Interim (31 page)

“Understandable.”

“What are you gonna do about her?” he asked.

Casey thought a moment. “I’m gonna do everything I can to make it right.”

“She’ll never forgive you,” Jeremy pointed out.

Casey nodded. “But I have to try.”

Pause.

“Why this sudden change?” he asked, eyeing her curiously.

“Well, I guess you could say I saw the light,” Casey replied.

“Did they push you out? Is that why you’re here? Lemme guess. If they hadn’t gotten rid of you, you wouldn’t be kissing ass right now, would you?”

“Jeremy! What the hell?” Regan cried.

“No, Regan,” Casey said. “It’s okay. This has been a long time coming between the two of us.”

“You fucking better believe it has,” Jeremy replied.

Casey stood up straight, lengthening her spine as far as it would go, filling her lungs with all the oxygen she could to expel the tough words that needed to be said.

“They didn’t kick me out,” she began. “But if they had, I wouldn’t have cared. I hated that group toward the end. I hated what it did to me. I’m not shirking responsibility for the way I acted, though, so close your mouth.”

Jeremy clamped his lips shut.

“I take full responsibility for the person I became. But don’t stand there and act like you didn’t know me all those years ago. You remember that girl. I was a good person, and you know it. She disappeared for a long time, but she came back.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I’m not asking you to, Jeremy. I can’t make you believe me. I can only make you see with my actions.”

“Why did you change to begin with?”

“Because my life sucked. I hated being a dork. I had the most terrible time when my parents divorced. I was prime for manipulation.”

“You keep wanting to blame other people—”

“I’m not blaming anyone! But I know when I’m taken advantage of! And I was so desperate to be popular. I thought I’d kill for it! So when they ushered me in, I didn’t refuse. I thought it was the answer. I thought it’d make me happy.”

“And now?”

“What do you think? I’m wrecked! You know what it’s like to purge all that darkness? You know what that feels like?”

“You know what it feels like to be on the other side of that darkness?” he roared.

“Yeah, I do!” Casey screamed. “I was there in middle school with all the rest of you! I was teased and tormented over the dumbest shit! My glasses, for Christ’s sake! I mean, could it get any more clichéd than that? You know how much I begged my mom for contacts?”

“Oh, poor you,” Jeremy said. “How did you ever move on from the glasses?”

“Fuck you, Jeremy. Don’t trivialize my hurt. We all hurt differently,” Casey spat.

“You’re right. We do. And some of us have more legitimate hurt than others.”

“Yeah? What’s yours?” she challenged.

He thrust his face in hers and pointed to his scar. “This, you little bitch.”

“Back it up,” Regan demanded, shoving her body between them. She was afraid of a fistfight.

“Call me all the names you want if that’ll make you feel better,” Casey said.

“It won’t! I don’t even know why I’m here listening to your pathetic sob story!”

“You’re here to pick me up for our date,” Regan pointed out.

Jeremy ignored Regan. “You shit on everyone. You decide you don’t wanna do that anymore. And we’re all supposed to embrace you now with open arms? Fuck. That. Shit.”

“All right, that’s it,” Casey fumed, bringing her fists to her face in a guard position. She lunged for Jeremy.

“No!” Regan yelled, grabbing her wrists and pushing her back. “Casey, back up! Jeremy, go sit down over there!”

They didn’t move.

“Fucking do what I say!” Regan screeched.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Mr. Walters yelled, throwing the bedroom door open.

“Dad, hello! We have rules in this house!” Regan cried.

“Don’t talk to me about rules when you’re about to referee a fistfight,” he said, noting Casey’s power stance.

“I’m trying to prevent it!” Regan argued.

Mr. Walters looked at Jeremy. “Really, Jer? You’re gonna go at it with a girl?”

Jeremy bristled. “No. I would never hit a girl.”

“Good. Gives me the advantage,” Casey said, and lunged for Jeremy again.

Regan held her back.

“Casey, sit down on that bed!” Mr. Walters demanded. “Right now! Jeremy, get in that chair!”

“We’re late for the movie . . .”

“NOW!”

The teens reluctantly took their seats.

Mr. Walters drew in his breath. “All right, then. We’ve got a best friend and a boyfriend who clearly hate each other. How do we make this work?”

“A schedule,” Casey said.

“I get Fridays and Saturdays,” Jeremy said.

“Those are prime days. You can’t have both prime days,” Casey argued.

