“I’m sorry I was a dick. I was ten,” he says dryly.
“Being ten is not an excuse.” My expression is stern. “There are many ten year olds in the world who are perfectly civil to each other. So why were you so mean to me? Was it because I was a tomboy? Because I was faster than you? Socioeconomic reasons? What?”
I almost ask if the size of my head was a factor, but if it was, I don’t want to know.
“None of the above,” Dean replies, maintaining eye contact as he spins his Zippo on the table. “I just really wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how.”
“You…what?” I stare at him in disbelief. “You threw bugs at me, and pushed me down because you wanted to be friends?”
He shakes his head. “I think you’re memory’s a little skewed. It didn’t happen like that.”
“You called me Fun Size.”
“You called me Gigantor.”
I suddenly burst out laughing, rocking back in my chair. “That’s right! I forgot about that.”
Dean silently watches me giggle. I’m caught up in memories of my tomboy years. I got along well with the gang of boys at the park—until he turned them against me. We used to play flag football, and it didn’t matter that I was a girl because I was faster than any of them. There used to be a group of girls who would come to watch the boys play, and giggle and cheer them on. They didn’t really care for me, and I didn’t have much in common with them. As I grew older, though, I found myself bonding with my own gender over a mutual enemy.
But Dean Youngblood wanted to be friends with me?! I’m both giddy and pissed. Man, I wish Jeannie or Sophie, or any of those other fake nice witches were here now so I could rub it in their pretty faces!
“You were my first kiss,” I say to Dean, smiling a little. “Remember that? What’s-her-face—Jeannie or Sophie—one of your fangirls? She dared me to kiss you—and you should have seen your face. You looked so horrified—that’s why I had to do it.”
Dean’s chuckle is a rusty pleasant sound. “Yeah, I remember,” he murmurs, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “You bit me.”
I feel only a little embarrassed. “This girl—someone told me that you’re supposed to bite the boy’s lower lip.”
He raises an eyebrow, starts to say something—then changes his mind. “Not usually, no,” he says after that short pause.
“Well, now I know that.” I look down at the flower pen in my hand, twirling it and running my finger along the silky petals. “Hey,” I begin hesitantly. “You know that day? I’ve always wanted to tell you…I’m sorry for the things I said. I didn’t mean it. I was just so…mad.”
“I know. I was, too.”
“Yeah, well…anyway…” I clear my throat, and look up. “Enough reminiscing. We’d better get cracking on our outline. What do you think about writing an alternate ending? Like, the end scene—when Juliet takes the potion. Okay, so Romeo is on his way to Juliet, ready to join her in death. On his way, he bumps into this chick standing by the side of the road, then—boom, he’s in love with her, and he’s like, ‘Juliet who?’ Then Juliet wakes up, and she’s like, ‘Where the hell is Romeo?’ We could call it ‘Romeo and Juliet…and Jessica.’”
I’ve gotten used to Dean’s short silences before he speaks, so I wait patiently for him to tell me how much my it sucks. He regards me with a speculative look.
“You don’t think Romeo really loved Juliet?”
I’m surprised by his question. So not what I thought he was going to say. “Yeah—for, like, five minutes. He was obsessed with Rosaline—then he sees Juliet, and it’s insta-love. He goes from one to the other—just like that. That’s not love, that’s infatuation,” I declare, flicking the pen between my fingers. It goes flying across the table, and lands in the chair across from me. Sucker got away from me.
Dean cocks his head to the side, considering. “You think you know the difference?”
Do my ears detect a note of condescension in his voice? “I think I do,” I say sharply. “Do you?”
“I think people mistake one for the other all the time,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why does that feel like a personal jab rather than a generalization?”
He shrugs. “Paranoia?”
“You mean me and Johnny,” I accuse.
“Why would I?” He seems faintly surprised. “That’s none of my business.”
I feel both defensive and embarrassed. “Yeah, it’s not. Why are we even talking about this?”
“You brought it up.”
