12. June #2
I pull her into a hug, and she resists for half a second, her body rigid, and then she melts into it, her forehead pressing against my collarbone. She’s trembling.
“You’re more than good enough,” I say into her hair.
She pulls back after a moment and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry. That was a lot. And on top of everything you’re dealing with. I’m sorry.”
“I’m your bestie. Don’t apologize.”
She pulls out a compact mirror to check her mascara. “I really hate that someone is sending all those texts. You don’t deserve that. No one should get bullied.” Her voice cracks, and I know she’s not just talking about me anymore.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say.
She nods and dabs at her eyes again with her fingertips. Once her makeup is fixed, she flashes me a bigger smile. “Let’s go back before everyone shows up and takes the good spots at the table,” she says.
“You look cute.”
“Shut up.” But she’s giving me a real smile this time.
We return to the picnic table and we’ve barely sat down when I see the rest of our group crossing the lot.
Aubrey first, because Aubrey is impossible to miss with her orange-streaked hair, combat boots, and confident stride.
Carter is beside her, easy and loose, his eyes scanning the trucks as he approaches.
Aeron is trailing slightly behind with his hood up and his hands buried in his pockets.
And Dorien.
Black leather jacket. Gloved hands in his pockets. He walks beside Carter, and when they reach us, he sits at the far end across from Carter without so much as a glance in my direction.
I am so ready to murder that man.
Beside me, Cinna’s eyes follow him as he sits. She bites her lip, observing him a little too closely, then turns her attention to Aubrey.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed her giving Dorien an interested side-eye when she thinks no one’s watching. But I’ve never brought it up. I think it’s because I’m afraid of the truth.
Regardless, it’s been almost a minute and the bastard still hasn’t looked at me. He’s seriously going to ignore me after violating my privacy the other day?
Fine. Good. I don’t want him looking at me. I don’t want anything from him, least of all the apology he obviously has no intention of offering. He broke into my phone, read my messages, responded to my harasser without my permission, and now he’s sitting six feet away acting like I’m not here.
Why didn’t he just wait until I got out of the bathroom?
I had been in the stall crying, my hands shaking so badly I could barely lock the door.
The text was so specific and so ugly it felt like someone had reached inside my body and found the softest place and pressed down hard.
I sat there with toilet paper wadded in my fists and mascara running down my face for ten minutes, and while I cried I thought about what Dorien told me before: If anyone gives you trouble, tell me.
The real tragedy of this situation was that I was going to tell him. I was going to go back to class, sit beside him, and say, “Look, this is happening. I’m scared, and I need someone to know.” Because he said he’d show up, didn’t he?
Then I came back and found out he’d already made the choice for me.
He stole my choice, and it’s moments like these when I think back to our childhood and wonder what really happened that day because it’s all so fuzzy.
Did he steal my choice back then too?
Or was it all my fault?
I glance at the ice cream truck. The anger from Dorien unlocking my phone sits in my shoulders and behind my eyes, but now there’s grief too.
“Hey, June.” Aubrey drops onto the bench beside me. “You look like someone spit in your latte.”
I snap back to the moment and ignore ignore ignore. “Charming as always.”
“I’m serious. I swear I’m not trying to be bitchy. You’re clenching.” She taps her own jaw. “The clenchy thing.”
“I’m fine.”
Cinna, bless her, changes the subject. She starts talking about a gallery opening she saw posted near the art building, and Aubrey jumps in with a strong opinion about the artist’s use of found materials, and for a few minutes the conversation carries itself without needing anything from me.
At the far end of the table, Carter is telling Dorien one of his insane stories, gesturing with both hands.
Aeron sits next to Dorien. His sketchbook is open on the table, but he’s showing more interest in Carter, actually smirking at the dummy.
Then I glance past Cinna’s shoulder and catch sight of the ice cream truck again. A kid is walking up to the window. The man inside, who has a handlebar mustache, leans down, holds out a cone, and the kid reaches up for it.
Don’t, I want to scream at the kid.
Get away now!
My stomach clenches. The backs of my knees go numb. My fingertips tingle and my vision narrows to a pinpoint. I grip the edge of the table because I feel like I might pass out.
“I need to grab food,” I say, standing. My voice comes out steady and that’s its own small miracle. “Want anything?” I’m addressing the entire group, I guess. Except Dorien.
