by Kai Strand
I open my mouth to deny her claim, or make some sort of excuse for her, but a tear escapes her eye and rolls down her face into her hairline. A single tear that is somehow filled with more despair than I’ve ever seen in one place before.
“Everything in my life is about self-gratification.”
Cyn is whispering, but her words hit me physically. Their pain stabs me like I’ve just belly flopped onto a bed of nails.
“It’s like I’m trying to give myself the attention my parents don’t,” Cyn continues. She glances sideways, giving me an ironic smile. “My counselor helped me figure that one out.” Returning her gaze to the ceiling, or to the past, she chokes on her next words. “But when I lost it and beat Rick, I was…that was…”
Another tear escapes and I take her hand, wrapping mine around it and letting them sit together in her lap next to the remote she still holds with her other hand. Her hand feels small. Childlike. But her grip is strong.
Finally, she finishes her thought. “I lost my temper. I snatched my baton off the wall.” She chuckles humorlessly. “I haven’t touched that thing since sixth grade, but it has been hanging there mocking me ever since. I swung and swung and swung. It’s hard to imagine that I could get enough force behind my swing to hurt someone as big as Rick.”
She sighs deeply, her breath catching. Stuttering.
“But it was like I wasn’t myself. It was like I was watching a movie. You know how the girls in movies always kick major ass and we’re suspicious of how strong they seem to be?”
I nod, though I don’t think she’s looking for confirmation.
“That’s what it seemed like. Almost out of body, though I could feel the muscles in my arms crying out with each strike.”
Cyn raises our joined hands and studies them before continuing.
“Rick just took it. He tried to defend himself, but he didn’t strike back or anything. I think that’s what I feel the worst about. At the time I wanted so badly for him to hit me, so I could be justified in my actions. He never once…”
A sob breaks free. I shift closer, so I can wrap my arms around her. She presses her forehead against my neck and cries, her tears and breath hot on my skin. I want to ask her what she was so mad about. How she got her bruises. But instinct tells me to just let her talk.
“I was so mad. So, fucking pissed that he wouldn’t hit me. I knew that my fury was unrealistic, unwarranted, but it drove me. I snatched his keys off my dresser and ran. Out of the room. Out of the house.”
I’m glad she can’t see my frown. I don’t want her to feel judged, but hearing about her desperation that night worries me. Even though I know she’s getting help for it now.
The vibration of Cyn’s voice against my chest is soothing even if her words aren’t. “He caught me as I sprinted across the lawn. He grabbed my elbow and I spun around, falling onto my butt. He was telling me to stop and pleading with me to calm down. I just got madder. I kicked him in the chin. He fell backward. I think he might have been unconscious for a bit, because I had enough time to get to his car and get it started. He jumped into the passenger seat as I sped away. I almost drove onto the neighbor’s lawn when I tried to push him back out the door. The whole time I was driving we were hitting and slapping. I can’t believe I didn’t crash.”
“Where were you going?”
Cyn shrugs. “I don’t know that I actually thought it through, but I wanted to get to you. And away from him. Or maybe I was trying to get away from myself. I wasn’t really thinking.”
Tears plaster her hair to her cheek. I sweep it away and tuck it behind her ear. She snakes her arm across me and hugs my waist, so I grip her tighter.
“I almost drove the car through the big glass front of the hotel. I remember the image of exploding glass flashing through my mind and liking the idea. Luckily, I slammed on the brakes at the last minute. I jumped out of the car and sprinted toward the bellhop holding the door open. When I think back to that moment, I realize there was all sorts of commotion. Everybody was yelling at me. But at the time I was completely focused on getting into the dance.”
Even though the ballroom was far from the front lobby of the hotel, I’m still surprised I didn’t hear anything.