I’m about to snap out a reply, but then I stop, thinking. I suck in my lower lip before blowing out a breath. “Yeah, I did,” I admit, annoyed at myself. “Look, let’s just stay on topic here. The outline is due Friday, and we don’t have anything. I think we should go with the courtroom drama. It could be so fun.”
“No,” he says, but softens the reply with that hint of a smile. He pushes back his chair, and starts to stand.
“Wait, are you leaving? Dean, we need to come up with an idea!”
But he’s already putting on his jacket. “I have to go,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow at lunch.”
I follow him out of the room, exasperated. “But you always go out to eat.”
“Yeah—come with me.”
He says it so casually, that I fight not to show my shock. “To eat lunch? With you?” I say stupidly.
“Yeah—unless you have something against lunch. Or me.”
Ha, yes, I remember the first time he tried to take me out to lunch. “Well I have to eat, you have to eat—we might as well eat together,” I say, smirking when he turns around to look at me. “Go out through this door. It leads right to the parking lot.”
Dean twists the metal handle on the door, and holds it half open with one hand braced against it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says with a nod.
“Sure, great.”
“Yeah, well, try not to hurt yourself with all that enthusiasm,” he deadpans.
“Oh, no, I’m doing cartwheels inside,” I say, feeling it my duty to give him crap. “Lunch with Dean Youngblood. Woo.”
He gives me a half-amused, half-annoyed look in return. Shaking his head, he pushes the door open, and walks out into the parking lot.
Wow. I can’t believe that the boy who made me cry on numerous occasions did it because he was too socially challenged to know how to make friends. I can’t reconcile this revelation with that difficult part of my childhood—and I don’t know how to feel about that. I guess it makes me feel better. The big jerk tormented me because he liked me—not because I was a weird tomboy with a big head. Why didn’t he ever say anything? Not that I would ever tell him about the very small crush I might have had on him back then. Sick, I know, crushing on my bully like that. But I was ten, and he was so cute with his floppy black hair and lanky build. So cute.
I walk out to chaos. Two girls around my age are babbling hysterically at Leila, who has her phone pressed to her ear, and a panicked look on her face.
“What’s going on?” I say quickly, rushing over to her.
“A couple of the boys got into a fight on the courts—now it’s turned into a big brawl. Mom went out there to break it up,” Leila says rapidly. Her eyes are wide in fear. “Should I call the police?”
I whirl around and run back into the hallway, hoping I can catch Dean before he leaves. I crash into the door, and it flies open, spilling me into the parking lot. The glow of the lamplights help me find Dean fairly quickly, since he’s straddling a sleek black motorcycle right under one of them.
I run toward him. “Dean!”
His head comes up sharply. He dismounts and walks toward me with his long-legged stride.
“What’s wrong?” he asks roughly, quickly evaluating the worry on my face.
“There’s a fight,” I say breathlessly. “Kathy—my boss—she’s trying to stop them. She might get hurt.”
“Where?”
> “The courts.”
I point in the direction, and Dean takes off, incredibly fast and sure. I’m right on his heels until I’m taken out by a post. Like I said, I have bad night vision. People should be very grateful I choose not to drive at night.
By the time I come limping around the corner, it’s mostly over. Kids are standing in tight semi-circle, surrounding Dean and two other boys. Dean’s gripping one boy—just a couple of inches shorter than himself—by the collar. The other guy, a wiry little scrapper, is Roderick—a regular on the courts. He keeps nervously dancing forward, and ramming into Dean’s outstretched hand each time. Even I can tell it’s just for show. His gaze shifts manically around the cheering crowd. Why do guys encourage fights like that? Savages.
The bigger guy tries to lunge for Rod, but Dean hauls him back, and shakes him like he’s a bad little puppy.
“Back off,” Dean snaps. Rod struts forward—and goes flying when Dean shoves him away.
“We called the cops!” I announce as loudly as I can, trying to sound authoritative.
“Oh, shit!” The crowd shouts gleefully, and boys start scattering like leaves blowing in a gust of wind.