The question prompts everyone, except Dorien, to all talk at once. Aubrey wants pizza. Carter wants a gyro. But they’re actually not asking me to get those things, just announcing what they want. All of them, thankfully including Dorien, scatter toward different trucks.
Then Cinna returns to the table quickly and says, “Never mind. I don’t want anyone taking our spot. Can you bring me something, please? I don’t care what it is.”
I nod and then make my way to the taco line. Waiting to order gives me a moment to stand still with my arms crossed and my eyes closed.
Four in. Hold. Four out. Hold.
The line moves after ten minutes, so I order. The guy in the truck hands me two trays and I pay. My hands are almost steady by the time I step away.
Once I’m back at the table, the panic has retreated to a dull tension between my shoulders. I sit between Cinna and Aubrey, eating, listening, and trying to be present with these people who showed up on a Friday evening to sit in a park and be young together.
That’s all we should care about. Just being young with the rest of life’s possibilities ahead of us.
The vibe shifts once everyone has food. Cinna brightens and starts telling Aubrey about an artist whose installations involve suspended dried flowers.
The way she describes the work, hands moving, voice animated, you’d never guess she was crying twenty minutes ago.
Aubrey tells a story about her tutor that has Carter choking on his gyro.
Even Aeron lifts his head from his sketchbook and just stares, like he can’t believe what she’s saying.
Aubrey gets way too graphic sometimes.
Through it all, Dorien never looks my way.
He’s at the other end of the table, talking to Aeron now, leaning back like he has no care in the world. I watch him say something that makes Aeron actually grin and close his sketchbook to talk. I’m happy my brother actually has a friend but…
I hate that it’s Dorien. I hate that Dorien is good with my brother. I hate that Aeron opens up for him in ways he won’t for me.
I try to focus on Cinna and Aubrey, but my eyes keep drifting. That man hasn’t apologized or texted or even fucking acknowledged that what he did was wrong. He’s right there. He could speak up. Yet he ignores me.
I set down my taco.
“Excuse me,” I say to my friends, standing again.
I cross to Dorien’s end of the table and stop next to him while he’s deep in conversation with Aeron. I force myself not to sound too murderous. “Can I talk to you?”
Aeron glances up first, giving me an irritated frown. Then he glances at Dorien, and I watch the openness in his face close like a shutter. I’m sure he’s upset that I interrupted, and I love my brother, I do, but I can’t carry his feelings and mine at the same time. Right now, mine are louder.
Aeron pulls his sketchbook closer and turns away, shoulders curling inward. Carter slides down the bench toward Cinna and Aubrey, filling the gap without comment.
Dorien—still not looking at me—stands. He follows me into the maple trees, out of earshot and out of sight. We stop beneath a maple whose leaves are the color of fresh grass, and the fading light through the canopy turns Dorien’s face warm and golden. I hate that I notice.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” I say, doing my best to keep this conversation calm and rational.
His head is turned and he’s staring at a tree trunk. “I’m giving you space.”
“No. You’re ignoring me. It looks like you don’t care that you did anything wrong.”
He’s quiet for a second and his shoulders stiffen toward his ears. His posture is no longer so relaxed. Then, without any buildup, he says, “Sorry.”
A single, bored word.
Fuck, why am I even doing this? The man clearly doesn’t care.
Maybe I’m overly stressed from the harassing texts.
Maybe I’m already too exhausted from school even though we’re not even halfway through the semester.
Maybe it’s the ice cream truck, or knowing that Aeron seems to want nothing to do with me, or it’s that Dorien hurt me deeper than I want to admit.
Maybe it’s everything.
It’s everything, so my eyes flood with tears and they slip down my face before I can turn away.
I don’t want Dorien to see my tears, but it’s too late. His demeanor immediately changes and now, now, he looks remorseful. He takes a step toward me and I instinctively take a step back.
“For what, specifically?” I say through the tears. “You don’t seem to be sorry about shit.”
His shoulders drop and he starts rambling, which is a very un-Dorien thing to do.
“I’m sorry for unlocking your phone and reading the text without your permission.
I’m really sorry for responding without asking you.
I saw that you were upset and I had to know.
I wasn’t thinking. I acted without thinking and I shouldn’t have done any of it. ”
The words sound genuine and some of the tension in my stomach loosens. He keeps going.