“Oh, I think I can. You treated my girlfriend like shit for months on end. I think that warrants Fridays and Saturdays.”

“I apologized to your girlfriend.”

“Words meaning nothing.”

“They mean everything,” Regan reminded him.

For the first time in ages, he thought of his red notebook and all the words housed within the worn pages. He couldn’t argue with her. They meant everything.

“I want Fridays!” he heard Casey cry.

“All right, stop it!” Regan said. “This is ridiculous! Jeremy, you have every right to be mad at Casey. She’s done terrible things, but she’s owned up to them. She APOLOGIZED to you, and you don’t have to accept it, but don’t sit there saying her words mean nothing.”

“She has to show me,” he said bitterly.

“I can’t show you in one night!” Casey argued. “It’s gonna take a while.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait,” he said.

Silence.

Casey sighed. “Then can we, at least, come to a truce?”

Mr. Walters raised his eyebrow at Jeremy. Jeremy grunted.

“You’re not gonna go away, are you?” he asked.

“Never,” Casey replied. “I will never do that to my friend again. You’d have to put a bullet through my heart to keep me away.”

Jeremy tensed, tugging on his fingerless gloves. He saw Casey’s name fade from the list of targets. She wasn’t cleared, but she was definitely in limbo.

“Fine. Truce,” he mumbled.

A collective sigh filled the room.

“And I’ve got another one coming right after you,” Mr. Walters said to Regan.

“Caroline will be much worse,” Regan said.

“God . . .” Mr. Walters groaned.

“And anyway, this isn’t my drama,” Regan went on. “It’s all theirs.”

“I’m far from drama,” Jeremy muttered.

“You’re the best kind of drama,” Regan replied sweetly.

Mr. Walters grimaced. “Ugh. None of that, please. And boys shouldn’t even be in your room. Jeremy, get out of here.”

“Gladly.” He was more than happy to leave. Right now he preferred Caroline’s company.

“Bye, Jer,” Casey said to his back.

“Whatever.”

The girls were alone once more. They stared at each other—neither sure how or where to start.

“Soooo, what earrings do you think I should wear?” Regan asked after a moment.

“Let’s have a look,” Casey replied, strolling over to the wall of accessories.

~

The bullet casings don’t smack you in the head so much if you keep a firm grip on the handle. It’s all about control. Control the kickback. Kind of like life: if you have firm control over your life, the setbacks won’t be so bad. You can deal with them better. Instead of being all emotional about something, you can step back, look at it objectively, and figure out a solution. Like blowing people’s brains out. That’s a reasonable, unemotional solution to my setback—the setback of being bullied on a daily basis. I used to have no control over my feelings about being bullied. I used to cry all the time. But then I took control. I took hold of my life, and I set into motion the plans I wanted to. I taught myself how to control my emotions, and now I look at my plight as a small kickback. The casings still slap me in the head every once in a while, but now I know what to do about them. Cling harder to the gun—my resolve—and keep pulling the trigger.

~

Hannah froze at the end of the table. She was the last to arrive for lunch—spending a good ten minutes in the bathroom debating the conversation she had with Jeremy several weeks ago. Yes, she had promised him she would start eating lunch with him again, but it took her nearly a month to actually do it. He didn’t press her. He waited, like good friends do.

She couldn’t deny the warm flattery that spread through her heart when he verbally defined their relationship a friendship. She wanted to be his friend, but she was never quite sure where they stood. She thought “acquaintances” would be as good as it got.

Regan didn’t exactly destroy that link between them, but she certainly complicated it. Hannah still harbored romantic feelings for her, and that turned what was already an awkward dynamic into an even trickier one. She didn’t want to be witness to flirtations and blatant sexual tension—all the shit that comprises a teenage romance.

Still, she couldn’t deny the loneliness. She missed Jeremy. She missed her . . .
friend
. The guy she could be open with whenever she wanted. The guy who left her alone when she needed. She didn’t realize his importance in her life until she felt him taken away. It was easy to be bitter. It was easy to be hateful toward Regan. But it was hard to eat alone.

She hovered over the table, staring at a bizarre scene.

“You sitting down?” Regan asked. “We’ve been wondering where you’ve been.”

“What. The. Fuck,” Hannah replied.

Regan glanced at Casey. Casey hung her head.

“What the fuck are you doing at this table?” Hannah clearly directed the question to Regan’s BFF.

“I . . . I know you don’t like me,” Casey whispered.

“Is this turning into the rejected popular girls’ lunch table? I mean, what the fuck?”

