Page 26 of Unnecessary Drama

‘I can handle it,’ he says.

‘Fine,’ I say.

He looks excited. That there might actually be a best and worst trait. That he’s so confident in his likeability and charm he thinks hearing his worst traits will be entertaining.

‘You’re kind of a slob. You care too much about what other people think. You have a big ego. And—’ I pause. I was going to say something that alluded to what he did to me. You’re a traitor, maybe, or you’re cowardly, or you can be cruel, you abandon people, but I can’t quite say it. If I do, it will shift the mood entirely, but more than that, I don’t want to delve into it right now. It’s like touching an old injury that never healed. Discussing it will make it all real again.

‘And?’ Jesse says quietly. His demeanor has changed, softened, and I can feel it, like he’s opening a door, willing me to bring it up.

‘And nothing. That’s it.’ We look at each other for a moment.

‘Brooke,’ he says. ‘About what happened in school. I never told you how—’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

There’s a beat of silence, and I see him wavering, wondering whether to push it, but my expression must warn him off.

‘Well. Okay. I have some questions about your list then,’ he says, his voice returning to its light, jocular tone, putting his tea down on the coffee table.

‘Ask away. I am ready to give you answers.’

‘Do I really have a big ego?’

‘You’re tall. All tall guys are conditioned to have big egos, so it’s as much society’s fault as yours. But yes. Of course you do, it’s not even in question,’ I say.

‘But growing up I was actually a really small kid.’

‘So?’

‘So I developed my sense of self back then.’

‘That was overridden by the time you were sixteen, six foot whatever and sitting in the back seat of the bus, making fun of other people.’

‘I never made fun of people,’ he says, looking slightly outraged.

‘You sat with people who did, and that’s the same.’

‘Really? When?’ He seems honestly confused.

‘Here’s an example. Two years ago. It was winter, and we had a casual-clothes day at school. I’d saved up and bought a new jacket, and it was brightly patterned, not the black puffer I usually wore. Your friend Nathan yelled out “Nice jacket!” in his most obnoxious voice in front of everyone when I got on the bus.’

‘Nathan is not my friend. We just sat sort of near each other. And I don’t remember that.’

‘Well, I do. And it made me feel like shit.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You should be.’

‘I didn’t say it!’

‘You didn’t stop it,’ I say. I want to add, and you caused it. Nathan was there, in the room, standing behind Gretel, when Jesse said Do I like Brooke? No. No. Fuck, no. Nathan is a douchebag and, frankly, a loser, and he probably would have yelled ‘Nice jacket!’ at anyone wearing anything that caught his eye. I can accept the logic of this, but my brain still thinks it all started that night at Gretel’s, that Jesse gave him permission in some twisted way.

‘You’re right. Nathan was a dick, but I don’t think I ever told him that.’

‘Well it’s never too late.’

‘Should I call him right now?’ Jesse holds up his phone.