Interim (20 page)

“What’s an axle?”

“An important part of a car.”

She pointed to a cushioned board with wheels at the four corners.

“Is that what you use to slide under the car?”

“Yep.”

She tilted the bottle and drained the last of the beer. He didn’t immediately offer her a third. She could take a mini break. Or a permanent one.

“Can I ride it?”

“What?”

“That four-wheel thing. Can I ride it?”

“You wanna ride the creeper?”

Regan’s face lit up. “No. Way.”

“Huh?”

She hopped off the counter and plopped onto the creeper.

“I’m totally digging the name.”

“Creeper?” Jeremy watched her lie back, knees up and feet planted on the floor.

She pushed off and squealed.

“I’m creeping!”

“Yes, you are,” he laughed.

“Hey, Jeremy, watch me creep!” She zigzagged and spun in a circle.

“Impressive.”

She pushed herself around the garage, every now and then asking questions about cars and the different tools she passed, pointing side to side and above her head. She picked up speed as her confidence grew.

“Be careful,” Jeremy warned.

She threw her weight to the left and narrowly avoided a barrel.

“Oh, yeah! I’m a badass!”

“You sure are,” Jeremy said. “Now, slow down.”

She ignored him and took a sharp right, flying parallel to the opposite wall.

“Regan . . .”

“Best birthday EVER!” she bellowed, then ran into a wall—a smart smack right on the top of her head. “Ouch!”

Jeremy jumped off the counter and rushed to her. He dropped to his knees and cradled the top of her head—an intimate move, but he thought the situation called for it.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You’re supposed to be watching me.” Slightly accusatory, but in a sweet way.

“I know. I’m sorry. You’re too fast on this thing.”

“Hey, is that hand of yours still dirty?”

He smirked. “I washed it. You don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“Amnesia?”

“So bad. I think I have to start my life over completely.”

“Would that be bad?”

“I don’t think so.” She giggled. “Oh, sorry Brandon. I don’t remember being your girlfriend, so I guess I’m not your girlfriend anymore. Oh, well!”

Jeremy smiled.

“Oh, sorry Casey. I don’t remember you being my BFF. Guess I better get a new one. That’s life!”

He laughed.

“Oh, whoops! I don’t remember any of my friends.” And then she looked straight into his eyes. “Except for Jeremy. I remember him. And—” She paused. “—I . . . I think I’ll keep him.”

She invited it. God, did she ever! And he was
this
close to giving it to her. A kiss. A deep, searching, I’m-gonna-make-you-love-me kiss. His face hovered mere inches above hers, and he watched her eyes close expectantly, pretty lashes fluttering to the movement of her eyes behind lavender lids. She wanted to be kissed on her birthday. And he wanted to do it.

But then he remembered she had two beers. She was silly and tipsy and dating another boy. Everything about it would be perfectly wrong, and he would regret taking advantage of her.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She opened one eye.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Nothing broken but my pride,” she replied.

“I thought you knew to leave your pride at the door when you hang out with me.”

She smacked her forehead with the heel of her palm. “I keep forgetting that.”

“Lemme help you up,” Jeremy offered.

Her face fell. “Really?”

Oh, yeah. She wanted that kiss.

“Yeah. Really.”

His body ached for her. Yes, teenage hormones definitely played a role, but this wasn’t just sexual attraction. He could spend the rest of the night listening to her chatter away into the early morning hours. He wanted more than her body. He wanted her time. He wanted all her thoughts and feelings. He wanted her to say and do whatever she liked. It was her—the complete Regan—he craved.

He looked down at the sound of a soft snore.

“Regan?”

Nothing.

“After two beers, Regan?”

Still nothing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, and scooped her up, cradling her like a baby. “What do I do with you now?”

Her arm dangled lifelessly. She really did pass out. He didn’t know where she placed her car keys. He couldn’t drive her home like this. She had to wake up. Eventually.

He made his way to a lawn chair sitting next to his Camaro, and sank into it slowly. She groaned and turned her chest toward his, nuzzling his neck with her cheek and nose. It tickled and sent shock waves through his arms. He tightened his grip on her and listened for the even sound of her breathing. Barely detectable.

“I hope you had a nice birthday after all,” he whispered, lips pressed gently against her forehead. It was a bold move, but she was asleep.

“I did,” she whispered back.

He tensed. She didn’t move. He looked down at her face. Her eyes remained closed, like she’d answered him in her dreams. But he knew better, and he wondered what she was up to, trying to trick him like that.

~

It doesn’t matter what she does. She could do anything. Be anyone. Hurt my feelings over and over. Say the sweetest things. Make me cry. Make me laugh. Tear me to pieces. Build me back up. Take everything away from me, and give it back. Play games. Be real. She could do it all, and I would still love her. I would still want her. Because broken people don’t know when enough is enough.

~

Perfect day for a soccer match. Unseasonably cool. Sun bright and hopeful in the sky. Packed bleachers. Everyone came out to watch the Ridgeview girls battle River Run. Big time rivals. Lots of history. Lots of shade-throwing in the stands and out on the field. Regan avoided the bleachers as much as possible. She didn’t want to know where the scout camped out. Better to pretend there was no scout at all. It was only her entire future riding on this game. No pressure or anything.

