedible.

“Oh, well,” she mouthed because she didn’t know what else to say.

She left the table and disposed of her uneaten lunch. She walked the halls alone, jumping into restrooms when she spotted someone. Her current hideout housed another student—someone she used to know.

“I don’t feel like going back out there yet,” Casey said softly. “This is the tenth time I’ve put on lip gloss. I may go for eleven unless the bell rings.”

Regan nodded.

“How are you?” Casey asked.

Regan shrugged.

Casey shrugged back. “Me, too.”

Regan closed herself in the far stall. She allowed the tears to pour all they’d like, but she silenced any sound that threatened to escape her lips. She finally released the sob once she heard the bathroom door open and Casey leave. It wasn’t the solitude that compelled her to cry so unabashedly. It was Casey’s faint words as she left:

“I miss you.”

~

There’s a big difference between fantasizing about taking a life and actually doing it.

~

Closing time.

Ski patrol meandered down the mountain, clearing the last of the skiers and snowboarders. She knew he was hiding, waiting for solitude, waiting to be alone with only the snowy slope as his companion.

She hid, too. She wasn’t as good as he was—being a rule follower and all—but she found a bit of brush that camouflaged her quite well, and pushed down the urge to give herself up: “I’m here! I didn’t mean it, guys! Was just messin’ around!”

The lights of the snowcats faded into the distance, far down the steep mountain, and she rejoiced. Now to find Jeremy and force a healing. It was absurd; she couldn’t demand he feel better. But she couldn’t stand the awkwardness between them, his blatant avoidance of her. If she couldn’t heal him, she, at least, wanted to share in his grief. But he wouldn’t let her do that. He hid away on the mountain, spending countless hours going up then down, up then down, up then down. Searching for his own healing, perhaps. An answer to why his life had to be so dramatic. A wish for something better.

Heart pang. She didn’t like that last thought: a wish for something better. Maybe he wished she would be better. Or different. Maybe more like Hannah—the girl whose company he so clearly preferred over hers.

“Jeremy!” she yelled into the white evening.

Nothing.

“JEREMY!”

He slid to a stop behind her, kicking up powdery snow on her pants.

They stared at each other.

“I’m out here, okay?” she said. “I almost peed myself trying to hide from ski patrol.”

He smirked.

“You know I’m a rule follower,” she reminded him.

He nodded.

“So, I’m out here,” she said again. “I’m trying my best. But I can’t keep crying over you in the bathroom. I don’t know what you want me to do. I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m so cut off from everything about you, and I know I’m not Hannah—”

“Huh?”

“I know I can’t make you feel the way she does. You guys have some sort of connection, or whatever. I don’t know. But I know you prefer to hang out with her. I get it. I do. But you’ve gotta understand how that makes me feel. I mean, just break up with me if you don’t wanna be with me anymore. That’s all you’ve gotta do. Yeah, I’ll cry about it. I’m a girl after all. But at least it’d be something other than you avoiding me all the time.” She paused. “I . . . I’m freezing up here.”

“I don’t wanna break up with you,” he said quietly.

“Then why are you treating me like this?”

“You want me to talk about my feelings, and I don’t want to.”

Silence.

“Seriously?” she asked after a moment.

He nodded.

“You’re avoiding me because you think I want you to talk about your dad?”

“Yes. Right after everything happened, you grilled me to death. You kept wanting to know how I felt. You kept asking me if I was okay. You smothered me.”

She blinked.

“Hannah doesn’t smother me. Hannah makes jokes and tells me to get over myself, that it’s just a killing. No big deal, right?”

Regan scowled.

“That’s what I need to hear. I need someone to not treat me like a fragile, little boy. I don’t want to be coddled. I don’t want to be wrapped up in hugs. I want someone to make fun of me and punch my arm.”

Regan clenched her jaw.

“Hannah does that for me. That’s just the type of person she is. You’re not like that, and I’m not saying she’s better than you. I’m just saying I needed her kind of compassion—”

“What compassion?” Regan snapped. “Jokes about your dead father? That’s compassion?”

Jeremy sighed. “See? I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m just on the outside. I don’t fit in with yours and Hannah’s little clique—your clever, we’re-smarter-than-everyone-else club.”

“Regan . . .”

“I don’t know how to make inappropriate comments and act like a sarcastic bitch and share inside jokes with you!”

“Regan, please . . .”

“Why don’t you just go date her!”

“Because she’s gay!”

Regan’s mouth dropped open.

“And because I wanna date you,” he added quickly.

She snorted disdainfully. “Love being the second reason.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Regan said.

Pause.

“Why didn’t you tell me she liked you?” Jeremy asked.

“Why would I?”

“Would have made it easier for me to understand the tension between you two—why she pulled away from me when you started hanging out.”

Regan said nothing.

“She’s been my friend for a long time,” Jeremy went on. “She’s helped me through a lot, even though I’m sure she doesn’t even realize it.”

Regan adjusted her hat. Jeremy wasn’t sure what else to say. He sensed her shutting down and searched for words that would force a response.

“I love you,” he said.

“Hmm.”

He bristled. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m cold. I’m going down.” She looked at him a final time then exhaled softly. “See you around, Jer.”

She slammed her ski poles into the ground and pushed off with as much force as she could, securing her goggles as she picked up speed.

“What the fuck, Regan?” Jeremy shouted behind her.

