Interim(61)

She watched Hannah from a distance pack her book bag then sling it over her shoulder. She was tempted to approach her right there in the middle of the crowded hallway. But when Hannah walked toward the women’s restroom, disappearing through the door, Regan knew it was a better place to talk. Privacy for whatever went down, and she knew it could be any number of unpleasant scenarios. She followed her inside.

Hannah stood at the sink washing her hands. She glanced at Regan and rolled her eyes.

“Hi,” Regan said.

No reply.

Regan dropped her book bag. “Okay. I deserve that.”

Again, no reply.

“But I need to ask you something, and that requires a response on your part,” Regan went on. “So are you gonna keep playing the mute, or are you going to answer me?”

Middle finger. Straight. Up.

“Soooo mature.”

A second middle finger.

Regan sighed and scratched her head.

“Get outta my way,” Hannah mumbled, and pushed past Regan for the door. Regan wheeled around.

“Stop right there!” she screamed.

Hannah froze, then slowly turned around. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Seriously. You’re a f*cking bitch to me for no reason.”

Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “Uhhh, seriously?”

“I’m nice to you! I’ve always been nice to you!”

The words conjured storm clouds that gathered and swirled in Hannah’s eyes. They obscured the bright blue of her irises.

Regan blushed. “I . . . I can’t help the way Casey treats you. I tell her to stop.”

When Hannah’s eyes grew darker, Regan searched frantically for something else to say.

“I can’t be held responsible for what my friends do!”

“You’re so f*cking pathetic.”

“I am not!”

The lightning flashed, and Regan counted the seconds, waiting in fear for the sound of imminent thunder. One, two, three, four . . . It rolled off Hannah’s tongue effortlessly—a controlled storm—shaking Regan to her core.

“You’re that girl who pretends to be good. You hang out with *s, but noooo, you’re not an *. You’re the good one, protesting halfheartedly every now and then when you see them making fun of someone. Like you did your good girl part—trying to convince yourself that you’re not really like them. You don’t have the guts to go it alone. It’s easier for you to be the pathetic popular one. A tag-along.” Hannah cocked her head. “That about right?”

It was perfectly right. What could she say? Do? The coward in her turned spiteful.

“You’re mad that I rejected you,” Regan hissed.

Hannah shook her head. “You really wanna go there with me?”

“It’s true! That’s what this is all about!”

“No, Regan. I’m not mad that you rejected me. I’m mad that you told Casey—making me out to be some psycho lesbo.”

“I didn’t make you out to be that! Casey just freaked.”

“You told her I assaulted you! What the f*ck? I never assaulted you! I just misread the signs!”

“I never told her that!”

But she wasn’t sure that was the truth. She couldn’t remember what she told Casey. She just remembered being freaked out and not having the age or experience to handle the situation in a mature way. Maybe she did. Maybe she exaggerated the whole thing which wouldn’t have been fair at all. It was a simple kiss. That’s it.

“You’re a liar,” Hannah said evenly.

“What do you want me to say, Hannah?” Regan replied. “I don’t remember how I told Casey. I wish to God I never told her in the first place. I didn’t know she’d be so mean to you.”

“Fine. I’ll buy all that bullshit. But what about now, Regan? Huh? You see the way she treats me. The way she treats other people. Why are you friends with her?”

“She’s been my best friend since kindergarten.”

“So what?”

“We’ve gone through a lot together.”

“So what?”

“She’s a good person underneath it all.”

Hannah threw her head back and laughed. “Are you insane?”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously. Have you gone insane?”

“Shut. Up.”