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“Has anyone said anything to you about yesterday?” I ask. “I mean, you haven’t gotten into any trouble, have you?”
He dips a French fry into some ketchup. That’s all he’s having for lunch.
“It’s all good, I think,” he says. “You?”
“Rebecca was curious. But that’s it so far.”
“Rebecca? Curious? Now there’s a shocker.”
“She said next time she and Ben want to go driving with us.”
“I’m not sure Ben would let us inside his Mercedes. We’d have to take our shoes off first.”
This one time, we went over to Ben’s house and he asked all of us to take off our shoes before we came inside. Justin and I found that hysterical. “Doesn’t he know that our socks are much nastier than our shoes?” Justin asked. It became one of our jokes.
“Don’t say anything to Rebecca,” I make Justin promise. He pretends to be zipping his lips. I relax.
I go and get my lunch, and when I come back, Rebecca and some other friends are at the table, so Justin and I are part of the big conversation instead of having our own. When the bell rings, I ask him if he can do something after school, and he says no, he has to work. He says it like I should have his work schedule memorized. But Target sends the email to him, not me.
I do not point this out. Instead, I remind myself that I am lucky I don’t have to work yet. I remind myself that Justin hates his job. I remind myself that yesterday was all about a choice, but not every day allows us to make our own choices.
The important thing is that when he had a chance, he chose me. And I have to hope that next time, he’ll choose me again.
—
He texts me when he gets home from work. Two words.
Long day.
I text him back one word.
Yeah.
—
Patterns. The next day, I think about patterns. Or, really, I think about ups and downs. I am used to ups and downs. Monday, when we were at the beach, was an up. I can see that.
But now—it’s neither an up nor a down. It’s like we’ve disappeared from the chart.
He’s not mad at me. I can feel that. But his love has gone passive.
I don’t understand. And there’s no one to talk to about it. Not Justin. Every time I mention the beach, it’s like it never happened. Not Rebecca. If I told her more, it might sound crazier than it really is. Not my mom. She and I don’t talk about ups or downs, as a way of not having them.
I know what he and I had on Monday is worth fighting for. But I have no one to fight, so I turn on myself instead.
I know I wasn’t imagining things.
But I seem to have been sent back to my imagination now.
Chapter Three
Thursday I get to school first and wait for him. I don’t think that much about it. It’s just what I do.
“Jesus, Rhiannon,” he says when he gets out of the car. I step aside as he pulls out his bag and slams the door.
“What?” I ask.
“?‘What?’?” he mimics in a high, girly voice. It’s a voice his bad moods like to use.
