Interim(115)

They didn’t move.

“Fucking do what I say!” Regan screeched.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Mr. Walters yelled, throwing the bedroom door open.

“Dad, hello! We have rules in this house!” Regan cried.

“Don’t talk to me about rules when you’re about to referee a fistfight,” he said, noting Casey’s power stance.

“I’m trying to prevent it!” Regan argued.

Mr. Walters looked at Jeremy. “Really, Jer? You’re gonna go at it with a girl?”

Jeremy bristled. “No. I would never hit a girl.”

“Good. Gives me the advantage,” Casey said, and lunged for Jeremy again.

Regan held her back.

“Casey, sit down on that bed!” Mr. Walters demanded. “Right now! Jeremy, get in that chair!”

“We’re late for the movie . . .”

“NOW!”

The teens reluctantly took their seats.

Mr. Walters drew in his breath. “All right, then. We’ve got a best friend and a boyfriend who clearly hate each other. How do we make this work?”

“A schedule,” Casey said.

“I get Fridays and Saturdays,” Jeremy said.

“Those are prime days. You can’t have both prime days,” Casey argued.

“Oh, I think I can. You treated my girlfriend like shit for months on end. I think that warrants Fridays and Saturdays.”

“I apologized to your girlfriend.”

“Words meaning nothing.”

“They mean everything,” Regan reminded him.

For the first time in ages, he thought of his red notebook and all the words housed within the worn pages. He couldn’t argue with her. They meant everything.

“I want Fridays!” he heard Casey cry.

“All right, stop it!” Regan said. “This is ridiculous! Jeremy, you have every right to be mad at Casey. She’s done terrible things, but she’s owned up to them. She APOLOGIZED to you, and you don’t have to accept it, but don’t sit there saying her words mean nothing.”

“She has to show me,” he said bitterly.

“I can’t show you in one night!” Casey argued. “It’s gonna take a while.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait,” he said.

Silence.

Casey sighed. “Then can we, at least, come to a truce?”

Mr. Walters raised his eyebrow at Jeremy. Jeremy grunted.

“You’re not gonna go away, are you?” he asked.

“Never,” Casey replied. “I will never do that to my friend again. You’d have to put a bullet through my heart to keep me away.”

Jeremy tensed, tugging on his fingerless gloves. He saw Casey’s name fade from the list of targets. She wasn’t cleared, but she was definitely in limbo.

“Fine. Truce,” he mumbled.

A collective sigh filled the room.

“And I’ve got another one coming right after you,” Mr. Walters said to Regan.

“Caroline will be much worse,” Regan said.

“God . . .” Mr. Walters groaned.

“And anyway, this isn’t my drama,” Regan went on. “It’s all theirs.”

“I’m far from drama,” Jeremy muttered.

“You’re the best kind of drama,” Regan replied sweetly.

Mr. Walters grimaced. “Ugh. None of that, please. And boys shouldn’t even be in your room. Jeremy, get out of here.”

“Gladly.” He was more than happy to leave. Right now he preferred Caroline’s company.

“Bye, Jer,” Casey said to his back.

“Whatever.”

The girls were alone once more. They stared at each other—neither sure how or where to start.

“Soooo, what earrings do you think I should wear?” Regan asked after a moment.

“Let’s have a look,” Casey replied, strolling over to the wall of accessories.





~

The bullet casings don’t smack you in the head so much if you keep a firm grip on the handle. It’s all about control. Control the kickback. Kind of like life: if you have firm control over your life, the setbacks won’t be so bad. You can deal with them better. Instead of being all emotional about something, you can step back, look at it objectively, and figure out a solution. Like blowing people’s brains out. That’s a reasonable, unemotional solution to my setback—the setback of being bullied on a daily basis. I used to have no control over my feelings about being bullied. I used to cry all the time. But then I took control. I took hold of my life, and I set into motion the plans I wanted to. I taught myself how to control my emotions, and now I look at my plight as a small kickback. The casings still slap me in the head every once in a while, but now I know what to do about them. Cling harder to the gun—my resolve—and keep pulling the trigger.