Interim(96)

“Ditto,” he said, then wished immediately that he could take it back.

She laughed. “You’re such a guy.”

“And you’re such a girl.” He grinned at her. “And I’m glad for it.”

Long after she left, he stood staring at his Camaro. All along he wanted it running so that he could run away. That had been the plan from Day 1. Now his motivation changed. He needed a working car to take his girl out on a date.





~

Let’s talk hypotheticals. IF I decided to nix my current plan, how do I ensure that the evil ones get what they deserve? My biggest fear is that I do nothing, allowing them the opportunity to victimize more people. I can’t have that on my conscience. Plus, I made a promise to them. I made a promise to the ones enduring the abuse now, and I made a promise to all the ones who would have endured it in the future. I can’t abandon them. That would, in essence, make me a bully. So what are my alternatives?

~





The shift happened naturally. After her breakdown at the garage and subsequent kiss, life moved effortlessly. She didn’t care about her old one. She cared about rediscovering her old-old life—the one that came before she conformed. The one that defined her as someone real, happy, and special before she lost her identity to popularity. She couldn’t regret the wasted years of high school. She wouldn’t. She chalked them up to a learning experience, tucked all the memories in her heart, and swept some of the darker ones into that forgotten corner. Soon, she really would forget.

She held hands with him at school. The reactions were over the top—obnoxious gasps and wicked whispers. The stuff that fuels gossip which, in turn, fuels mistruths.

Bring it on, she thought, allowing the defiance to register on her face as she walked the halls. She scowled at them. She smiled at him.

Took a while for the gossip to subside about her freak-out—the fact that she threatened another student’s life. Her suspension from school and soccer was becoming old news by now, but her budding romance reheated the flames. Little bonfires of students dotted the hallways, talking shit, making jokes—flames flying high at the sound of their cackles.

Jeremy tugged on his hand. She wouldn’t let go.

“It’ll die down,” she said. “And anyway, what do we care?”

“I liked being in the shadows,” he said softly.

“Lost in the shadows?” she joked.

He furrowed his brows.

“Dude, my shirt!” she said, jabbing a thumb into her chest.

He looked at her chest—didn’t need an invitation—and read “The Lost Boys” aloud.

He chuckled. “I only get it because I watched the movie with you. And you’re a dork, by the way.”

He’d never teased her like that, by calling her a name. He wasn’t sure he should, having experienced being on the receiving end of countless humiliating names over the years. He opened his mouth to apologize.

“Hey, you’re dating me. What’s that say about you?” she said, linking her arm with his.

It was a strange reality, and he rather liked it. A lot. Too much, if he were being honest, and he wondered how he could blast it all away come spring. He shook his head to rid the thought, but there he stood in the distance—an opaque future version of himself—firing the weapons that would destroy his world.

“Their world,” he mumbled insolently. “Not mine.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Are you talking to yourself again?” Regan asked.

He looked down at his brand new, smoking hot girlfriend and smiled sheepishly. And then he shrugged.

“God, Jeremy, stop that! A shrug is not an answer.”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer either.”

“Did I say something out loud?”

“Uh, yeah. You said ‘their world, not mine.’ What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, for God’s sake . . .”

Every now and then she caught him talking to himself. She didn’t think it particularly odd. She talked to herself, too, especially in the midst of problem-solving. Perhaps that’s what he was doing, but his unintentional words still bothered her the tiniest bit because she wasn’t invited to share in them. Okay, truth. She was dying to get inside his brain—to run around maniacally, gather all his thoughts like a crazed collector and trap them in jars she’d line up on her dresser.