“Feet, don’t fail me,” she whispered, looking down.

“You don’t have to play your best game,” Casey said earlier in the locker room. “You just have to play well enough.”

Regan snorted. Casey always said the exact wrong thing before games. She was Regan’s biggest and worst cheerleader.

“And don’t worry about Brandon,” Casey added. “You two will work it out, but you’ve gotta communicate.”

Regan ignored Brandon’s calls all weekend. Thank goodness Monday was a holiday. She hid from him today because she still hadn’t decided how best to break up with him. Casey knew something huge happened between them over the weekend, and she only pried once before she realized it was better to leave her friend alone. She’d never seen that look in Regan’s eyes—like she could kill someone. Like she would kill
her
if Casey didn’t stop pressing.

“Um, okay,” Regan replied. She rolled her eyes.

“What? Not good?”

“No. Not good at all. Why are you even mentioning him to me right now?”

“I’m just trying to give you perspective!” Casey argued.

Pfsst. Perspective. Like this chick had any perspective. She was in a bad relationship with a bad guy from a bad crowd.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Regan replied curtly, lacing up her cleats.

“Whoa.”

“Just sayin’. I love you to death, but get out of the locker room, and stop giving me advice.”

“It’s compulsory.”

“Exactly. Leave, please.”

Casey huffed and leaned over. She pecked her best friend’s cheek—a ritual they started back in ninth grade when Regan made the varsity team. It was unheard of. Freshmen never made the varsity team.

“One for good luck,” Casey said automatically. A peck on the other cheek. “One for the goal.”

“I need ten,” Regan replied, and her heart dropped.

It was true. Well, her absurd truth. She’d convinced herself she needed at least ten goals to stamp her name and number on the scout’s brain.

Casey walked to the exit, then paused. She turned around.

“Did you wrap your boobs?” she asked softly.

“Jesus, Casey!” Regan cried, hands automatically going to her chest.

“Sorry. Sheer curiosity.”

“You’re a terrible friend right now!” Regan snapped.

“I know! I know!”

“Please, go away.”

“I’m going. I swear. It’s just—” Casey thought for a moment. “Hey.”

“Hey what?” Regan barked.

Casey smiled. “I believe in you. You’re gonna be great today. No no, fantastic. You’re gonna blow everyone’s minds.”

Regan scanned the bleachers even as her brain screamed for her to look away. But she wasn’t looking for the scout. She was looking for her best friend, who
finally
said something right! She needed encouragement, and she knew Casey would say it all over again: “I believe in you.”

“Well well well, if it isn’t the golden goddess herself,” Sydney teased, approaching Regan. Rival center forwards. Almost mirror images of one another.

Regan’s entire demeanor changed. She inhaled deeply, puffing her chest and trying hard to look down her nose at her opponent.

“I’m glowing, I know,” Regan replied in her most contemptuous voice. “Wanna know why?”

“’Cause you’re Katniss?”

“That’s right. I’m Katniss. And I’m about to set this field on fire,” Regan replied.

“You’re forgetting I’m from District 1, and we’re pretty much unstoppable,” Sydney argued.

“You’re good. I’ll give you that. But I’m the rogue bitch out here gonna start shit,” Regan said.

The girls stared each other down.

“You’re such a dork,” Sydney said finally, and they both burst out laughing.

“Stop talking to her!” Number 17 called to Sydney. “She’s the enemy and can’t be trusted!”

“Oh my God, your teammates are lunatics,” Regan observed.

“Hey, that’s what gets us our wins,” Sydney replied.

“You know I’m beating you today, right?” Regan asked.

“Single-handedly?”

“Well, if I have to.”

Sydney turned toward the bleachers and shaded her eyes from the sun. “Scout?”

“How the hell could you not know?”

“I maybe knew. And I couldn’t care less.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Sydney argued. “I don’t wanna go to some lame ass all girls’ college. Hello. I wanna have sex with guys in my dorm room.”

“Well, I plan to have sex with guys in my dorm room at Berkshire,” Regan said.

Sydney snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that. And this game.”

“You, too,” Regan replied. “I’ll try not to hurt your feelings too much.”

The girls shook hands as Regan’s coach yelled for a huddle.

She managed to forget about her birthday night with Jeremy until she was smashed between two teammates in a tight, perfume-spiked circle. Coach Allan walked away momentarily, and the girls started their ritual: divulge a secret—illegal or otherwise—and don’t judge. Or tell. They did it before every game, and it proved to be the best teambuilding exercise out of any they tried. The secrets built trust, making the girls unstoppable on the field.

“Got wasted at Regan’s birthday party and made out with Chad.”

Some girls snickered.

“Hey, no judgment!” And the snickering subsided.

“Stole money out of Dad’s wallet for a shopping trip. Swear to God I’m replacing it when I get paid tomorrow!”

“My life is so freaking boring right now because I’m grounded. Next.”

“Now don’t freak out. I would never do this to you guys, but I shared a secret about my friend to this chick in my neighborhood. Honestly, I don’t even know how she got me to reveal it, but now Kelsey hates my guts.”