Rod takes off like a startled rabbit. He neatly avoids Kathy—who seems to think she can catch him with her outstretched arms. To do what with him, I really don’t know. The other boy Dean is restraining twists free and books it in the other direction.
“You guys are banned for the rest of the year!” she calls after them.
“Are you okay?” I limp up to my boss, scanning her for any signs of injuries. She just looks kind of pissed. Her short red hair isn’t even ruffled.
“Oh, I’m alright,” she huffs, glaring after the boys. “Those hooligans. I know Rod, but do you recognize that other boy? He instigated the whole thing. I think they were fighting over a girl.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around here before.”
“Well, I hope he doesn’t come back.”
Kathy turns to Dean, who is standing there like he wishes he were somewhere else. Her face relaxes into a warm smile. “Thank you so much for your help! It could have gotten ugly real quick if you hadn’t been here.”
“Glad I could help, ma’am,” he replies with a stiff nod, ignoring my snickers. He sounds like a cowboy in an old western.
I introduce Dean as Johnny’s stepbrother , and Kathy is super excited and gushy—but not in a creepy cougar way. Her enthusiasm seems to bother Dean, and he politely makes his excuses and leaves.
Shortly after, Leila comes running out, clutching her phone in her hand like a weapon. “The police are on their way!” she gasps. Then she looks around, noticing the lack of melee. “What happened?”
“Dean broke it up,” I tell her distractedly. Distantly, I hear the distinct revving sound of a motorcycle.
“Oh, my god! Thank goodness. Are you guys okay?”
Actually, no. That post got me good. I think I have to throw up, or something. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I realize how badly my knee hurts. I leave Kathy and Leila to deal with the police—I just want to go home, take a long shower, and contemplate tonight’s events.
Dean surprised me. I’m not sure what I expected him to do, though. Johnny would have stopped those guys by knocking them both out. Dean is…controlled. I could see the violence in his eyes, but unlike Johnny, he had a handle on it.
It’s funny how the two are opposite in so many ways, but get along as well as they do. They’re an unstoppable force on the football field. Parker and Youngblood, the hometown heroes. I can see them having their own reality show, and fans would make sly comments about their chemistry-filled bromance.
Standing under the hot spray of the shower, I suddenly realize I didn’t thank Dean. Should I text him? No, I’ll see him in school tomorrow. Anyway, I don’t have his number. It’s not like we’re friends—and I’m still not entirely convinced he’s not a robot.
Friends with Dean Youngblood. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.
******
Chapter 16
What could be more awkward than going to lunch with your childhood bully? Why, having your ex-boyfriend tag along with the both of you, of course.
I meet Dean outside of the cafeteria, and Johnny just happens to be with him. They stand next to each other, opposites in almost every way—yet both equally infuriating. I don’t know if it would be better or worse to have Johnny there, but it’s not like I’m given a choice in the matter. I climb into the backseat, even though it would have been funny to watch Dean try to squeeze his 6’ 3” frame into the tiny space.
Johnny is still Mr. Politeness. During the five minute drive to the restaurant, he chats with Dean about improving his mileage while I stare out the window, feeling like a giant third wheel. I remember when I used to be the one sitting in the passenger seat next to Johnny, monopolizing all of his attention.
Ha. Am I really jealous of Dean right now? Well, he is prettier than me.
Wimpy Pete’s is a dumpy, slightly greasy burger joint—the kind of place where you don’t want to touch the menus with your bare hands, but you know the food’s going to be delicious. If that mouthwatering meat and onions aroma is any indication, that is.
The twenty-something waitress greets Dean and Johnny like a starving woman would greet prime rib. Most of her black hair is covered by a bright blue kerchief, retro-style, and her skin is about as porcelain as you can get without being a toilet. Bad comparison. She’s very pretty in a hip chick kinda way.
When she’s done gushing over the guys, she spots me lingering slightly behind them, and her eyes grow big.