“Rick caught me again in the lobby.” Cyn chuckles dryly. “He tackled me. Literally. I slammed into the ground hard and he slammed on top of me. It hurt. I wish it would have knocked me out, but instead it just fired me up even more. I squirmed, thrashed, kicked. I must have looked possessed. I’m pretty sure one of my heels caught his sensitive bits because he suddenly rolled off me practically in tears. I got up and ran again. Following the signs through the hotel toward the dance. People were scrambling out of my way. Rick yelled, “Get her!” from behind me, and a man caught my arm and slammed me against the wall. I kneed him in the groin and kept going.”
“Oh my god,” I breathe.
“Yeah, I was totally out of control.” Her body relaxes, as if the worst of the story has been told. “Someone must have called the cops. They came in right when Rick tackled me a second time. That’s why they cuffed him. They thought he was the aggressor.
“I somehow wormed my way onto my back and tried to scratch his eyes out. He was trying to pin my arms and legs at the same time.” She sighs and squeezes me a little tighter. “I think he was afraid of hurting me.”
Thinking out loud, I whisper, “You must have gotten away again. The cops didn’t catch you until after you made it into the dance.”
Cyn laughs. “Yep. When the cops showed up, they yelled freeze or something like that. Rick immediately rolled off me and put his hands in the air. I bolted. Hendrix McCoy and Irma Bleven were still working the table in front of the dance when I came running up, cops in pursuit. Hendrix actually tried to stop me from going by. He’s got bigger balls than I would have guessed. You saw me.” Cyn lifts her head enough to make eye contact. I offer a sad smile. “I was terrifying.”
She tucks her head against my shoulder again and I sweep her hair behind her ear once more.
“You know the rest.”
“Well, not quite. I didn’t come in until you were being cuffed.”
“Hasn’t anyone told you?” Cyn sits up to study me.
I shake my head. “I’m not really hanging with the same people.”
Cyn’s gaze jumps from me to somewhere over my shoulder to the upper right corner of the room. I can almost see the images of the last few weeks of school playing out in her mind’s eye.
I shake my head again. “I was avoiding Jay, really.”
“Crap, Lola. I didn’t even think how this would impact you. Well, beyond the fact that we haven’t been able to spend any time together.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s no big deal. I think I’m the one doing the avoiding. I just haven’t…with everything, you know Rome, Jay, you…I just…nothing’s the same.” In my mind I add Rod and Mr. Whitman to the list and suddenly I feel exhausted.
“Still…” Cyn starts.
But I interrupt. “No. Don’t even try to take this on and add it to your pile of crap. This isn’t on you. There isn’t really even any this to add. I’ve had a lot happen in my life and I’m adjusting. It’s that simple.”
As I take Cyn’s hand and she retrieves the remote, I wonder if anything is ever simple or if we left that possibility behind when we hit puberty.
“Well, I didn’t do anything that I hadn’t already been doing. You know ranting, cursing, flailing,” Cyn continues. “The biggest difference is I was doing it in front of the student body. Then that man I kneed in the groin ran into the room, yelling about how he wanted to press assault charges and the football team seemed about ready to tackle the cops who were holding Rick. And I was bellowing your name and asking where the F you were.”
“Jeez, Cyn.”
“Yeah. Not my finest hour.”
My heartbeat is the soundtrack for the silence that stretches between us. The scene I walked in on that night—the stilled dance floor, th
e awed attention focused on Cyn—plays in my mind and I see it with a new clarity. Terror lights the eyes of some of the kids while glee sparks in others. I imagine what it was like for them to have the dance disrupted like that. Wishing it had been someone else’s best friend who had done it.
“On the plus side,” Cyn smiles through the tears, stoking my curiosity. “I got hundreds of new followers on Instagram from the incident.”
I squint at her. “Seriously?”
“A lot of people posted pictures, but the video Rommel posted of me, cuffed, fighting to break free from the two cops holding me—he tagged me in it. When I got back to school the next week, he showed me all the comments about my bad-assery. That’s when I noticed my followers had exploded.”
“You’re famous.”
