The Hard Count(64)

I hold my breath because he tilts his head enough that his eyes find mine and his hair slides forward. The disappointment in his expression levels me, and I’m reminded that all I could say was “I’m sorry.”

“But we want the prince and the princess, and maybe wanting something better is enough,” I say, not realizing I’ve interjected myself until my first words leave my mouth. I lean forward and hold Nico’s gaze, but I feel the rest of the classroom’s eyes on me. I turn slightly to see Izzy’s face, and she smiles faintly, knowing enough of the hole I’ve dug for myself to understand that this is me, trying to claw my way out of it.

“You can be a toad in love with a beautiful girl all you want, but in the end, you’re still a toad. That’s how everyone is going to see you, and you know what? That’s how the beautiful girl sees you, too—when other people are looking,” Nico says.

My lips part to protest, but another student interjects, moving the topic to class systems and comparing fairy tales to Plato’s Republic, which is probably what Mr. Huffman really wants to hear from us today. I let him talk, but I keep my eyes on Nico’s. He looks at me for nearly a minute, and his sad expression hurts my chest. It hurts to watch him think, to know every word he just said was about me—about us. I see him, but I see everyone else’s prejudices, too.

When the bell rings, Nico grabs his bag and board in a swift movement, slipping through the door the second it opens. I fumble with my things, perhaps not really wanting to catch him just yet. All this time, and I still haven’t worked out the right things to say.

“Your dad…not real hip on you going out with Nico?” Izzy asks, hooking her arm through one of my bags and carrying it for me.

“We really haven’t discussed it,” I say.

“Even after you and I talked? You said your dad walked in and saw you guys almost kissing. That’s not so bad,” she says, and I twist my head and mash my lips. “Yeah, well…maybe it’s bad. But more like awkward bad.”

“My dad didn’t say a single word to me at dinner. He actually talked to my brother, which—I’ll admit—it was nice to see them talking, but then we drove home, and he went right into his room, and he acted like I was invisible Sunday.”

Izzy nods in understanding, and we push through the main doors toward the locker rooms and parking lot. My friend slides my bag back to my arm, then squeezes her fingers around my wrist.

“I’m about to quote my mother, and I don’t like that I’m doing this,” she says, and I laugh lightly through my nose.

“Okay,” I say.

“Sometimes, Reagan, you just need to rip off the damn Band-Aid,” she says. “And it always hurts more when you do it slow.”

“That’s…I’m pretty sure your mother didn’t come up with that,” I say, squinting one eye and smiling on one side of my mouth.

“Yeah, I know. She repeats a lot of things like that. But still…she says it, and it’s a good saying. Kinda applies here,” she says, jiggling my hand in her hold.

I nod in agreement.

“Yeah, it does. Rip it, huh?” I say.

“Give it a good rip! Like, pull out the hair and shit,” my friend says, and I wince at the color she adds to the visual. “Girl, your arms are hairy. That Band-Aid’s gonna leave a mark.”

I laugh as she walks away and rub my arm instinctively.

I don’t bother going to my father’s office. I know he won’t talk to me, and I’m not ready to do the ripping just yet. But soon—I’ll rip soon. I move out toward the field where the team is stretching, and I set up my things on the bench the cheer squad usually takes up during games. They practice inside during the week.

My eyes work to find Nico while my hands begin to unpack my equipment. It doesn’t take me long to catch his familiar frame. He has a certain profile that I gravitate to, and he stands an inch or two taller than everyone else. I sit down with my tripod standing between my knees, pulling down the legs to click them in place.

“Seat taken?”

I heard my brother’s familiar new gait scraping along the track. He’s gotten faster on his crutches, and he’s begun to put pressure on his cast from time to time. I’m not really glad he’s come close to me. We haven’t spoken much since our blowout. I am glad he’s at practice, though. I look for positive signs in everything. This…it’s a positive sign…I think.

“You thinking of joining the cheer squad, too?” I say, squinting as I look up to Noah, the sun bright behind him. I’m trying to be normal with him, even though I don’t really want to.

“I do think I could probably up their game in the dance department,” my brother says, pushing his tongue in his cheek and ultimately chuckling.

“They are pretty awful, aren’t they,” I say, sliding my bag closer to my hip so my brother has a place to sit.

“Nobody cares if cheerleaders can dance, Reagan. We watch them because their skirts are short and we like to look at their asses,” he says, leaning his crutches along the metal bench and sliding down to sit, working to keep his leg straight.

“Keep it classy, Noah,” I say.

“Always do,” he says back quickly. He leans forward and pulls a bag of sunflower seeds from his pocket, pouring a handful into his palm and tipping his head back to dump them in his mouth. He holds the bag out for me, and I scrunch my nose at it.