Interim(39)



Jeremy balled his hands into fists. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

The tardy bell rang.

Silence in the stairwell until Brandon finally spoke.

“Saved by the bell,” he sneered, patting Hannah’s cheek.

Jeremy said nothing.

Brandon climbed the stairs, and Hannah sighed relief.

“You okay?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. There was an edge to her voice.

“You sure?”

“I didn’t need your help,” she snapped.

Jeremy nodded. He understood. No one wants to feel weak, helpless, unable to defend herself. He felt the same way last year after Brandon attacked him at the bus stop. He still couldn’t figure out why Brandon’s BMW-driving ass was even at the bus stop. Whatever. He beat Jeremy to a pulp, and Hannah walked up to him afterwards to offer a hand. He resisted, yelled at her to leave, and she did without any hurt feelings. It was understood between victims that you don’t offer assistance. You pretend it didn’t happen.

Jeremy watched her leave. He had almost forgotten about Regan, who still hid below the stairs.

“You can come out now,” he called.

She emerged, a slew of emotions battling it out on her face.

He knew not to say it. But he was gonna f*cking say it.

“Congratulations.”

She was silent.

“You’ve got yourself a winner right there.”

“Shut up.”

“Hope the sex is worth it.”

He only said it for the reaction. He hoped as the words shot out of his mouth that she’d give him a good one. A fierce blush, hurled insult, maybe even a shove. He wanted to hurt her as she’d hurt him. He needed to see it on her face—those precious seconds of ripe, raw pain—before she hid it under a mask of composure.

Her face screwed up in confusion. The corners of her eyebrows drew closer together the longer she stood considering his words, like a seamstress was working on her slowly and carefully to make the stitch line up just so. He watched those brows, and then his eyes moved to hers. They were too dark, and he couldn’t read the message. Until she gave it to him.

“You’re supposed to be the good guy,” she said softly.

The words punctured his heart instantly, and he turned his face, unable to look at the girl awaiting an answer. He tried to conjure his anger once more to justify his comment. She deserved it. She deserved anything ugly he’d ever say to her. But he couldn’t make himself believe it, and so the anger remained hidden somewhere deep, letting embarrassment fill his heart to the brim instead.

He listened as she pushed through the door, and only turned in her direction when he knew she was safely out of view. He couldn’t let her see his face. He knew it betrayed his shame, and he wasn’t ready to apologize.

“She deserved it,” he muttered, waiting for the vigilante to agree.

You’re an *, it replied, and he was confused by the response.

***

“What?” Brandon asked, staring into his girlfriend’s eyes from across the lunch table.

“What?” Regan snapped back.

He paused, confused. “Uh, that’s what I asked you. You’re looking at me like you hate me. What the hell did I do?”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Regan replied curtly. She speared a carrot on her tray and shoved it in her mouth.

“Sooo,” Casey interjected. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to her best friend. “Did you guys see the new Brad Pitt movie?”

Brandon ignored her. “Wanna try again?” he asked Regan.

“What do you mean?” she replied between crunches.

“I don’t know, Regan. You put sparkles on your face, and suddenly you have an attitude with me all the time. I don’t get it.”

Regan delicately touched the side of her left eye that sported a few pink and purple jewels. Body jewelry. Eye art. Something she always loved but never wore because she knew Brandon would have something to say about it.

“You look ridiculous,” Brandon muttered, tearing open a small package of Saltines.

“I like them,” she replied, sitting up straight. The words were the perfect mixture of girl power and petulance.

“I know you do. I just don’t understand why. And I don’t understand why you’re wearing all these silly outfits lately. What are you trying to prove? What are you trying to tell me?”

S. Walden's Books