If I'm Being Honest(19)
Paige nods. “Apologize to Brendan—fix things with him—and I’ll forgive you for what you said to me. You know where to find him.” She crosses her arms. “He’s in the robotics room every lunch.” From the smugness in her expression, I have a hunch she doesn’t think I can pull this off. Doesn’t think Cameron Bright, bitch extraordinaire, can get through even one apology.
I don’t care. Finally, I permit excitement to well in my chest. If Paige forgives me, I’m one giant step closer to her telling her new BFF Andrew about how the incident at Skaˉra was no big deal, how I went out of my way to be thoughtful to her brother, and how I’m really not the person she thought I was.
“Done,” I reply.
Without a word, Paige walks off. I gather my composure and open the door.
Nine
THE ROBOTICS ROOM IS CLOSER TO A warehouse than a classroom. A thick wooden table down the length of one wall is piled high with what appear to be pieces of metal bolted together in half-finished forms and wires running from motors to electronics with little blinking lights. On the other wall is a row of computers, new Macs next to old desktops someone’s halfway done repairing.
I walk between the tables toward where BB sits in the back of the room, my footsteps swallowed by the sound effects coming from the computer on his desk. I pause a couple feet behind him and glance over his shoulder. He’s playing a computer game on a desktop he’s hooked up to an external hard drive and intricate keyboard with extra keys that must be designed for gaming. Furiously, he punches his fingers on the keys.
I watch the screen for a couple seconds. The two-dimensional character isn’t moving despite Brendan’s clicking and typing. What I’m guessing is a sorceress, dressed in a dramatic black dress and with blonde hair, closes in on the stuck character. I notice the color palette of the game is all over the place, pastels combined with neons without rhyme or reason.
I watch the sorceress reach the unmoving boy and promptly chop off his head. The words GAME OVER flash on the screen.
Brendan sighs exasperatedly and types in more commands. I figure this is the best window I’m going to have. “Hi, B—Brendan,” I say, my voice echoing oddly loudly in the enormous room. “What are you doing?”
BB whirls. He searches the room, suspicious, like he’s looking for some explanation for what I’m doing here. The dim light plays shadows on his features, which have a definition to them you wouldn’t expect on a junior boy’s face.
“Do you want help with the problem set or something?” he asks.
“What?” I’m thrown until I realize the problem set is, in fact, the likeliest reason I’d come find him. “No. I’m, um, here to talk to you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I sit on the stool next to him. His shirt, I notice, reads THOROUGHBRED OF SIN in big block text under a picture of a horse. He keeps his eyes on me like he’s expecting me to pounce.
“I realize I might not have been the nicest person to you over the years,” I say sincerely.
BB watches me for a second longer. I hope—in an illogical part of my brain—it’s going to be this easy, and Brendan will shrug and say, “Whatever,” and bygones will be bygones.
Instead, he turns back to the computer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says unemotionally. “We don’t even know each other.” He glances toward me a second later out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re worried I’m going to tell Mr. West you were emailing in class, forget about it.”
“Why would I—” I begin to point out West wouldn’t care, then cut myself off. I have to give BB a genuine apology—the quicker, the better. “Remember when you first moved here in sixth grade and I was in seventh?” I say hurriedly. “You, like, threw up at school a bunch of times? It was, like, every week, and we’d know not to eat in the cafeteria when you were in there and not to go near the second-floor boys’ bathroom?”
I’m rambling. I never ramble. But Brendan is no longer facing the computer. His eyes fix on mine skeptically. His attention is suddenly making me self-conscious.
“No,” he says dryly. “I’d completely forgotten that wonderful period in my life. Thank you for reminding me, Cameron.”
I wince. I’m doing exactly what Kate does. I’m being too blunt, too honest. But what do I say instead? My inexperience with apologies means that I have no idea what I’m doing. “I’m terrible at this,” I tell Brendan. I study his nose and his brown eyes, noticing that when you look up close, he doesn’t really look very much like Paige. I don’t know why, but the thought brings me a fresh bout of nervousness. Only remembering why I’m here keeps me from throwing in the towel and getting out of here. Andrew.
“Here’s a tip,” Brendan replies, an edge entering his tone. “Whatever this is, don’t. Just don’t. Go take selfies with your friends or whatever.”
“Hey,” I fire back, hardly caring I’m not keeping my cool. “You don’t have to go and insult me when I’m in here trying to apologize.”
BB’s eyebrows bounce up. “You’re trying to apologize? Wow, you’re really terrible at this.”
His words smother my anger. It’s not even worth it to try to defend myself. He’s 100 percent right. My breath leaves my chest in a frustrated sigh. “I know,” I say. “But, Brendan, I’m sorry I started calling you BB. And I’m sorry it’s what the whole school’s called you for the past five years.”