“At least infamous.” Cyn resumes scrolling through the menu of romantic comedies and it’s like her confession has scrubbed a layer of grime from her. She seems just a little shinier. A little closer to her old self.
Chapter 28
It’s a convertible kind of day. Not because of the low hanging clouds or the frigid temps, but because if I don’t feel wind whipping through my hair, I might crack and destroy something. I turn the heater up and keep the windows up, but lower the top and let my hair fly.
I get a giddy little thrill when Hank shakes his head as I pull up to the curb at the job site. I waggle my eyebrows as my top unfolds from the boot. Hank waves a hand dismissively, but laughs as he walks away.
Thanks to the wind through my hair, my head feels a little clearer. I might not want to drive a hammer through a window today. When did my life get so convoluted?
As I jump over the open trench, I wonder if it will get warm enough to bury the pipes before the spring thaw. I’m so thankful to be working on a house today. I need the affirmation that I’m on this earth for a reason. There are too many aspects in my life where I either seem to be completely helpless or actually make things worse. A day of building will reassure me that I do something right, now and again.
I drop my lunch in the food tent and head to the storage container to grab a tool belt and gloves. I almost turn an ankle when my attention is diverted by the boy standing outside the Hampton house.
“There she is now,” Hank says. “Told you she’d be here. You two can work together on flooring.”
I have to force the smile I give Hank. “Let me just suit up.”
I enter the cold darkness of the storage container and let my smile fall away. What the heck is Jay doing here? He’d better not think that my feelings for him have changed just because Rome and I broke up. I grab the stuff I’ll need for the day and with a deep breath, head over to the Hampton house.
“You’re a surprise,” I say by way of greeting. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I suspect my eyes are too narrow and my upper lip is more curled than curved. I can’t relax.
“Yeah.” Jay says, looking down at his feet instead of at me. “Before we get started, can we talk first?”
I stare at him, considering my answer. He finally raises his gaze and must see the anger his ambush has created inside me.
“Lola, I just want to apologize.”
Oh. Unexpected.
He laughs, but I think it’s with irony because he looks pained. “You’re never gonna guess what happened to me last week.”
I cross my arms and tilt my head, totally curious what he has to say next.
Unable to hold my gaze, Jay sighs dramatically and emits a quiet groan before he finally starts to talk. “Do you know Beth Leal?”
I nod. Of course, I do. We’ve been going to school with her since kindergarten.
“Yeah, well, last week she admitted to me that she’s always liked me.”
The corner of my mouth twitches without permission.
“A lot.” Jay groans again. “And…”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and paces within a small square foot of space.
I finish for him. “And now you know how awkward it was for me.”
His shoulders slump and he nods, eyes closed.
“Am I right to guess that you don’t return her feelings?”
Jay finally opens his eyes, his gaze filled with regret and frustration and probably some sadness. “Nope. She caught me completely off guard. We were laughing about something. We laugh together a lot.” He shrugs.
“That’s because you’re a funny guy, Jay.”
Everything about him relaxes like I’ve just told him I forgive him. Like I’ve extended an olive branch. “Her confession surprised both of us. I couldn’t lie about how I felt though. As I watched her get angrier and angrier, you were all I could think about. I wanted to find you and apologize right then.”
“So, your being here today…” I chuckle and let my arms drop to my sides. “Does this mean you’d like to be friends?”
“I would be so grateful if we could somehow pretend I never screwed things up.”
A well of emotion swirls inside me. His cheeks are red, his expression hopeful, and I want to hug him, but that’s probably not a good idea. So instead I nod. “Consider it forgotten.”
Though I think I see regret float across his face, he also looks relieved. “Thanks, Lola.”
Before we enter the Hampton house, I scan the job site hoping to catch a glimpse of caramel colored hair, but when I don’t spot it I follow Jay inside to show him how to lay tongue and groove flooring.
Working with Jay is awkward at first. I keep picturing the angry scowl that scrunched up his nose over the last few weeks and any conversation I think to start dies away, unsaid. His natural sense of humor helps though and by the time Hank calls a lunch break, the angry image is replaced by the years of Jay making me laugh.
