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"Are you going to try one of those recipes for us tonight?" I asked her.
She flashed a dimple at me with her smile.
"If you do, just please, for me, be sure that the buckwheat has been de-hulled by an Amazon Chieftain during flood season on a blood moon. It's very important." I couldn't help it. Being a smartass was part of my DNA.
We both lost it, laughing until tears were running down our faces.
"Got it," she gasped. "And you don't have to worry about the feldspar, either. I'll make sure myself that it's denuded by a virgin during flood season and pointing west, of course."
I wasn't the only one who'd had improv training.
"That sounds like something that will boost my blood irony levels," I said in parting, feeling something akin to carefree for the first time in I didn't even know how long.
I'd been planning to spend the day marathoning Vanderpump Rules so I could feel better about me and worse about humanity, but I felt a renewed sense of purpose (that I refused to blame on the green shake), so I went for a long, satisfying run instead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"If you would be loved, be lovable."
~Ovid
PAST
SCARLETT
He'd done it again. Made me so mad I couldn't even look at him. He'd promised. Promised that he wouldn't have anything else to do with Tiffany, that neither of us would. But then right before last period, he'd mentioned oh so casually that she was coming over to Gram's house for dinner that night. Her parents were out of town, and he didn't think she should have to eat alone.
It felt like a double betrayal, since Gram was in on it. Did Gram like Tiffany now, too?
How long before they both preferred her to me?
I couldn't stand it. How insecure I felt, how completely Dante disregarded my feelings out of consideration for someone else's.
I didn't even confront him. I just walked away. He followed me to my class, then to my desk.
I sat down, looking straight ahead.
"You're upset," he said, and had the nerve to sound annoyed.
"Go away," I said stiffly just as the bell rang.
Dante's class was across campus, nowhere close, so he had no choice but to drop it. "I'll be back before practice. Don't take off," he said in a tone I found insufferable. He'd have had more luck ordering me to take off. "We're going to talk before you blow this out of proportion."
I glared at his retreating back with absolute murder in my eyes, waited a beat, just long enough for him to leave, and stood.
My history teacher, Ms. Banks, called my name once, then again.
"Not feeling well," I told her. "Going home." She didn't try to stop me, though I'd probably regret it later. My attendance was always a problem on account of me hating school and loving to leave it before it was over.
I made my way home almost blindly, looking down at my feet, following the trail, my mind somewhere else. Several places in fact, but mostly on Dante's reaction when he realized I hadn't stayed put. He'd be pissed. He'd likely even skip practice to confront me right away.
Pathetic as it was, I hoped he would. I needed, over and over, like a broken record, for him to show me that he'd never get sick of me, no matter how flawed I was. How insecure. How unlovable.
I had never made peace with being abandoned. I was certain that I never would. I still looked the reality of it in the face every day, wondered why I was so worthless, wondered when I'd be abandoned again.
My response to that was to unleash my helpless rage on the one person who would take it. Who wouldn't leave me. Who cared enough to chase me when I ran.
I was deep in thought as I approached the creek. There was a longer trail home, with a bridge over the small body of water, but when it was this nice out, it was never worth taking when you could just hop the rocks on the shorter route. It was tricky, but I'd gotten the balancing act down years ago.
