Fine, honesty.
As Kit said, she’s been giving me a lot of practice.
“She’s more than that, in whichever way you mean.”
Haymitch’s head bobs slowly, and the melancholy remains. I’m itching to drop this subject for that one, but he shut it down for today.
“How ’bout that. So keep fightin’ for her. What d’ya have to lose?”
“Well, my pride?—”
Haymitch makes an “ehhh” sound like the horn in a basketball game. “What else ya got?”
I’m trying. Help me.
“The guys on the floor are—” How to phrase it?
“They ain’t followin’ you around like ducklin’s with their mother?”
I roll my shoulders. He’s right, but I’d never cop to that analogy.
“Ehhh. Your confidence is dwindlin’ big time, and they’re pickin’ up on it. Is that all from friends-with-flirtin’-but-not-benefits, or is there more?”
I smirk at that description. “Maybe there is.” I sit up again, thinking it through. “Like I said, Kit and I really talk. She has a way of getting me to tell the truth, so she knows more about me than anyone ever has. And she’s making—accidentally, usually—she’s making me see my flaws in a big way.”
Haymitch bends forward. “She really is good for you. Mind tellin’ me what you mean by that?”
Where to begin? Since gaining my footing freshman year, I thought I didn’t care about my reputation. Apparently that was a luxury of being on top. I used to be proud that I had given up my family’s status and the ease it had always brought me. I thought I’d started from scratch, but no—I was trained up for social success and leadership since infancy. I’m well liked, well respected—or was—becauseof how I was raised, not despite it.
Kit has been shining light on all of my happy delusions. She told me I was humble and genuine. What a joke. She’s accidentally wrecking everything I’ve built, starting with my false self-confidence.
I stare at my hands. “Talking with Kit has shown me I’m not the guy I thought I was. I’m not the guy I want to be. But that guy is so different that I’m not even sure how to get there.”
“Okay. Keep in mind that right there is life with God. He’s usin’ Kit, but don’t be tempted to treat her like the Holy Spirit. Go straight to the source.”
A good reminder.
He’s praying again. It’s settling to know that he’s following orders and not making this up himself.
Thank you for him. Give him words I can hear. I don’t want to miss what you’re saying.
“What’s buggin’ you the most on the floor?”
“The Kit comments, the teasing. It’s not friendly anymore. Some of the guys … It’s like they’re making themselves feel better. Or is it still about the prank?”
In particular Mateo, or Gru as we call him, is still resentful that I’ve delayed our entire floor’s prank for a girl. I can’t blame the ones who are frustrated—I’d be annoyed too—but Mateo has taken it too far. I talked to the guys about this before I did it. They can trust me to make it up to them.
Haymitch tilts his head like he’s keeping something to himself. “The guys know you’ll make the prank happen next semester. Kit bought you some time with the suggestive whisper, huh?”
“She did. And that’s one of the worst parts of this thing with her.”
“How’s that?”
I squirm on the pew. “I know we’re buddies, but I can trust you, right? I don’t like talking about … feelings.”
“That for one is no big secret, my friend. Yes, you can trust me.”
Okay, here goes.