“You said that already,” Regan pointed out. “Three times.”

Hannah bent over and shoved her face in Regan’s. “What the fucking fuck is going on here?” she hissed.

“I asked Casey to eat with us,” Regan replied calmly.

“Why? Do you get to make the decisions for this table?” Hannah asked.

“Hannah, come on,” Jeremy said softly.

She whipped her head in his direction.

“I know she’s your girlfriend and all, and you think the sun shines out of her ass, but this is bullshit. This is MY table. This is YOUR table. This isn’t THEIR table. For Christ’s sake, haven’t they done enough? Haven’t they taken enough? They own the entire goddamn school! Can they not give us one lousy fucking table?!”

Curious students nearby turned their heads.

“We’re not trying to take your table,” Regan replied. “I asked Casey to sit here today because she’s going through what I went through.”

“And I should care about that why?” Hannah asked.

“I’m not asking you to care,” Regan replied. “I’m asking you to be nice.”

Hannah’s mouth dropped open.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She pointed at Casey. “That bitch made my life a living hell for THREE years. Do you hear me? Three years!”

The tears were inevitable, and they couldn’t come at a worse time. The cafeteria was filled with monsters ready to taunt and tease—ready to humiliate Hannah for showing emotion.

“I know I did!” Casey cried. “I know it! I was horrible to you, and I have no justification for it, okay? You understand that? I’m so sorry for what I did to you, Hannah. You don’t even know how much.”

“You’re only sorry because you’re an outcast now. If you were still popular, you’d still be a bitch to me. You know what I see here? Zero contrition. A fake ass bitch.” Hannah turned to Regan. “I was willing to let you slide because you were just so fucking pathetic. But I will not sit at this fucking table with that girl! I won’t! Not after everything she’s done! She can apologize until she’s as blue in the face as my fucking hair, and I will never believe her! Because she’s a liar!”

Murmurs rippled through the lunchroom. Jeremy saw a few teachers approaching.

“Hannah,” he said gently.

She whirled around and jabbed her finger in his chest. “You! How could you do this to me? You said we were friends! You said we came first—that we were friends first!” She cried unabashedly.

“We are,” he replied.

“Then decide,” Hannah said. “Right here. Right now. Me or them.”

“Hannah, please don’t do this,” Jeremy replied.

“Fucking decide, Jer! Me or them?”

“Hannah, what’s the problem?” Mr. Armstrong said.

The same concern over Regan’s months-old breakdown was written all over his face. Not another one. God, please not another one.

“ME OR THEM?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Mr. Armstrong knew not to touch her. That was just a lawsuit waiting to happen. He summoned a female teacher to do what he could not, and they needed to move fast. Ms. Griffin tentatively touched Hannah’s shoulder.

“Honey, it’s okay,” she said soothingly.

“ME OR THEM?” Hannah screamed again. She pounded the lunch table with angry fists.

“Hannah, come on,” Ms. Griffin said, trying to steer her toward the cafeteria door.

“You’re a traitor, Jeremy!” Hannah cried, her words calling out his betrayal.

He grimaced, hanging his head in shame. He wouldn’t answer her, and by default, made the unspoken decision.

“People make mistakes . . .” Hannah heard Regan say as she turned her back on them.

The words fueled a vicious anger. She broke free from Ms. Griffin’s grasp and charged the table.

“FUCKING BITCH!” she bellowed, flipping Regan’s lunch tray. Food flew everywhere. She turned to Jeremy. “FUCKING ASSHOLE!” And she overturned his lunch tray, too, spilling milk and soggy pasta all over Jeremy’s shirt. “AND YOU!” She glared at Casey, then climbed the table toward her adversary. “I’LL KILL YOU!”

“Hannah! My God!” Ms. Griffin cried, grabbing the girl’s arms and pulling her down.

They struggled for a moment—Hannah desperate to get to Casey—before Mr. Armstrong intervened. It took both teachers to drag her out of the cafeteria, her obscenities echoing down the hallway and leaking through the crack in the lunchroom doors long after she was safely gone.

Silence.

And then a single clap. And another. And another until the cafeteria exploded with laughter, cheering, whooping, and banging. The lunch staff demanded order, but there was no taming the emotional riot. No taming the pounding fists and hysterical screeches. No taming the unreasonable reactions from unreasonable kids. The only three people to remain silent were the victims of Hannah’s rage—the people who understood her pain.

“What do we do?” Regan asked Jeremy.

