Page 52 of 72 Hours of You

I’m going to do something about these clocks with Peter Beckett.

Twenty-Six

THE NEXT MORNING, I’m supposed to meet Peter in the school parking lot so we can ditch and go into the city. I must look fairly … agitated, because the whole ride to school Jules keeps giving me the side-eye and asking me why I “have such a roach up my cooch today.”

And I want to tell her to fuck off but she’s probably right, because I slept like absolute dog shit last night. I kept rolling around thinking, am I really about to go out actively trying to find Clockers? On purpose? No way. But every time I picked up my phone to text Peter a quick three a.m. nvm, I kept picturing Gordon’s face, and I couldn’t bring myself to hit send. And so here I am death-gripping the steering wheel and leaking stress from my pores, because what if Peter changed his mind overnight? And also what if he didn’t? The whole thing is making my stomach feel like an ouroboros.

Although, that could also be the two cups of black coffee I consumed this morning. My passenger princess demanded we hit Starbs so she could document the first PSL of basic szn on her Insta, and now I’m all keyed up and jittery. And the topic of conversation is not helping.

Jules cannot stop talking about Liam. She keeps rambling on about how it must be extra hard for me to go through drive-thrus because I was the last one to see him alive and isn’t it all so sad and also Jegstrup and did I maybe want to change my mind about coming to grief group, etc., etc., and by the time we get to school I am seriously considering sticking my head out and attempting a power-window decapitation.

We pull into the lot, and Jules lets out a sigh and smiles. “Well, I feel so much better now. Don’t you?”

“No. Jesus fucking Christ, that was the worst drive ever. I’m never taking you to Starbucks again.”

Jules clutches her grande cup to her chest. “How dare. Number one, I am a goddamn pleasure to be with. And number two, I deserve a Starbs for having to look at that face of yours all morning.” She makes a panicked droopy mouth with wide horrified eyes.

“Oh my god, that is not what my face looks like.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Check the mirror.”

“No, thank you.” I smooth my face out. She’s probably right. All this Liam shit is making me feel like I might have made a big fucking mistake suggesting this “plan” to Peter, and I’m starting to spiral into a full panic. Yeah, I think I might need to renege on this whole idea.

I glance across the parking lot. Peter is standing there, leaning against his Jetta reading a book, looking annoyingly calm.

“Oh, now I understand the face,” Jules says, following my eyes. “You’ve got such a big boner for Peter Beckett that all the blood has left your head and rushed down south.”

“I do not have a boner for Peter Beckett.”

“You’re going to have to carry a textbook in front of your pants all day,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Oh my god, Jules, can you just fuck off for once in your life?”

“Never,” she says, taking an extra-long drag of her PSL and getting out of the truck. “You’re about to go talk to him, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I say, shutting the door. “But that’s only because of the poetry project.”

“Suuuuure,” she says. “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou boner?” She winks before smacking my ass and heading off in the direction of Noah’s car.

“That’s not even poetry. That’s a play!” I shout after her, but she doesn’t turn around.

Well, then. I guess there’s nothing left to do but go talk to Peter and tell him that I must’ve had a break with reality last night and that we should, in fact, not go out and play bouncer to the people lining up at death’s door.

So … I’m going to go do that. Now.

I take a breath and make my way across the parking lot. Peter looks up from his book and smiles at me. “Hey.”

“Hey. What’re you reading today? How to Help Nearly Dead People for Dummies?”

“Actually, kind of.” Peter turns the book around to me. Tuesdays with Morrie.

“Never heard of it. But it looks depressing.”

“Nah,” Peter says. “It’s about a guy who finds out his old college professor is dying, and he goes to hang out with him on his deathbed every Tuesday. It’s pretty uplifting actually.”

“I can literally feel the dopamine leaving my body.”

Peter laughs.