Wrecked(71)

Eric takes another bite of pizza for good measure, then nonchalantly pivots in his seat. He scans the cluster of students who have just entered, then turns back around. He finishes chewing.

“Guy in the red shirt. Dark brown hair. That’s him.”

Richard glances over Eric’s shoulder to where Jordan and Exley have gotten in line for burgers. Jordan wears a light blue jacket, Exley a red shirt. No one else in sight wears red.

He stands and slaps Eric’s hand. “Thanks, man. That’s all I needed to know.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re going to tell me, right? Was it him? What the hell did he do?”

Richard walks quickly away before people overhear Eric.

He knows where he has to go next.





. . .


“Are you having fun?”

Jenny hesitates. She was. Then she wasn’t. She felt awful. She feels better. She looks at him.

He’s not tall. He wears jeans. A blue shirt. He smiles at her.

“I don’t know. Are you?”

He laughs. “Sure. That’s why I’m out here.”

Confusing. He doesn’t sound happy.

“I need to tell my friends where I am,” she says. Then she thinks: Tamra. Her eyes fill.

“Good luck getting back in,” he says.

She turns toward the front of the house. The ground sways. The branches in the tree overhead sway. She feels a hand, strong, on her arm.

“Steady there,” he says.

She looks at him. The swaying stops.

“Want to go for a walk?” he asks.

. . .





33





Haley


Gail’s not expecting her. Haley decides to skip the “hey I’m coming over” text and go for the element of surprise. See how she likes it.

Because like Carrie the other night in her room, Haley has things to say.

When she walks in, Gail is at her desk, laptop open. The only light is from a small desk lamp, the computer’s blue glow, and strings of white bulbs lining the windows. Tablecloth--size tapestries and posters of black women—she recognizes older versions of Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison, their hair silver--marbled—conceal the tape-- and tack--scarred walls. Haley can tell by Gail’s expression that she’s already heard about the Carrie--Richard conflagration.

“My bad,” Gail says before Haley even speaks. She holds her hands up in surrender. “Completely, totally. What can I say? I slipped. I never meant to tell her about you guys.”

Haley drops onto Gail’s bed. She throws her hands up and stares, challenging her to explain. “So why did you?”

Gail seems at a loss. “When you stormed out the other night, it was obvious something was bugging you. I was tired, didn’t think, and said, ‘Maybe you were all too mean about Richard,’ and . . . whoops. You should have seen their faces. Then Jen comes back and she’s in tears, saying you’ve sided with her father. Carrie was convinced you’d crossed over to the Dark Side.”

“Of course she would! Because in Carrie World there are only two sides: hers and everyone who’s wrong.”

“Well, to be fair—”

“When is she ever fair?” Haley interrupts.

Gail is silent.

“A warning would have been nice.”

“I thought I would see you before she did. I had no idea she would be so . . . quick.”

Haley shakes her head. “The woman’s a heat--seeking missile.”

“Was it a direct hit?”

“She missed,” Haley says. “We emerged from the wreckage.”

Gail looks relieved. “I’m glad,” she says. “I would be sorry if I’d messed that up. You guys are good together.”

Haley snorts. She stands. “Together? What the hell is that? Seriously, define it for me.”

Gail smiles hesitantly and cocks her head. “Excuse me?”

Haley paces. The urge to kick something borders on overwhelming. She could be on the sideline right now, moments before heading onto the field: that’s what this adrenaline rush is like.

She misses that release. The heart--pounding run, the pure impact of her foot connecting with the ball. For all the drama with her mother, the demands, and the pressure, soccer had been so simple. There were accepted rules. A clearly marked goal.

“Just friends, or with benefits?” Haley wonders aloud. “And if you’re friends with benefits, isn’t that hooking up? And if you’re hooking up more than once, like, for weeks, is that dating? And doesn’t dating include talking and doing stuff together beyond the bedroom? Which sounds an awful lot like a relationship. Facebook--official. Which, let’s be honest, is practically an engagement announcement around here! I mean, people are either joined at the hip or ignoring each other at the juice machine the morning after! I don’t get it.”

It’s a rant. She hears herself. Doesn’t particularly like the way she sounds. But it feels good to let it all out. Like a good kick from the corner.

“Actually, sounds like you do get it,” Gail replies. No irony in her voice.

Haley flops onto Gail’s bed. “I don’t pretend to know what ‘together’ means,” she says. “Between you and me? I’m failing College Love 101.”