Not If I See You First(65)

“That’s the point, Parker. Nobody’s in love with anybody in this story. And that’s how it’s going to stay. Understand?”

“We get it,” Sarah says.

“I don’t get it. Is this real or bullshit? Is there really a Frank or are you screwing with us?”

Sarah puts her hand on my wrist.

“Oh, it’s real, I promise you,” Trish says, her voice closer. “His name’s really—well, it’s Francis—Frank’s just a nickname—but it’s his middle name—not many people know it.”

My skin tightens down my neck and I finally see what Sarah must have figured out long ago, that Trish is talking about Scott Francis Kilpatrick. I know his middle name of course, it just seldom came up unless I was teasing him.

“Get it now, Bibi?”

“I’m Bibi?” My muscles clench, remembering the beer bottle. “That’s a made-up name for me?”

“It’s not a name… Oh, you mean like Bibi? No, it’s B.B., like BB gun. They’re initials. Your initials. The second B stands for Bitch. I’ll let you figure out what the first B stands for, and it doesn’t have the word fold in it.”

She stands up suddenly and Sarah’s hand twitches.

“You had your chance but it’s over. Scotty doesn’t want anything to do with you but he’s too nice to just come out and tell you himself. That’s not a problem for me, so here we are, me telling you to leave him the hell alone. And now we’re done.”

She stomps away.

“You okay?” Sarah asks.

Not okay. Not okay at all. Getting dizzy. I fumble in my bag for my phone. When I find it I hold it out because my hands are shaking and I want a fast answer.

“Text him for me. Are you friends with Trish? Just that.”

“Aren’t you going to see him in a few minutes anyway, in Trig?”

I wiggle the phone and try to keep my voice steady. “Please?”

She takes it. I hear the swoosh as the text goes out.

“I’m glad she wasn’t drinking a beer,” I say.

“Huh?”

“It’s not a weapon I want to be on the receiving end of.”

Keep the banter up. That’s how to keep it together. Hang on, just see what Scott says. Maybe Trish is full of shit.

“Looks like I have a new nickname.”

“Was she really calling you a…?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Blind Bitch.”

“Jesus.”

“Bibi… B.B. You know, I think I like it—”

“No! You don’t! And… well… even if you do, if anyone calls you that again, I’ll start carrying a beer bottle!”

I try to smile but can’t manage more than a wince. My denial barrier is stretching thinner by the second. Trish couldn’t have said all those things without knowing Scott really well— Bzzz.

“He says, Yeah. She talk to you?”

I don’t know how to start breathing again without making noise, noise that would trigger a lot of other noises I don’t want to make, not here in the Junior Quad… not again…

I put my forehead down on the rough wooden table.

“God, Parker… are you okay?”

Sarah puts her arm around my shoulders.

I swallow and clear my throat and somehow manage to get words out.

“Hug me later, okay? I… I can’t… not now.”

She pulls her arm away but takes my hand; I grab on tight.

Maybe I don’t know Scott anymore… sending this stranger to tell me this…

Bzzz bzzz bzzz…

“He’s calling.”

“Turn it off.”

It stops.

“I’m sorry, Parker.”

“It’s fine.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It is fine. A week ago I didn’t want to talk to him either. Now we’re even.”

Silence.

“What are you going to do?”

“Same things I always do.”

“I mean, in ten minutes you’re going to be sitting by him.”

“Not that I’ll be able to see.”





TWENTY-SIX


Despite feeling wretched I can’t help being a little proud of myself. I’m dying inside but on the outside I’m putting on a pretty good show. I keep telling myself what I told Sarah ten minutes ago: I didn’t want him or trust him until recently so I don’t have far to backtrack. I’m confident our mutual silence will resume and we won’t be making any scenes.

“Pop quiz,” I say when a silence comes that I fear might lead to something serious. “Tell me the sine, cosine, tangent formulas.”

“Okay,” D.B. says. “Sine is opposite over hypotenuse, cosine is adjacent over hypotenuse, and tangent is opposite over adjacent.”

“Hundred percent!” I say. “A-plus!”

“The hippies deserve some of the credit,” he says.

“They deserve none!” I’m thinking bluster could get me through the day. “The victory is all yours. And you get a gold star for saying the word hypotenuse instead of slanty side.”