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I rolled my eyes. “Oh God,” I muttered. “Don’t go all Lifetime movie on me. Seriously.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling. “But I mean it. A lot of people would kill for my life, but I didn’t even consider that. I took it—and you—for granted. I’m so, so sorry for that, Bumblebee.”
I wanted to look away when I saw the tears glistening at the corners of his eyes, but I forced myself to focus only on him. I’d been turning away from the truth for too long.
He apologized multiple times for everything that had happened over the past few weeks. He promised me he’d start going to weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meetings again, to go back on the wagon, to call his sponsor again. And then we poured every single bottle of whiskey and beer down the drain together, both of us eager for a clean slate.
“Is your head all right?” he asked me about a million times that day.
“It’s fine,” I kept telling him.
He always shook his head and murmured more apologies for slapping me. For saying what he had. Then he’d hug me.
Seriously, a million times that day.
Around midnight, I joined him in his nightly ritual of turning out the lights. “Bumblebee,” he said as the kitchen went dark. “I want you to thank your friend next time you see him.”
“My friend?”
“Yeah. The boy who was with you last night. What’s his name?”
“Wesley,” I muttered.
“Right,” Dad said. “Well, I deserved it. He was brave to do what he did. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m glad you have a friend who’s willing to stand up for you. So please tell him I said thanks.”
“Sure.” I turned and walked up the stairs to my bedroom, praying that wouldn’t be anytime soon.
“But Bianca?” He winced and rubbed his jaw. “Next time tell him he should feel free to write a strongly worded letter first. Hell of an arm on that kid.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “There won’t be a next time,” I told him, taking the last few steps and heading to my bedroom.
Both my parents were facing reality, giving up their distractions. Now it was my turn, and that meant quitting Wesley. Unfortunately, there were no weekly meetings, no sponsors, or twelve-step programs for what I was addicted to.
21
I was pretty sure Wesley wouldn’t approach me at school. Why would he? It wasn’t like he’d miss me… even if I really, really wanted him to. He wasn’t losing anything. He had plenty of replacement girls ready and willing to fill any gaps I might have left in his schedule. So there was no need for an avoidance plan on Monday morning.
Except that I didn’t even want to see him. If I had to look at him day after day, I could never hope to forget about him. I could never hope to move on. For this situation, I did need a plan, and I had one all lined up.
Step one: keep distracted in the hallway in case he passed me.
Step two: stay busy in English and never look over at his side of the classroom.
Step three: speed out of the parking lot in the afternoon so I didn’t run into him.
Dad made step three possible by fixing my car Sunday, so I was sure I could keep from seeing Wesley. In a matter of weeks, I’d be able to put our relationship—or lack thereof—out of my mind. If not, well, we’d graduate in May and I’d never have to look at that cocky smirk ever again.
That was the theory, anyway.
But by the time the final bell rang on Monday, I knew my plan sucked ass. Not looking at Wesley didn’t necessarily equal not thinking of Wesley. In fact, I spent most of my day thinking about not looking at him. Then I just thought about all the reasons I shouldn’t be thinking of him. It never freaking ended! Nothing seemed to distract me.
Until Tuesday afternoon.
I was on my way to lunch after an unbearably long AP government class when something happened that gave me just the distraction I needed. Something unbelievable and shocking. Something pretty damn awesome.
Toby fell into step with me in the hallway. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” I did my best to sound at least halfway pleasant. “What’s up, Harvard Boy?”
Toby gri
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’m thinking of doing it on gay marriage.”
“Supporting or opposing?”
“Oh, definitely supporting. I mean, the government has no right to dictate who can and can’t publicly declare their love for each other.”
“How romantic of you,” Toby said.
I snorted. “Hardly. I’m not romantic at all, but it’s basic logic. Denying homosexuals the right to marriage infringes on their liberty and equality. Pretty screwed up.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Toby agreed. “It seems we have a lot in common.”
“I guess we do.”
We walked for a couple of seconds in silence before he asked, “So, do you have any plans for prom?”
“No,” I told him. “I’m not going. Why pay two hundred bucks for a dress, thirty for a ticket, forty for hair and makeup, and a handful more for di
“I see,” Toby said. “That’s a little unfortunate…. I was kind of hoping you’d go with me.”
Okay, so I hadn’t seen that coming. At all. Ever. Toby Tucker, the boy I’d crushed on for years, wanted to ask me to prom? Oh my God. Oh my God. And I’d totally bashed the whole institution of high school dances like an opinionated idiot. I’d practically rejected him without even meaning to. Oh, shit. I was a moron. A complete moron. And now I was at a loss for words. What did I say? Did I apologize or take it back or—
“But it’s fine if you feel that way,” Toby said. “I’ve always thought prom was a pointless rite of passage, so we’re on the same page.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said lamely.
Oh, someone fucking shoot me right now!
“But,” Toby pressed, “are you opposed to regular dates? Ones without poufy dresses or crappy salads?”
“No. I don’t have a problem with those.”
My head was spi
I didn’t.
But why? Why would Toby want to go on a date with me? I was the Duff. Duffs don’t get dates. Not real ones. Yet Toby was defying the odds. Maybe he was a bigger man than most. Just like how I’d always imagined him in my stupid, girly, midclass daydreams. Not shallow. Not conceited. Not cocky or vain. A perfect gentleman.
“That’s good,” he said. “In that case…” I could tell he was nervous. His cheeks were turning pink, and he was staring at his shoes and playing with his glasses. “Friday? Would you like to go out with me on Friday night?”
“I’d like…”
Then the inevitable happened. I thought of the douche bag. The playboy. The womanizer. The one person who could ruin this moment for me. Yes, I had a crush on Toby Tucker. How could I not? He was sweet and charming and smart… but my feelings for Wesley were way beyond that. I’d skipped the crush kiddie pool and jumped right into the deep, shark-infested ocean of emotions. And, if you’ll forgive the dramatic metaphor, I was a lousy swimmer.
But Casey had told me to move on, and here Toby was, tossing me a float and offering to save me from drowning. I’d be stupid not to accept. God only knew how long it might be before another rescue party came along.