Interim(119)

“Regan, that was an accident,” Brandon interrupted.

“I just can’t believe you, Brandon,” Regan said. “I won’t ever believe that was an accident.”

He looked at her helplessly.

“You could have been someone really awesome,” Regan went on. “But whatever hatred was inside of you ruined everything.”

Brandon scowled. “So what? Now you’re teaching me a lesson by dating that guy?”

“Dating Jer has nothing to do with you,” Regan replied calmly.

“He’s messed up, too, Regan. All you did was go from one messed-up guy to the next.” The words should have sounded malicious, but it almost seemed like Brandon was trying to warn her.

She drew in her breath. “We’re all messed up to a certain extent.”

“Oh, you’re so wise,” he said flippantly.

“Will you let me finish?”

He shrugged.

“We’re all messed up, but I know the difference between a good guy and a bad guy.”

Silence.

“I’m so bad, huh?” Brandon asked. “How about this? I’m the guy who’s submitting an anti-bullying policy to the student government next week.”

Again, big bug eyes. Brandon was encouraged.

“Yeah, that’s right. You think I’m such an *. Well, *s can have coming-to-Jesus moments, too, you know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

He reared back, shocked.

“Don’t do that. I don’t buy it,” Regan said. “Tell me right now. What’s in it for you?”

He dropped the false pretense and sneered, leaning in close to whisper in her ear.

“I get to be the hero.”

***

Ping!

There it went again, like a chime singing in the center of his heart. It started going off at random intervals that morning as he readied himself for school. It continued on his drive. It sped up when he saw his girlfriend waiting for him by his locker. It turned to frantic clanging when she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.

Joy. That elusive feeling. He remembered a long time ago lying in bed the night Regan visited with cupcakes, thinking he felt it warm his heart. He wasn’t certain then, but he knew he felt it now—like his heart finally mended after years of abuse, years of torment.

His father no longer posed a threat. The students didn’t seem to either. His life was changing, his purpose . . . changing. The opaque image of his future self no longer stood at the end of the hallway bearing a rifle in one hand, a pistol in the other. He stood empty-handed because he’d already laid down his weapons.

The mission he lived for turned futile—the clear, detailed plan confused by happiness. Happiness altered everything. It pushed the hair out of his eyes. It plastered a goofy grin on his face. It grew a confidence he never before possessed—a confidence he had to check on occasion. It was too easy to turn into a cocky * because he had the girl. He had a running car and a brand new snowboard and a future. He had a good life.

Oh, what the hell? He was gonna be an *. He thought he’d earned it after years of suffering at the hands of that buzz-headed douchebag.

He strolled down the hallway at a leisurely pace, well aware that Brandon was behind them, watching Jeremy’s arm hang comfortably over Regan’s shoulder. Her arm wrapped his lower back, and she leaned into him as she walked, using him like a crutch. A love crutch.

His chest swelled, adrenaline kicking into a higher gear. Not too fast. He could still control it, and he wanted what he planned next to be very controlled.

He swung his arm up—the arm draped over his girlfriend’s shoulder—lifting his hand in a right-turn signal. And then he lowered all his fingers but one—that one right there in the middle. It was no longer a right-turn signal, but it was a signal, sending a clear message: Fuck you, motherf*cker.

He lowered his hand to Regan’s upper back, slowly tracing the length of her spine with the offensive digit, making sure Brandon got a perfect view of his hand sliding snugly in the back pocket of her skinny jeans.

She squealed. “We’re at school!”

He grinned fiendishly and squeezed her bottom, then looked over his shoulder. Public Enemy No. 1 stood frozen to his spot, confusion twisting his hard features. His hands opened and closed into fists. His nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed with purpose, and Jeremy was certain he knew what that purpose was.