He shook his head.

“Will she be all right?”

He paused, then shook his head.

“It’s all my fault,” Casey said. “I shouldn’t have sat here.”

Regan grew annoyed. “Just stop it already. You’ve apologized enough. At some point you’ve gotta stop with the self-loathing.”

“Regan, I destroyed her life!” Casey cried.

“You don’t have
that
much power over people,” Regan said.

Casey fell silent.

“God, I liked it better when you were a mean bitch,” Regan muttered.

“What?”

“Not
mean
mean to people. Just sort of self-absorbed. I don’t fucking know,” Regan huffed, and looked at her boyfriend imploringly. “What are we gonna do, Jer?”

“How should I know?” he snapped. “Why are you looking to me for answers?”

“She’s your good friend!”

“She’s not my good friend. I don’t even know where she lives!”

Regan growled.

“Should I send her flowers?” Casey offered.

Jeremy and Regan whipped their heads in her direction.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jeremy asked.

Regan chimed in. “Here’s the message in the card: Dear Hannah, Sorry you couldn’t kill me at lunch the other day. I hope you feel better soon! XOXO, Casey.”

“Fuck the both of you,” Casey spat.

“No, fuck them,” Regan said, pointing to the students who were still celebrating Hannah’s meltdown.

“And you dated them,” Jeremy said resentfully.

The girls turned to face him once more. Hostile silence wafted among them.

“We did,” Casey said finally. “And that’s our sin.”

He said nothing.

“And you brought it up to be hurtful—to cause us shame,” Casey went on. “That’s your sin.”

They stared at each other. And then Jeremy nodded. Casey nodded back. Truce over. Feeble friendship born.

***

Hannah never returned to school. Gossip offered a multitude of scenarios—each one “the truth.” She had a nervous breakdown and was committed to Clairemont, Mountainview’s famous psych ward. She moved with her family out of state. She killed herself by slicing open her arms. No, she killed herself by hanging. No wait. She killed her family and then killed herself in a house fire.

“I hate everybody,” Regan muttered to herself, catching the tail end of a conversation between two students walking by. They were discussing Hannah.

She found herself quite alone at the end of the school day. Jeremy was home sick. Casey had to leave directly after school for work. Regan had a little bit of time before she needed to report to work. Today, she was decorating a child’s birthday cake. She breathed deeply and tried to turn around her pissy attitude. She didn’t want bad vibes seeping into the icing.

“I know I’m not supposed to talk to you,” came a male voice from behind her.

She whirled around. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.” The words tumbled out with zero restraint.

“I’m not gonna touch you,” Brandon said.

Regan clutched her bag close to her chest. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to know how you are,” Brandon said.

Regan burst out laughing. “Seriously?”

He said nothing.

“You destroy all my friendships, and you have the nerve to ask me how I am? No, wait. You spread rumors about how bad I am sexually, and you have the nerve to ask me how I am?”

Brandon stared at her, perplexed. “Huh?”

“I’m not stupid. I know those rumors came from you. And I know you told everyone in our group to ignore me—to freeze me out! Because you were sore that I dumped your sorry ass.”

“God, Regan, you’re so paranoid,” Brandon replied casually. “And hostile.”

“If I’m hostile, it’s because you made me that way,” Regan spat. “Please move. I’ve gotta go to work.”

“Look,” Brandon said, jumping in front of her. “I’m sorry about everything that’s happened. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. I mean, after seeing what happened to Hannah, I realize that things need to change.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Things around here need to change,” Brandon said.

“What things?”

“The way people are treated,” he clarified.

Her eyes bugged out of her head.

“I know I’m partly to blame—”

She opened her mouth.

“Let me finish,” he said quickly. “Please, just let me finish.”

She clamped it shut.

“I know I’m a popular guy and I have a lot of power. People look to me as an example.” He paused and scratched his buzzed head. “They expect me to lead them.”

Regan tapped her foot impatiently.

“I don’t know that I ever wanted to be in that kind of position,” Brandon said. He eyed her expectantly.

“And why’s that, Brandon?” she asked, humoring him.

“The pressure. I . . . I don’t think I’ve performed well under the pressure of it all,” he replied.

Regan waited, slightly intrigued.

“I admit it,” he went on. “I bullied people while we were dating. I tried to keep it from you as much as possible.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like the more people shoved me into this leader role, the more I came undone. I never wanted to be that guy. I think I was mad about it, so I just took it out on losers.”