Interim, page 16
“Fine. I’ll buy all that bullshit. But what about now, Regan? Huh? You see the way she treats me. The way she treats other people. Why are you friends with her?”
“She’s been my best friend since kindergarten.”
“So what?”
“We’ve gone through a lot together.”
“So what?”
“She’s a good person underneath it all.”
Hannah threw her head back and laughed. “Are you insane?”
“Shut up.”
“No, seriously. Have you gone insane?”
“Shut. Up.”
“Oooo. Liking the emphasis. You mean business. Maybe I should hear you out.”
Regan blinked.
“Well?”
“I . . . I don’t have to justify my friendships to you.”
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t know my history with Casey.”
“Uh huh.”
“I know it’s an act. I’m just waiting for her to wash off the face paint.”
Hannah laughed all over again. “Loving the cheesy metaphor.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself. Are we done with this conversation?”
“Are you bullying Jarrod?” Regan demanded.
Hannah froze. “Huh?”
“Jarrod. Brandon’s little brother. Are you bullying him?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Because I need to know.”
Hannah thrust her face in Regan’s. Regan reared back on instinct, smacking her head against the mirror.
“Listen carefully,” Hannah said low. “I’m not some traitor, okay? I didn’t defect to the other side. I feel every day what it is to be abused and broken down. I would never do that to someone else. I would never be like you—”
“I don’t bully anyone.”
“Maybe not,” Hannah replied. “But you’re one of them by association. That’s just as bad, if not worse.”
Regan hung her head.
“If you ever ask me something like that again, I’ll rip all those dumbass extensions out of your head and wrap them around your throat.” Hannah paused, then smiled. “Because I love you, Regan, and if I can’t have you, no one can.”
Bad joke.
“Go report that back to Casey. You want a psycho lesbo? You got one,” Hannah went on.
“Get over yourself. And stop trying to be a martyr,” Regan spat.
The words tweaked a nerve, and Hannah scowled.
“You were my friend,” she said. “And then you dropped me.”
“I—”
“Shut up!” Hannah roared. “Then you see me crying in the bathroom, and you have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong! And I was so stupid. I was so stupid, Regan. I thought it meant you cared again!”
“I—”
“I don’t know why I kissed you, okay?! I mean, I know why I kissed you, but it was the wrong time. I was just all fucked up, and there you were being sweet. I thought you wanted to be friends again. I thought I’d try to show you how I felt.” She laughed derisively. “Man, I’m an idiot. And you’re nothing but a fucking fake ass bitch.”
“I—”
“Stop. Interrupting,” Hannah warned, glaring at her. Regan closed her mouth. “Then you go run to your asshole friends and tell them what I did. Why did you do that? Why were you so cruel to me?”
Regan said nothing.
“Answer me!” Hannah screamed.
“I was freaked out! Okay? I never meant to be mean to you. I told Casey in confidence. I didn’t know she’d blab. I didn’t know she would attack you the way she has!”
“But you see it! And you’re still friends with her! I don’t give a shit that she makes fun of me. Don’t you get it? It’s not about her! It’s about you! Your actions! You’re still friends with her! What does that say about you?! And how the hell could I have ever been attracted to you? You’re a fucking wimp!”
The girls stood staring at each other, verbal guns still drawn, with neither seeking another shoot out. Silence fell, and eventually, so did their weapons.
“I never thought someone would call me a ‘fucking wimp,’” Regan said softly.
“I never thought you’d be one,” Hannah replied.
“You think I like hanging out with them?”
“How should I know? But you do it anyway, and that’s your true reflection, your true nature.”
“You’re wrong. My true nature is dressing however I want even if it doesn’t fit with what’s popular. My true nature is being embarrassed every time I walk into this school, knowing I’m acting like a charlatan but feeling too afraid to . . . how did you put it? Go it alone?”
Hannah nodded.
“My true nature feels sick inside for the way people are treated here.”
“Then why did you change? You used to not care what others thought about you. You used to stick up for the little guys.”
Regan shrugged. “It was easier to fit in than to be harassed. I chickened out.”
“And that’s the scariest part of it all—that you gave in to peer pressure.”
Pause.
“Maybe my period had something to do with it,” Regan said thoughtfully.
“Huh?”
“I don’t know. Girls get weird when they start their periods. They change. Maybe it’s that.”
“Uh, you wanna blame this shit on your period?” Hannah asked.
Regan snorted.
“Take a fucking Midol and deal.”
Regan nodded.
And then silence descended like the ellipsis at the end of a convoluted sentence. No more anger. Confusion, yes, but this was not question mark silence. This was that definitive silence where everything had been said but nothing fixed. Nothing made better.
There was nothing to do but open the door for Hannah.
“What are you doing?” Hannah asked.
“Holding the door for you. What does it look like?”
Hannah walked through tentatively, watching Regan from the corner of her eye. Regan exited the bathroom and fell in step with her.