“Oh, my gosh!” she exclaims very loudly. “Is this your little sister? She is the cutest little thing—like a perfect little doll!”
Johnny and Dean smirk at each other while Hip Chick calls someone named Linda to come out and look at how adorable I am. Linda, an older woman with lots and lots of blonde hair piled in a gravity-defying bun, lumbers out from the kitchen. Both women exclaim over me while I momentarily forget I’m not twelve, and smile and blush at their compliments. Some days, you have to take what you can get.
Hip Chick leads us to a booth in the back—but not before asking me if I need a booster seat, and laughing lustily at her own wit. Along the way, the guys are stopped a couple of times by people who recognize them. Johnny and Dean are big deals around here, you know. When we used to go out, Johnny would get approached at least once by a football fan, and he’d always be so nice about it. Of course, afterwards, I’d have to slap him around a little—just to put him back in his place. It’s real easy for the ego to get crazy out of control when people worship at your feet like that.
Just kidding. I never hit him. Hard. I mean, at all.
A dilemma. We get to the booth, and Dean takes one side, and Johnny slides into the other. I don’t know the rules for situations like these—I’ve never hung out with any of my ex-boyfriends after the relationship ended. Would it be weird to sit next to Johnny now? Is it a little too late for me to be observing the ex protocol after what happened at Mack’s? Stupid girl. Oh, I don’t care about the weirdness—I want to piss him off.
I start lowering my butt towards Johnny—straighten—then lower again—then abruptly ram Dean’s shoulder with the side of my body, forcing him to move down. I sink awkwardly down in the seat while Johnny pins me with his intense blue-eyed stare. He is pissed that I’m not sitting next to him, though he’s trying to hide it.
Both boys order the Chubby Burger and fries. The picture looks good on the menu, so I decide to get one, too—though I doubt we’ll have a chance to eat all of it. We’ve got thirty two minutes to be back at school—and I don’t plan on going back late and getting in trouble.
After we order, I clear my throat and try to turn to Dean. I wish the booth wasn’t so small, or he wasn’t so big—I’m at the edge of the bench to avoid touching him while he has one arm resting along the top of the bench in back of me.
“
So I was thinking last night,” I begin. “I really want to do the Capulets and Montagues versus Friar Lawrence. There’s so much we could do with it. I guarantee we’d get an A.”
“You’re wasting your breath, Teeny,” Johnny says with a chuckle. “If it involves acting, Dean won’t do it.”
Dean squints his light-filled iridescent eyes at him. “Never say never,” he says quietly.
I look at him, all excited. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
“No.”
Johnny chuckles at my crestfallen expression. “Ah, no, here comes the ‘I’m-so-cute-how-can-you-say-no-to-this-look.’ Look away, Dean. Look away.”
Instead, Dean turns to me amused. “You think that’s going to work on me?”
I turn the big eyes on him. “I hear guilt is always a good motivator.”
He smirks down at me. “Really?”
Johnny is looking back and forth between the two of us, puzzled. “Guilt?” he repeats, eyebrows raised. There’s just a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
I hesitate for a few seconds. I guess I’d better come clean before he gets the wrong idea. Without looking at Dean, I quickly explain some of our shared history to Johnny. As I talk, he looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh, or be angry on my behalf.
He leans back in his seat, shaking his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Yeah, Dean,” I say accusingly, cutting my eyes toward him. He stares heavenward, barely repressing a sigh.
“Yeah, Dean,” Johnny repeats with a grin. “Bullying a sweet little girl like Teeny? Dude, you should be ashamed.”
“Do I look proud?” Dean is completely expressionless. “I was ten,” he emphasizes.
“That’s no excuse.” Johnny snorts. “Lots of ten year olds out there don’t act like dicks.”
“That’s what I said.” I point at Johnny triumphantly.
Our food arrives, for which I’m grateful—mostly because I’m starving. And a little bit because I feel kind of bad for Dean. Johnny has this elated look on his face…I know that look. He’s going to give Dean a hard time about this. I should have kept my mouth shut.
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