Aftermath(65)

He checks the microwave clock.

“You can spare two minutes to tell me what’s going on, Jasser.”

“She’s being hassled, and she’s being blamed for it.”

“Blamed for being hassled?” His mother straightens to her full five foot two. “That is unacceptable. Even to suggest that someone is responsible for being bullied —”

“They don’t think she is being bullied. They think she’s making stuff up for attention.”

“It’s that VP, isn’t it? Mr. Vaughn. I don’t know what’s happening in his personal life, but lately he seems to view his job as an inconvenience. I tried to talk to him about your attendance record, and he made excuses for you.”

“Okay, but —”

“Accusing Skye of orchestrating a campaign of bullying against herself is preposterous. It’s an excuse for the school not to dig deeper. I presume Mae is handling it.”

“She’s siding with Vaughn.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what’s going on there. Maybe she’s just confused. Skye’s upset, though, and I want to get her out of the house for a while.”

His mother nods. “Good idea. If you’d like me to talk to her aunt —”

“Mom? No.”

“I just want —”

“You want to help. I know. If things reach that point, then sure. But for now, just let us handle it, okay? We’ll ask for help if we need it.”

When he checks the clock again, she says, “Go. Take my car. Just be home by eleven, please.”

Skye

I hate sneaking off on Mae. It feels childish. It was different when I was a child and I snuck out as a lark. That was innocent stuff, only going as far as the corner store to get a candy bar. Those bars tasted of bravery. Today’s escape tastes of cowardice.

Except it isn’t cowardice as much as exhaustion. I’m too tired to fight with Mae. I’m hungry, and I want to flee this bitterly cold condo and hang out with a friend.

I start a playlist on my laptop, keeping it low enough that Mae won’t think I’m trying to piss her off. Then I bunch up my comforter so if she glances inside, it’ll seem like I’ve gone to sleep. Finally, I leave a note. Gone for dinner with Jesse. Back by eleven.

Escaping the condo isn’t a problem. Mae’s in her office with the door shut. When I’m in Jesse’s car, I say, “Pizza?”

He turns a corner. “I was thinking since you found that option less than nutritionally sound, we should just abandon all pretense and eat…”

He points to a sign ahead, and I laugh.

“Yes?” he says.

“Please.”

We’re waiting in line at the Creamery.

“You’re getting frozen yogurt, aren’t you?” I say. “With fresh strawberries.”

“Hell, no. I’ve changed, I eat far worse now.”

“Uh-huh. So, strawberry sauce instead?”

“Ha-ha. Nope, I am getting a milkshake. With” – his hand sweeps the candy jars – “all of that.”

“Uh-huh.”

We get up to the counter. I place my order. It takes a moment for the clerk to stop gaping as Jesse snickers behind me. Then she says, “I, uh, don’t think we can put gummy bears in a shake.”

“The blender chops them up. It’s fine. But I’ll need a spoon.” I turn to Jesse. “And he’ll have…”

“A milkshake with…” He’s looking up and down those candy jars, with an expression of mild panic, as if realizing his folly.

“May I?” I ask.

He exhales softly. “Sure.”

I turn to the clerk. “He’ll have a shake with frozen vanilla yogurt and peanuts. Oh, also chocolate-covered peanuts. And peanut butter.”

When we head for a seat, he says, “Apparently, I really like peanuts.”

“It’s for protein.”

“And I need protein because?”

“Because I saw you run.”

He stiffens, just a little, and stops unwrapping his straw.

I continue. “I saw your face. You love running. It’s the crap that came with it that you hate. I don’t want to see you throw out the baby with the bathwater.”

“I’ve never understood what that means.”

“It’s a stupid idiom but a fine sentiment. If you’re cleaning up your life, get rid of the crap, not the good stuff. Quit the track team. Keep running. Maybe train for a half marathon. I could do it too, and then you’d be guaranteed to beat at least one person.”

He laughs. Then he bumps his milkshake against mine, like a toast.

“Missed you,” he says.

“I know.”

He laughs again and leans over the table. “But if I keep running, you have to do something too.”

“Cheer you on?”

“That goes without saying. But you also need to write me a story.” He puts his straw in. “That’s the deal. You can make it about me running.”

“From a bear?”

“Only if I escape.”

“You won’t need to, I’ll rescue you.”

“Awesome.”