“It’s easier to blame everything on your period.”
“I do that when I have to,” Hannah replied, head swiveling side to side. She didn’t want to run into anyone who would give her trouble for talking to Regan.
“But I know I can’t blame my period for this,” Regan went on.
“Hell. No.”
“I want to be better.”
Hannah stopped short. Regan turned around and faced her.
“Then just do it. Be better.”
Regan tried for a smile. She didn’t want to fully commit if she didn’t receive one in return. The side of Hannah’s mouth quirked up. Perhaps that was as good as it got.
“You’re not really going to try to murder me with my extensions, are you?”
Full-on smile. “I know what you’re trying to do with that fake ass hair.”
“It’s real human hair.”
“It’s not growing out of your head, is it?” Hannah asked.
Regan shook her head.
“Okay then. Fake ass hair. Anyway, I know you’re trying to make a statement with it.”
“You do?”
“Ohhh yeah. Will the real Regan Walters please stand up?” The pitch of her voice changed to mimic a Valley girl. “Why, yes, I do believe I will . . . after three years of being a fucking lame ass coward. Hello world! Hello losers! I’m back to stick up for you!”
“I so don’t sound like that.”
“Yeah, well, whatever.”
“And I don’t like the word ‘loser.’”
Hannah ignored her. “How poetic would it be if I murdered you with your “I’m changed!” hair pieces?”
Regan giggled. “Pretty poetic.”
“Uh huh. You just think about that tomorrow when you’re eating lunch with your douchebag boyfriend.”
It was at that exact moment that Hannah spotted Casey in the distance.
“Ugh.”
“What?” Regan asked, looking behind her.
“I’m outta here,” Hannah mumbled, and before Regan could reply, Hannah disappeared down the hallway.
Casey approached. “Did I just see that?”
“See what?”
“You talking to Hannah.”
“Yep.”
“I’m confused.”
“Why?”
“Because you were talking to Hannah.”
“Why confused? I told you I talked to her every once in a while.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t actually believe you.”
“Well, believe it.”
Brief pause.
“What’s going on?” Casey asked.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you being weird and talking to weird people?”
“I’m just being.”
“Yeah. That’s a little too Zen for me. Wanna try again?”
“Casey, chill.”
Slightly longer pause.
“I’m not going back there, Regan,” Casey said finally.
Regan ignored her and headed for the doors. She jerked to a stop when Casey grabbed her upper arm.
“Ouch!”
“I’m not going back there,” Casey said more urgently.
“Back where? What are you talking about?”
“I’ve worked too hard.”
“What?”
“I’ve worked too hard to get here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about!” Casey screamed, releasing Regan’s arm. “I’ve got a good thing going!”
“You’re dating a guy who cheats on you!”
Casey reared back. “What the fuck? He does not cheat on me! It was one mistake, and I don’t have to justify anything to you!”
Regan heard her own shrill voice screaming at Hannah about justifying her friendships.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Regan said, “but I’ve gotta go.”
Casey wasn’t satisfied. “Why are you pulling away from me? From us?”
“I’m not pulling away from you,” Regan replied. “We’ve talked about this, Case. Everything’s cool.”
“Yes, you are!” Casey cried. “And don’t give me some bullshit about how you’re self-conscious about your boobs!”
Regan sighed.
Casey bristled. “Oh, I’m soooo sorry this conversation is a bore for you. I’m soooo sorry I keep bringing up the fact that something’s changed with you, and I know you don’t want to hang out with me anymore. With us. I mean, you’re talking to Hannah, for Christ’s sake!”
“It wasn’t, like, a big deal conversation.” Lie.
“I don’t care if you were talking about the weather. Why are you talking to her period? Why are you changing? What’s got you so discontent with your perfect life that you feel the need to make poor choices?”
“Make poor choices?”
“Who you talk to matters.”
Now Regan bristled. “You’re right. It does matter. And we should be talking to nice people.”
“We hang out with nice people!”
“No, we don’t! We hang out with assholes!”
Casey’s mouth dropped open. “Who are you?”
“I’m Regan!”
“Where is my BFF?”
“Standing right in front of you!”
“I . . . I’m telling Brandon!” Casey cried.
What the fuck?
“Um, you’re telling him what exactly?” Regan asked.
“About this change. I’m telling him you’re changing,” Casey said.
It was the weirdest threat Regan ever received. Even weirder than Hannah’s death-by-extensions threat.
“Well, all right then. You do that.”
“Stop it, Regan! Just stop!”
“What do you want me to stop? I don’t know what I’m doing except being myself. So go report that to my boyfriend—that Regan’s being herself!”
She stormed down the hallway, nearly crashing into the doors. They flung wide, jarring against the outer brick walls and slamming closed with a loud swack!
***
“You haven’t started your period yet, have you?” Regan asked Caroline as she plopped onto her sister’s bed.
“Gross, Regan!”
“That answers that,” Regan replied. “Okay, we can hang out then.”