There’s a big group of volunteers from one of the local banks, so the long table in the food tent is covered in trays of catered food. Jay eyes it hopefully, while I grab my insulated bag and head to the open table in the corner. It’s always fun to see the large work groups volunteer. Most of the people have never volunteered before and inevitably act like they’re the first to discover how rewarding it is. Their enthusiasm is contagious and today it is especially buoying for my tattered self-worth.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
My head snaps around when I hear Rod’s voice and I cringe as I pull a neck muscle.
Holy caramel topping. He’s here. My heart is pounding, my cheeks heating, my mouth is grinning like a fricking crazy girl. I try to relax my lips into more of an Oh, hey, you’re back. How nice, smile, but I can’t. It doesn’t matter though, because Rod is talking to Jay anyway.
Jay snorts. “You either, man.” He stands, and they do some complicated handshake thing that ends in a half hug, each pounding the other on the back.
They’ve clearly bonded. I guess working with adorable puppies and kittens will do that to you.
Rod’s gaze finally swings my way and I’m happy to realize my face is now contorted into a You’ve got to be kidding me grimace. Jay chuckles and shrugs a shoulder. “What can I say? There’s something about picking up poop together that makes you feel close.”
I laugh and let my attention settle on Rod. “It’s good to see you back again. Where are you working?”
Rod sits, but then a bank employee announces that they have a ton of food and we are welcomed to help ourselves. He and Jay pop out of their chairs so fast you’d think they hadn’t eaten in days even though they both have a lunch of their own. I watch them talk companionably as they go through the line and load their plates with an enticing selection of Mexican food.
I study both boys. Now that I’m looking for it, I can see the difference in quality between Jay’s crisp newer clothes and Rod’s worn clothing. And like Victor pointed out, Jay’s hair, even with the crazy afro style he wears it in, is perfectly coifed, whereas Rod’s is floppy and slightly too long, but not in the purposeful, stylish way boys wear it sometimes. Jay’s skin even seems healthier. His skin tone is lighter
, but I don’t think that’s why it seems to glow. I suspect it’s because he eats better. Maybe even gets more or maybe a better quality of sleep.
But they’re getting along like none of it matters. Which is how it should be. So why am I making any sort of deal about it between Rod and me? Is it just an excuse I’m using because the idea of insinuating how I feel makes my stomach tumble?
The guys are laughing pretty hard when they set their heavily loaded plates on the table. I dip a carrot into my humus and eye the delicious soft taco Rod built. Maybe I should get some of my own.
Rod picks up the taco I’m eyeing and places it on top of the empty plastic bag I had my carrots in.
“What are you…? You don’t have to do that.”
Rod arches an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you would have bitten off my hand if I’d tried to eat it myself.”
“But…”
“Lola. Relax. I can make another.” He scoops his fork into a heaping pile of Spanish rice. His smile only disappearing to make quick work of his lunch.
“Thanks.”
Jay’s spork hovers over the taco. “You’ll need sour cream and guacamole though.” I fold the tortilla back and he plops half of his guac onto the seasoned chicken inside and then returns with a dollop of sour cream. “I’m glad you saved the poor taco from the crime of being consumed without the proper toppings.”
“I put salsa on it,” Rod complains.
“Gringo!” Jay snaps in false anger.
The spices on the chicken are mouthwatering good. “Holy guacamole.”
When I tear my rapturous attention away from the exceptional taco, I find both boys staring at me.
“What? It’s good.”
Jay swallows and digs into his own food. Rod chuckles and takes a swig from his water bottle.
He swipes his mouth on his sleeve and returns to the conversation we’d started before they went to get their food.
“I just got here. The shelter didn’t really have any work today.”
Jay shook his head. “They told me not to come at all.”
I swallow my latest bite. “That’s good, right? Does it mean they don’t have a lot of animals?”