She knew he’d come after her, and she squatted deeper, trying to pick up more speed.

“What the fuck was that?” he barked beside her.

How’d he catch up so quickly?

“Leave me alone!” she yelled back.

He leaned to the right, bumping her arm.

“Watch out!” she screamed. “That’s fucking dangerous!”

She swerved to her right, trying to put distance between them. He narrowed the gap once more.

“Get the fuck away from me!” she roared.

“No!”

He whipped out his hand and grabbed her arm at the exact moment he turned his board sharply to the left, breaking hard and fast. There was the slight possibility of ripping her arm out of socket, but it was the chance he’d take for love.

She fell. He fell. They tumbled several yards down the mountain, coated with snow like powdered doughnuts. When they came to a stop, she threw off her eyewear and leapt at him.

“You fucking idiot!” she screamed, pounding his chest.

“I’m sorry!” he replied, trying to grab her wrists.

“I could have died!”

He snatched her hands. “Stop being dramatic.”

She wriggled out of his grasp and continued her assault.

“I’m not!”

“I knew what I was doing!” he grunted, trying to secure her wrists once more.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” she screeched.

“REGAN!” he bellowed, inches from her face. “I’ve been beaten up enough!” He tried to stifle the laughter.

“Apparently not!” she countered.

He threw his arms around her hard, flattening her body to his, trapping her in a death grip. He rolled over, pinning her in the snow, watching the anger ebb and flow in her eyes.

“You’re so pretty,” he said softly, smiling down at her.

“Get off of me,” she snapped, panting hard.

“I love you.”

“I don’t care.”

He leaned in and kissed her mouth. She bit him. He reared back in shock, tonguing his bottom lip and tasting the metallic bite of fresh blood. He set his jaw and leaned in once more, kissing her harder. She twisted underneath him, grunting into his mouth.

“I love you,” he mumbled, hoping the words would fall into the deep, warm tissues of her heart and sprout forgiveness. He wanted her forgiveness; he just didn’t know how to ask.

“You hurt my feelings!” she cried, and he pulled away to see the tears pool in her eyes.

“I know,” he said. “I’m a guy, Regan. I don’t know how to be mature about everything.”

“I’m not asking you to!” she replied. “I’m asking you to be kind to me!”

“I will be,” he assured her.

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her gloved hands.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away,” he said.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you need, okay? But you could have just told me. You could have said, ‘Regan, stop hovering’ or ‘Regan, stop asking me to share my feelings.’ I wouldn’t have been offended. But you never explained anything to me. You just hid away . .  . with
her
.”

She burst out crying.

“Regan,” he said soothingly, cupping her face and wiping her fresh tears.

“I’m sorry I’m such a girl about everything,” she cried bitterly. “But guess what? I’m a fucking girl!”

He chuckled. “I’m glad for it.”

“And I don’t like to see you in pain! I’d do anything to make you happy. Anything at all.”

He believed her.

She hiccupped and fell silent.

“I’m glad you came to find me,” he said after a moment.

She rolled her eyes.

“It’s true! I didn’t want to be alone up here after all.”

She eyed him warily.

“I’m telling you the truth,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really. I do love you, Regan. And I
am
sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I . . . I wanna make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I thought I could take you on a date.”

Pause.

“I’ll have to look at my parents’ schedule to see about borrowing the car,” she said.

“No no, I’m driving,” he said.

“Huh?”

He grinned. “It’s running.”

She smiled. “Your Camaro is running?”

“Yep. Finally. Only took me a million years,” he said.

“That’s so cool!” she squealed.

“Still needs a paint job, and some stuff in the interior needs to be fixed, but it runs, and that’s all that matters.”

“Let’s drive away in it!” she said, eyes wide with adventure.

“Where to?”

“The beach! Oh, I love the beach! And I never get to go.”

“The beach it is,” he said, and leaned in once more to kiss her.

This time she didn’t fight. She let him kiss her long and slow until she felt the sharp sting of melted snow pool in her ears.

Closing time.

***

“JESUS CHRIST!” Regan screamed, staring at the ghost in the window.

“What is it?!” her mother cried, shooting through the door into her bedroom. She recognized Casey’s face at once.

Casey stood out in the freezing temperatures, face nearly glued to Regan’s window, trails of tears practically frozen to her pale face.

“What in God’s name . . .” Mrs. Walters threw up the sash. “Casey Holbrook, what the hell are you doing out here?! You’ll freeze to death. Get in here. Now!”

Casey paused.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mrs. Walters muttered, yanking on Casey’s coat and pulling her in head first. She dropped to the floor like a block of ice. Hell, she was a block of ice—blue hands, blue face. Regan even thought her hair had turned blue.

Mrs. Walters tore the quilt off Regan’s bed and wrapped Casey. She hugged her close.

“Honey, why?” she asked.

“I . . . I w-wanted to t-talk to R-Regan,” she stuttered, teeth chattering so hard that Regan was afraid she’d wear them down to stubs in a matter of seconds.

“Baby, there’s a front door,” Mrs. Walters said.

“It’s late,” Casey replied.

“I don’t care if it’s three in the morning! You don’t stand outside in the middle of winter for God knows how long!” She waited.

“Thirty minutes, maybe?” Casey offered.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Walters cried. “Regan, go put on some hot water.”

“Mom, we don’t live at the North Pole,” Regan said. “It’s not the biggest deal ever.”