Interim(107)

“No no. I’ll be happy just to harm myself,” Jeremy replied.

They burst out laughing.

“Dude, your life is like a TV show,” Hannah said. “Shit like this does not happen to normal people.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Talk about sucking hard,” Hannah went on.

Jeremy glanced at her and grinned. “We’ve established that my life is awful.”

She laughed, then grew quiet.

They crunched in silence, every now and then making observations about the instruments in the room.

“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time your dad came at you,” Hannah said, eyeing him curiously.

“Not even close.”

“Why’d you never tell me?”

“Because we don’t talk about stuff like that,” Jeremy replied. “You said so yourself.”

Hannah nodded.

“He give you that scar?”

“Yep.”

“Why did he beat you?”

“Because he was angry and sad.”

“About?”

“Getting hurt on the job. Not being able to work. Mom leaving. Lots of stuff.”

“So you got it on both ends,” Hannah said. “At school and at home.”

Jeremy nodded.

“You were pumping iron for your dad, weren’t you?” Hannah said, realization dawning. “Didn’t really have anything to do with these jokers at school.”

Jeremy was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, it was mostly for my dad.”

“Those bench presses probably saved your life,” she pointed out.

He never considered that. After all, he wielded a bat. The bat was the weapon. But he never considered the strength behind that bat—the strength that came from pounding protein and push presses.

“I’m glad you decided to get in shape,” Hannah whispered, trying for a joke, but she couldn’t mask her sincerity.

“It wasn’t only that,” Jeremy confessed.

“Huh?”

“When I was lying there under my dad getting the shit beat out of me, I really thought I was gonna die. I would have died if it weren’t for you.”

Hannah tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“You spoke to me,” Jeremy replied. “You told me to fight.” He paused and grinned. “Actually it was more like ‘Get the f*ck up and fight!’”

Hannah shifted uncomfortably.

“It wasn’t only my strength. I . . . I would have never found the last of it if you didn’t tell me. If you didn’t believe in me. If you didn’t remind me where I put my bat.”

Hannah turned her face and wiped inconspicuously at a tear.

“You saved my life,” Jeremy said.

“I did, huh?” she asked, facing the wall.

“Mmhmm.”

Pause.

“Then I guess you owe me a ‘thank you,’” Hannah croaked.

Jeremy laughed and stood up, balling the chip bag in his fist.

“Thank you, Hannah.”

He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. She hung her head.

“You can’t hide out in here anymore,” he said. “You have to start eating lunch with me again.”

“Jer . . .”

“I’ll use the I-killed-my-dad card on you all day long,” he replied.

Pause.

“I need you,” he whispered. “Please?”

Hannah exhaled a frustrated sigh. “Fine.”

He still held her hand. It felt natural to pull her close until her face rested against his chest. Her arms encircled his waist, and they stood hugging each other in a perfectly awkward embrace. His sister, he thought, in another, better world.

“I’m only eating with you because you’re my friend,” she mumbled into his chest.

“That’s good enough for me,” he replied.

***

Regan stole glances at the cafeteria door. She’d given Jeremy space all morning. She thought he’d, at least, eat lunch with her.

The heat built to a small fire of shame that played about her cheeks. She was embarrassed to eat alone. She was embarrassed to be alone. She searched the lunchroom. Not there. Neither was Hannah.

The realization didn’t slap her in the face. It was a quiet kind of truth that rose up slowly in her heart like the water level in a pool after a slow, steady rainstorm—soft and full. Too full. She wasn’t even angry about it—that he preferred to be with Hannah over her. She just accepted it, letting her heart drown in too-deep water. It was salty from her tears. She watched them plop one by one onto her sandwich, turning it mushy and inedible.