The rest of the day was, simply put, hell for Rhiannon. First on the bus to
go home, practically forcing the lock on the front door to get in the house
and down to the basement, she struggled against some strange emotion that
threatened to bring up what little lunch she'd eaten and leave her sobbing
with frustration. Not even a fierce session with her punching bag could
purge the raging guilt she felt. Matt was right, and she knew it, but was
so loath to admit it that by the time she unwrapped her bloodstained
knuckles and stripped to take a shower, she'd practically forgotten about
her other obsession—the promised Mirror.
The shock of cold water seemed to clear her head somewhat. She would simply have to talk to Matt, Rhi decided, conveniently forgetting that was precisely what she'd been avoiding doing all week. She'd have to apologize for hurting his feelings, but not go far enough for him to ask her to Prom again—but just enough for him to take back what he'd said about her. Social pariah? Her? Hardly. Rhi wondered if he would just hang up when he heard her voice over the phone. Her state of mind was such that she decided not to take that chance. As soon as she was dressed, she left a note for Mom and, wheeling her bike out of the garage, set out to talk to Matt in person.
As she pedaled across the five miles separating her from Matt (mostly uphill, she'd sorely realize later), Rhi mapped out what she'd say to him, how their entire conversation would go. She, appropriately contrite, would be forgiven immediately—or would she? What if some kind of negotiation or finesse was needed? Turning on the charm from the outset would probably be a good idea, and she could notch it up as needed. Matt, however, suddenly seemed the long-winded type—what if he just stood at the door berating her, never letting her get a word in edgewise? What if he wanted to apologize too, and she never got the chance to admit he was her only friend here? All of the what ifs rolled through her head as her tires spun the road out behind her, chugging along with her slightly ragged breaths and protesting muscles.
Rounding the last corner, dismay hit Rhi head-on as she saw a group of guys splayed across the lawn and street from Matt's house, tossing a Frisbee from curb to curb. Despite the casual atmosphere, each catch was more elaborate than the last: through the legs, in midair, on one finger to be spun like a plate. Matt himself seemed to reserve his more spectacular moves, but nonetheless his talent with a Frisbee was obvious.
I can't say all that stuff in front of all these guys—how can I even talk to him when everyone's around—what if he won't talk to me? Why the hell does he have people over when I need to apologize, dammit? Panic swirled through her carefully-planned conversation, sweeping away the solemnity and gravity she'd piled on her apology.
Matt spied her still halfway down the block and waved, turning his head to excuse himself, and jogged towards her. As he neared, Rhi could see no resentment, no anger on his face—resignation, sure, and perhaps a little reservation. He probably thinks I'm going to hit him or something, she realized, and scrabbled frantically for something that would show him she meant just the opposite.
"Hey, Rhi, what's up?" Matt asked, and to hear so casual a question Rhi's stomach flip-flopped. It was as though he wasn't even aware of the situation, of how important this was that she get it all out in the manner she'd planned, so she could go home and stop feeling sick over this first fight with her only friend. Rhi opened her mouth to say something, praying for an appropriate witticism, some clever anecdote that would make everything ok.
She got as far as a croaky "Matt—"before her voice failed. She couldn't believe that she felt tears threatening, and nothing had been said yet! He immediately looked concerned.
"Rhi, what is it? Is everything ok? What—"Suddenly words were the least important things in the world—actions speak louder, she thought, and Rhi reached over to grab Matt's head and plant a rough kiss square on his mouth.
Later, when she'd calmed down again, Rhi would reflect that it was the first time in at least six months that she'd kissed a boy. Dan, her ex from home, had been a hell of a kisser, and their break-up kiss had almost changed her mind. There was nothing elegant, or suave, or even really romantic, about this one, however: just Rhi's lips pressed against Matt's, the breath whistling through their noses in twin shocked inhalations. Rhi gripped his head tight until a wolf whistle from down the street pierced the fearful hollow of her ear—then she practically threw him away from her, as bewildered with the kiss as he was.
"I—"she swallowed hard, knowing her face was either deathly pale or beet red, feeling sweat trickle down her spine and between her breasts.
