The Hard Count(37)

“Apologize,” Nico says.

His eyes don’t blink. He’s the boy who’s always right, and he’s delivered my brother one single expectation. As much as I should be honored, instead I’m mortified. My brother doesn’t call me names. Sometimes we don’t talk, and lately he’s been distant. We haven’t talked in days, really. But we don’t go to dark places with each other. We compete, but at the end of the day, I’m always in his corner.

Always.

My head tilts, and I look to him, his eyes hard on Nico’s, his posture rigid—not wanting to say he’s sorry, but only because he doesn’t want to give Nico the satisfaction. Well, what about me? Who gives a shit about his pissing match with Nico. This is about me!

“I hate you!”

My lips quiver when the words fall away, and my hand covers my mouth quickly, my breath a short tremble and my eyes stinging with the red I know has filled them up.

“Reagan,” Travis says, stepping closer to me, his voice suddenly sweet. Decorum matters now, because I got my feelings hurt. Now they’ll be kind.

Travis reaches for my arm, and Izzy tosses what’s left of her shake at him, the lid popping free and light brown frozen sugar spilling in heavy drops across Travis’s neck, chest, and arms.

“Shit, Izz!” he says, looking down with his arms stretched out.

My eyes grow wide while my young crush and brother’s best friend wipes away large swipes of milk-chocolate shake, letting it fling from his fingertips to the ground. I begin to giggle, and Izzy looks at me.

“Izzy, I love you,” I say, my laughter somewhere between the kind that precedes crying and genuine giddiness.

“I love you, too, Reagan. What do you say we leave the boys in the sandbox?”

My friend loops her arm with mine, tugging me along the main walkway into the small restaurant and through the throngs of people in line, waiting to place their order. She drags me all the way to the bathroom, and I laugh the entire way until we make it to the large stall in the end of the ladies’ room, where I fall into her hug and weep heavy tears against her chest.

I cry for a solid ten minutes, and my friend strokes my hair, which I kept down because Nico said it looked nicer that way. She doesn’t ask questions, and when I’m finally able to breathe, she walks me to the sink and runs cold water, dampening paper towels and wiping away any remains on my face that I was ever sad at all. When she’s done, she looks me in the eyes and smiles until I can’t help but do it back.

“Your brother didn’t mean it,” she says, and I nod lightly, not so sure, but wanting to believe it. “He’s upset. His identity has been shaken, and he just doesn’t know how to cope with it all. He took it out on you, and he shouldn’t have.”

“You’re right,” I sigh, my throat sore and my body a little tired from the instant emotional drain.

“And Travis…he’s just an *,” she says, her mouth twisted into a disgusted expression that makes me laugh. “Seriously, Reagan. I hope you’re over him, because that guy’s a loser. Oh my God you deserve someone so much better.”

“I’ve been over him for years, Izzy. You know that,” I say.

“Yeah, but I just want to be sure,” she says, holding a pinky out for me to link with my own. We lock fingers and shake once, our forever promise that we save for things we really need to mean and believe in.

“Good,” she says. “You should like a guy like Nico. When he stood up for you, Reagan? Oh my God…”

My mouth hangs open, my soul desperate for it to form the words—I do like Nico. Instead, I watch my best friend hold her hand over her heart, smitten by a guy she never noticed before, a guy who stood up to defend my honor, a boy I talked into taking this risk. A boy I never noticed this way either, except for the years he was pushing my buttons and making me angry—making me think. Nico was always there, but I never knew him.

“You take as much time as you need. If your brother asks, I’m going to probably tell him to f*ck off, if that’s okay,” my friend says, leaving me by the mirror as she steps closer to the door. Another girl walks through, one I don’t really know very well, so I grow shy and my heart flutters.

I don’t want strangers to think I cry.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him, too,” I say through forced laughter. I plaster a smile on my face, and Izzy blows me a kiss, flinging the door open and disappearing—probably to find my hero, who I don’t really know all that well either, but know better than she does.

The door comes to a close, and the intruder in the bathroom shuts her stall, so I let my smile slip away, my mouth tired of pretending. I turn the water on and fill my hands with soap, to give myself a reason to be here. I don’t carry a purse. The only things on me are my phone and small wallet stuffed in the back pocket of my jean shorts. I take in my reflection, looking for that confidence—some sign that says I’m a girl that’s going to walk out of here and turn heads. My hair is straight and flat, tucked behind my ears on both sides, a small sweeping of bangs that are too short to fit into a ponytail anyhow stick to my forehead.

I rinse my hands free of soap, and pat them dry on my legs and white T-shirt because there are never paper towels in this bathroom. I head to the exit the second the only other girl in here with me opens her stall door. I’m gone before she can see me.