If I'm Being Honest(37)

“I did know that, Bright,” she says and smiles.

Not the coy, catlike smile I get every time she’s decided I’ve said something overly honest or unintentionally incriminating. I’ve never gotten this smile—happy, real, even proud, possibly.

It lingers for only a moment before it catches a touch of humor. “Is that why you’re here?” she asks. “To inform me my brother knows his way around a joke? You could have told me that at school. Or would you be ashamed if your friends knew you and I are practically BFFs by now?”

“I’m not ashamed!” I protest. Paige opens her car door, throwing me an unconvinced glance, droll and tinged with something else, something like resignation. “Really!” I say. “I wouldn’t be.”

“Prove it, Bright,” she replies. I notice the inside of the car’s an abject mess. School books, gum wrappers, yerba maté cans, and actual CDs have collected in a chaotic pile on the passenger seat. I don’t know what I expected. “Hang out with me at the college fair tomorrow,” Paige says. “Everyone’s going to be there.”

“Are you asking me on a friend-date?”

Paige shrugs. “Are you accepting?”

I echo her nonchalance. “Why not?”

Paige closes the car door and starts the engine. She rolls down the window as she’s pulling out of the space. “Don’t stand me up,” she calls from the window, and winks. I roll my eyes in return and find I’m smiling. I shake my head.

Paige’s sense of humor is really growing on me.

I guess she’s got that in common with her brother.

In the parking lot I weigh whether to drive home. I have to redo a problem set I messed up in Econ, and I have to finish putting together my internship materials to submit to Human Resources tonight. But I drove thirty minutes out of my way to get to the bookstore, and I guess I had my heart set on hanging out here for a while.

But before I begin walking to the front of shop, the back door opens onto the parking lot. Hannah, in a Depths of Mordor T-shirt, comes out carrying a pile of empty cardboard boxes. She hauls them in the direction of the dumpster.

I don’t know if she doesn’t notice me or if she’s ignoring me. There’s a very good chance of either. The parking lot is empty, and even though I’d rather go inside and put this off, I can’t give up the opportunity to talk to her on her own. From what I can tell, Grant’s done admirably with my orders to avoid bothering Hannah with his constant flirtation. It’s time for me to begin my part.

“Hey, Hannah,” I say, schooling friendliness into my voice. Whatever I can do to earn her goodwill. “Can I help?”

Hannah doesn’t reply. I don’t know if she’s heard me. It’s hard to imagine she hasn’t—Fairfax isn’t that noisy, even with the distant thrum of hip-hop from a car window or sidewalk sale. Hannah hefts the cardboard boxes into the dumpster and slams the lid with more force than the job probably required.

“No,” she says harshly.

Well, I know she heard me. “Hannah,” I start gently, “I wanted to talk to you. I need to apologize—”

Hannah rounds on me, fury in her eyes. “Don’t, Cameron,” she utters. “Don’t. I know what you’re doing here. Paige explained you wanted to earn her forgiveness or whatever. If you’re about to apologize for hooking up with my boyfriend—don’t.”

No longer a rookie with apologies, I expected this. “I’m sorry, Hannah,” I press on. “I wanted you to know I’m sorry. I deserve your anger.”

“That’s just it,” Hannah replies. “You don’t. It’s Grant’s fault. Obviously, what you did was shitty. It was a thousand times worse coming from Grant, though.” Hannah runs a hand through her hair, releasing a frustrated sigh. “It’s his fault—and mine, for dating a worthless dirtbag like him in the first place.”

I wince. Worthless dirtbag. This is not going to be easy.

“He feels horrible, Hannah. If you—” I tentatively begin.

“Whoa,” Hannah interrupts me, her eyes finding mine again. They’ve lost none of their menace. “I don’t hold a grudge for what you did. But I definitely don’t want you giving me relationship advice. You’re not a good person,” she says. “I don’t care if you and Paige braid each other’s hair now or whatever. You and I will never be friends, and I will never want your opinion on Grant or me or anything.”

Without waiting for a reply, Hannah heads for the door. Not that I have anything to offer in my defense.

She swings the door shut with enough force to knock over the LOT FULL sign next to the entrance to the lot. I replace the sign upright. It’s tempting to follow Hannah inside just to needle her, but it wouldn’t further my agenda. I guess I’m going home after all. Walking to the curb, I hardly remember where I parked, a pair of thoughts completely consuming my head. One, I’m really getting tired of people reminding me how crappy a person I am.

Two, this “taming” is proving to be harder than I expected.





Eighteen



MOM IS ECSTATIC. SHE HAS A NEW job. Not just a job—an “opportunity,” she says in singsong whenever I’m near enough to hear her. She serves coffee in the Director’s Guild of America. She’s explained in the same slightly manic voice that she’s just certain Michael Bay or Christopher Nolan or whoever will come by to pick up his triple-shot Americano and notice her, his next leading lady.