"I'm sorry." Rhi said it simply, then wheeled her bike around and set off back down the street. As she rounded the corner again, she realized she felt better than she had in days.
It took a Frisbee to the head for Matt to come around.
________________________________________________
The shock of cold water seemed to clear her head somewhat. She would simply have to talk to Matt, Rhi decided, conveniently forgetting that was precisely what she'd been avoiding doing all week. She'd have to apologize for hurting his feelings, but not go far enough for him to ask her to Prom again—but just enough for him to take back what he'd said about her. Social pariah? Her? Hardly. Rhi wondered if he would just hang up when he heard her voice over the phone. Her state of mind was such that she decided not to take that chance. As soon as she was dressed, she left a note for Mom and, wheeling her bike out of the garage, set out to talk to Matt in person.
As she pedaled across the five miles separating her from Matt (mostly uphill, she'd sorely realize later), Rhi mapped out what she'd say to him, how their entire conversation would go. She, appropriately contrite, would be forgiven immediately—or would she? What if some kind of negotiation or finesse was needed? Turning on the charm from the outset would probably be a good idea, and she could notch it up as needed. Matt, however, suddenly seemed the long-winded type—what if he just stood at the door berating her, never letting her get a word in edgewise? What if he wanted to apologize too, and she never got the chance to admit he was her only friend here? All of the what ifs rolled through her head as her tires spun the road out behind her, chugging along with her slightly ragged breaths and protesting muscles.
Rounding the last corner, dismay hit Rhi head-on as she saw a group of guys splayed across the lawn and street from Matt's house, tossing a Frisbee from curb to curb. Despite the casual atmosphere, each catch was more elaborate than the last: through the legs, in midair, on one finger to be spun like a plate. Matt himself seemed to reserve his more spectacular moves, but nonetheless his talent with a Frisbee was obvious.
I can't say all that stuff in front of all these guys—how can I even talk to him when everyone's around—what if he won't talk to me? Why the hell does he have people over when I need to apologize, dammit? Panic swirled through her carefully-planned conversation, sweeping away the solemnity and gravity she'd piled on her apology.
Matt spied her still halfway down the block and waved, turning his head to excuse himself, and jogged towards her. As he neared, Rhi could see no resentment, no anger on his face—resignation, sure, and perhaps a little reservation. He probably thinks I'm going to hit him or something, she realized, and scrabbled frantically for something that would show him she meant just the opposite.
"Hey, Rhi, what's up?" Matt asked, and to hear so casual a question Rhi's stomach flip-flopped. It was as though he wasn't even aware of the situation, of how important this was that she get it all out in the manner she'd planned, so she could go home and stop feeling sick over this first fight with her only friend. Rhi opened her mouth to say something, praying for an appropriate witticism, some clever anecdote that would make everything ok.
She got as far as a croaky "Matt—"before her voice failed. She couldn't believe that she felt tears threatening, and nothing had been said yet! He immediately looked concerned.
"Rhi, what is it? Is everything ok? What—"Suddenly words were the least important things in the world—actions speak louder, she thought, and Rhi reached over to grab Matt's head and plant a rough kiss square on his mouth.
Later, when she'd calmed down again, Rhi would reflect that it was the first time in at least six months that she'd kissed a boy. Dan, her ex from home, had been a hell of a kisser, and their break-up kiss had almost changed her mind. There was nothing elegant, or suave, or even really romantic, about this one, however: just Rhi's lips pressed against Matt's, the breath whistling through their noses in twin shocked inhalations. Rhi gripped his head tight until a wolf whistle from down the street pierced the fearful hollow of her ear—then she practically threw him away from her, as bewildered with the kiss as he was.
"I—"she swallowed hard, knowing her face was either deathly pale or beet red, feeling sweat trickle down her spine and between her breasts.
"I'm sorry." Rhi said it simply, then wheeled her bike around and set off back down the street. As she rounded the corner again, she realized she felt better than she had in days.
It took a Frisbee to the head for Matt to come around.
________________________________________________