Everyone stared.

“The girl doesn’t go here!”

More staring.

“She goes to a private school! The secret’s safe. I think. I don’t know. I’m a shitty friend, okay?”

“You’re off the team is what you are,” Tara snapped.

“Oh, come on. One little secret. And I swear to God I’d never do that to this group!”

“You better not,” Ashley threatened. “Or we’ll tell the entire universe about
that
time. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Enough!” Regan cried. “We don’t have time for this. Next.” She looked to her right.

“Me? Jeez, okay. Those weren’t stitches on my forehead last week. That bandage was covering a huge pimple—like a big ass cyst. I had to go to the dermatologist to have it worked on. So embarrassing, so I just lied about it.”

All eyes on Regan.

A boy wrote about shooting up the school in the springtime. He told me it was just a fantasy, and I believe him. I think. I mean, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would do something like that. I think, anyway.

“Regan? Hello?”

I wanna date this boy! I wanna be his girlfriend! I want to be the killer’s girlfriend! What’s wrong with me?

“Bitch, hurry up. They’re about to call for the coin toss!”

“I . . . I hung out with a person this weekend I never thought I would. And it was the best time ever.”

“Do we get a name?” Tara asked.

“Not yet,” Regan replied. “But soon.”

Secrets shared. Pep talk over. Coin tossed.

Game on.

The girls moved into position, ready to defend against River Run’s possession, as they won the coin toss. The game was brutal just as everyone anticipated—flags thrown at both teams, multiple fouls, one stretcher, a near fistfight, and lots and lots of filthy language . . . behind the backs of the referees, of course.

Well into the second half, with no score by either team, Regan made a decision. She was scoring a goal. If it killed her, she would push down the field again—clocking close to seven miles by then—and slam the ball into the goal.

“I’m knocking her hands off,” she huffed aloud, dribbling the ball around her opponent.

“Whose hands?” the opponent asked, chasing after her.

“Your goalie’s.”

“Bitch, please.”

Regan passed to her left, confident Tara was there to receive the ball and pass it farther up the field to Ashley, hanging left of center. Just like synchronized swimming, the ball spun fluidly down the field from player to player.

Regan pumped her arms and picked up her pace, blasting through center field to her final defender. Number 10 glanced at her and then at the ball, shooting forward in front of Regan, trying to catch her in an offside call.

“I don’t think so!” Regan cried, shoving her body in front of the defender and catching the ball with the inside of her foot.

A moment to shine. Some fancy footwork to trick her opponent. Fans screaming their heads off. It was the set-up of set-ups.

“Feet, don’t fail me,” she breathed, pushing toward the goal.

A sudden swarm of defenders. Tara to her left. She passed the ball and sprinted ahead, close enough to smell the goalie.

Wide. Open.

Tara immediately passed back. Regan would have to catch the ball with her left foot—would have to shoot with her weaker, less accurate side. She had no choice. The ball hurled toward her, higher than she wanted. No time to think. She jumped. Her foot flew out in front of her, and she caught the ball on that sweet spot right above her toes, swacking it with the force of a rocket launcher. It catapulted in a dangerous downward motion—the kind of motion that tricks even the most seasoned goalies. The goalie misjudged the rate of fall, and the ball slipped just under her fingertips, slamming into the far right corner of the goal.

Regan fell hard on her side, cleat digging into her inner thigh. Instant blood. Instant elation. Rough hands all over her—her teammates grasping and clawing to yank her up—encouraging a victory run. She jumped on Tara, bouncing up and down in a sweaty, sticky hug. And then she charged down and around the field, arms outstretched, screaming over and over, “Hells yeah! Hells to the yay-uuuuuhhhhh!!”

Hers was the only goal scored that game. Five minutes remained, and River Run worked tirelessly for a tie-up. But it was a futile objective because Regan made the decision. And it wasn’t the only decision she’d make that fateful afternoon.

***

“Go wait in the car, Mom,” Regan said. She never talked to her mother like that. It wasn’t exactly disrespectful. Just decided. And her mother understood.

She marched with purpose toward Brandon, whose face sported a premature smile. She wasn’t going to linger to hear all of his stupid excuses. No way. This was going to be fast and easy.

His lips parted for the first words.

“Shut up,” Regan said. “Shut your mouth, and don’t open it ’til I’m done.”

His eyes went wide.

“There is nothing going on here—” She waved her hands all over the front of him. “—that I like anymore. Nothing.”

“Regan—”

She thrust her face under his nose. “I said shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

He closed his mouth.

“You’re a bully. You always have been. You prey on weak people to make yourself feel good. You think you own everybody and everything. Well, guess what, buddy? You don’t own me. I can’t believe it took me three years, and I wish to God I could get those three years back, but whatever. I can’t. I can move forward, though. And I’m gonna. Don’t call me, look at me, or touch me ever again. You understand that? I will put you on the ground and rub my cleat in your face if you even think about it. I’m done with you. I’m done with your threats, your manipulations, your lies. I’m done with your psycho personality. I’m done with you. You got that? DONE. Now get the hell out of my way because I’ve got a life to live.”