14. Easton
EASTON
I can stand a lot of things that bug the shit out of other people.
There were times when I’ve actually wondered if there’s something missing inside me.
Like there’s a gene that makes people better at putting themselves in other people’s shoes, and I was born without it.
It’s never been something I’m good at—and it’s not something I have tried to work on, either.
I figure either you’re born that way or you’re not.
But when a girl starts crying? And I don’t mean fake tears or over-the-top emotion. I’m talking watery eyes, a trembling chin, and bonus points if it’s obvious she’s trying like hell to hold everything in.
I really wish Emma’s chin wouldn’t tremble the way it is right now as she stares at the scratches she left in Brittany’s paint. It’s not even that bad, really. I’m sure she could get it fixed in no time.
But Brittany’s not somebody who rolls with the punches, the way Dad says. She thrives on drama. It’s the whole reason she and Tiana get along. These girls think they’re the main character in everybody’s story.
And when they find somebody to hate, they don’t change their minds.
Which is why, after she finishes taking one million pictures, she gets in Emma’s face. “How did you even do that? Are you stupid? Did you even pass your driver’s test? I want to see your license. I want to know for sure you’re even allowed on the road.”
“Insurance card, too,” Tiana adds, wearing a look I would love to smack off her face if I believed in hitting women. She’s so fucking smug. So superior.
“When did this turn into a traffic stop?” I ask with a laugh. Maybe it will help ease the tension.
It doesn’t. “I’m sorry, is this any of your business?” Tiana asks me before scoffing and holding a hand close to my face. “Back the fuck up, okay?”
See, there’s the problem. I really might have kept out of this. I might have felt bad later, but I would’ve kept my mouth shut. For once, something happened, and I had nothing to do with it. I’m only a bystander.
But then she had to go and do that. Sticking her hand in my face. Like it’s not bad enough I already can’t stand the bitch—she makes it her life’s mission to be a nasty bully and there isn’t a guy I know she hasn’t tried to suck or fuck, even when they weren’t interested.
Now I need to step in, if only to smack her down. And she’s going to be sorry for sticking her hand anywhere near me.
“You know, Britt…” Stepping back, I squint and tip my head to the side. “Now that I’m standing here looking at this, it’s obvious.”
“What is obvious?” she asks. I doubt she could sound more bored if she tried. She won’t be bored for long.
“What are you doing?” Emma whispers. There is so much dread in that question, it’s almost funny. She’ll be thanking me in a minute or two.
“Do you want my help, or don’t you?” I mutter. “You owe me.”
Then, I turn to Brittany and point to her car. “You’re parked way too far out of the space. You should’ve backed up further. It’s amazing nobody hit you before now.”
“What? You’re full of shit.” Her head snaps back before she laughs. “Why don’t you just get out of here? This has nothing to do with you.”
Then why is Tiana here? No, I’m not suicidal. I won’t bother asking that question—we’ll be here all day, and I’ll wish for an ice pick to jam in my ears. “That’s fine,” I reply with a shrug while I pull my phone from my pocket. “But since we’re taking pictures, I’m going to take a few of my own.”
“Why?” she almost screeches while I start snapping pics.
“Just to document a few things. Like your position here and how you’re sticking out into the main aisle where cars go by.” Before she can say anything, I walk around to the back of her car and take more shots. “There’s like a mile of space between your rear bumper and the line. Do you know that?”
“Get out of here!” Tiana takes a swipe at me like she wants to knock the phone out of my hand, and I’m actually proud of how I manage to keep it together when what I’d like to do involves watching her ass hit the pavement.
“What are you trying to do? Break my phone?” I laugh, holding it out of her reach. “Do you think it would be expensive to fix that paint job? Wait until you get a bill for my brand-new phone.”
“This has nothing to do with you!” she barks.
“It doesn’t have to do with you either, but that never stops you.
” I can’t help but grin at Brittany when I recognize the way her face starts to fall.
“And if you try to get money out of Emma to pay for the damages, it had better be an accurate fucking invoice. And if Emma takes the photos on my phone to another body shop, they better give her the same quote, get what I mean?”
Somehow, the sight of Brittany’s eyes filling with tears doesn’t touch me inside the way Emma’s did. “You’re a prick.”