Caroline scratched her head. “I don’t get it.”
“Look, your entire life will change when you get your period. You’ll become emotional and moody and grouchy and awful to everyone around you. So will all your friends. And that spells drama, sweetheart. Drama with a capital D. I can’t handle the drama. Not anymore. But since you don’t have your period, you’re pretty much drama free. So we can hang.”
Caroline blinked. “You’re weird.”
Regan laughed. “What are you doing?”
“Writing a book.”
“Rad.”
Caroline snickered. “That word is so stupid, Regan. Where’d you hear it?”
“Mom.”
“You wanna sound like Mom?”
“Eh. I like the word. Plus, it goes with this shirt.” She pointed to her T-shirt that featured The Two Coreys. “Now tell me about your book.”
Caroline frowned, confused, then shrugged. “Whatever. So my book’s about a horse who can talk, but he only talks to this one girl . . .”
Regan grinned and listened. What was it about girls and horses? And then she remembered something she read a long time ago during her own horse phase. It was written by a psychologist who suggested the underlying reason girls love horses is because they represent power—the desire for control—whether they’re controlling the horse or vice versa. And then it devolved into some Freudian explanation of repressed sexual urges, and she didn’t understand any of it. She was nine.
“You don’t like any boys in your class, do you?” she asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
“Gross.”
Whew.
“So it really is just about a horse.”
Caroline looked up from her wide-ruled notebook paper. “I told you it’s about a talking horse.”
Regan nodded. “So what happens?”
“I can’t tell you that. You’ll have to read it when I’m finished,” Caroline said.
“But that’ll take forever,” Regan whined.
“Will not. I’ll have it done by tomorrow.”
“A whole novel finished in two days?”
“I started it Monday.”
“A whole novel finished in a week?”
“Yeah.” Caroline chewed the end of her pencil. “It’s not like writing’s hard. What? You thought it’d take me a year?”
Regan chuckled. “Hey, what do you think about reading some of my work?”
“Your poetry?”
“Uh huh.”
“Already have.”
“What?”
“I’ve read your poetry. I don’t understand it.”
“You went into my room without permission?”
“Never, Regan. I follow the rules.”
“So . . . ?” She waited for an explanation.
“It was sitting on the mantle. You left it there. I thought it was an open invitation.”
“Uh huh. So you didn’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that,” Caroline replied. “I said I don’t understand it.”
“Well, I don’t understand half of it either,” Regan confessed. She crossed her arms and lay her head in the crook of her elbow.
“In that case, maybe writing isn’t for you,” Caroline said. “Stick to soccer.”
“Noted.”
“Want me to read some to you?” Caroline asked.
“Please.”
Caroline smiled. “Darwin licked Celeste’s cheek. She thought it was his way of saying, ‘I’m sorry’.”
“Darwin is the horse, I presume?”
“Duh.”
“Continue.”
“‘I’m not mad at you, Darwin, but you shouldn’t run away like that. What if something happened to you, and I couldn’t find you? I wouldn’t be able to help you.’ Darwin nodded.”
“I thought he could talk. Why isn’t he giving her an explanation instead of licking and nodding?” Regan interrupted.
“He hasn’t started talking to her yet. This is before he reveals to her that she’s an animal whisperer,” Caroline explained.
“Ohhhh. Gotcha. Carry on.”
Caroline cleared her throat and continued the story.
“Sorry, one more thing,” Regan said.
“Gosh, Regan! You’re the worst listener ever!”
“I’m sorry, but I have to know what an animal whisperer is.”
“Really? You couldn’t figure that out? It’s a person who can hear animals talk. They’re like animal protectors—especially for the animals who can’t stick up for themselves. Animals who are treated badly and need help. You get it?”
She got it, all right—the image of sixth grade Jeremy popping into her mind. He was the wounded stag laying helpless and bleeding in the middle of a pack of hungry cats. They gnashed and pawed and hissed. And she only came to his defense once. Only spoke to him once—a regret that glowed a dull pain from time to time inside her heart until she remembered that he didn’t want her help. He didn’t want her friendship. He told her so, all those many years ago.
***
He slunk soundlessly behind the tree—a large cat whose fluid movements made him imperceptible to even the sharpest ear.
“One, two, three, four,” he counted silently to the beat of the song—“Games Without Frontiers.” It jerked and pulsed inside his ears, headphones muffling the outer world and narrowing his focus on one thing: his objective. “Five.”
He swung around and positioned the rifle against his shoulder, aiming for Brandon’s chest. Much easier target. The head would be more rewarding, but the surface area was much too small, and he didn’t have time to gamble with his chances.
He pulled the trigger. The last of the bullets grazed the left side of the tree trunk, and he cursed under his breath.
“Scenario A,” he said quickly, swinging the gun down and around in front of his chest, and pawing for his ammo. “Brandon—because he’s a crazy fuck—comes at me. I have a few seconds to reload, or I pull my pistol.”