“You just figured that out?” I can’t help laughing—quietly, at least—as she and Tiana march off, muttering to each other, probably plotting revenge or some shit. I almost hope they do try something, so I’ll have the excuse to retaliate. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t technically my fight.
It’s Emma’s, and now she’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “Why did you do that?” she asks in a soft voice.
“Like I said. You’ll owe me now.” I’m kidding, of course. I mean, not completely—she’ll owe me something.
She doesn’t understand that. “Oh, I should’ve known,” she replies bitterly. “What, am I going to owe you a blowjob, too?”
“What the fuck? What are you talking about?”
She waves me off, shaking her head. “Right. Like you don’t know.”
“I don’t. What the hell are you talking about?”
She searches my face like she’s looking for the truth before walking around to her driver-side door. “Why don’t you ask your brother? I just want to go home.”
The word home clears out my confusion. “No way.”
“Would you give it up?” Her voice carries a lot further than I would expect considering how pale she looks and how softly she was speaking just a second ago.
Bright patches of red bloom on her cheeks, and they only make the rest of her face look ghost white in comparison.
“I’m not allowed to go home now? Are you ever going to get tired of torturing me?
” She drops into the seat behind the steering wheel and reaches for the door handle like she’s ready to slam it shut.
She’s too slow, or I’m too quick. Either way, I grab the door before she can get it shut.
“You should not be driving,” I remind her, rolling my eyes when she does the same.
It’s like she’s determined to get herself killed.
“You couldn’t even make it out of the parking lot without hitting another car.
I wouldn’t feel right letting you go like this. ”
“What, you care about my safety all of a sudden?”
“No. I’m worried about the other people on the road.” I have to snicker when she sputters at my response. “Stop being a stubborn brat and slide over. I’ll drive you home.”
“And how will you get home?”
“God, who knows? What a dilemma.” Still, she slides over like I told her to while I mutter, “Maybe I’ll hitchhike. Maybe I’ll walk the whole way. Or maybe I’ll just get an Uber the way anybody else would. It’s almost like I can pull out my phone and get a ride wherever I am.”
“Fine, smartass.” She wraps her arms around the backpack sitting on her lap. “I’m just saying, it’s an inconvenience.”
“Yeah, well, like I said. You owe me one. It will all even out in the end.” I just have to figure out what I plan on making her do—and make no mistake, she will make up for this somehow. I’m not good at empathizing with others, and I flat-out suck at letting go of a debt.
We are a block away from campus by the time she speaks again. This time, there’s a lot less fight in her voice. “Thank you, I guess. I was so overwhelmed. I didn’t even think about the position of Brittany’s car.”
“It’s not much of a defense, but it’s something,” I muse as we come to a stop at a red light. “She’s all talk. All it takes is somebody standing up to her, and she’s got nothing.”
“Why are some people like that?” She looks out the window to her right when she asks, and her voice is soft, far away. She might not even be talking to me—she could’ve asked herself that question.
“Some people have nothing better to do.”
“Speaking from experience?” When I glance her way out of the corner of my eye, I see she’s looking at me now. Smirking, even.
“At least with us, we have a reason.”
Though right now, driving her home, it’s harder to remember that reason. Maybe because now she’s a person. That night outside the hospital, she was a pain in the ass, a know-it-all who couldn’t keep her nose out of our shit. A narc.
Now she’s a girl who looks like she’s had a rough day. Maybe a rough week. And while it’s kind of fun to make her squirm, it’s not as much fun watching somebody else do it.
“I’m just tired,” she whispers. “I’m so tired.”
“You probably shouldn’t have come to school today. You have a bug or something.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Suddenly, she sits up straighter, angling herself so she’s facing me a little more. “Why did you follow me last night? Were you at the hospital? Did you follow me from the parking lot?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “We saw your car.”
“Putting aside the fact that you have nothing better to do than follow me, what are you doing at the hospital? Is your sister still there? Is she okay?”
“Oh, no, they let her go the next day.” And now I remember where all of this started, and why I hate her to begin with. “We’ve been volunteering at the hospital lately. We have to do at least twelve hours a week.” Which feels like fifty, but who’s counting?
“Why?”
Of course, she wouldn’t know. I have to wait a second to let her curiosity grow before I drop the bomb. “You see, somebody got us in trouble, and our dad ordered us to volunteer at the hospital or else he would take away our phones and cars.”
“No way. You’re just saying that.”