"No jokes Puckett, this is serious chiz!"
--Freddie Benson
i'M Getting Sick of Me
"This way, come on, this way," Amelia said in a whiny voice as she played at tugging me in one direction.
"No, no," I said in the same voice. She laughed a little. "Come on, I just want to check on the feed, just for a second," I said.
"We were just there," Amelia insisted. And I guess she was right. "How much tech news could possibly have been announced in fifteen minutes?"
I was about to try to explain to her even a fraction of how much could be announced in shorter spans during the ITC, but she held up a hand to my mouth as she tried to suppress how much fun she was having.
"No. I won't have it. I won't. We're not walking by the computer store again." She pulled me and this time I let her with a fairly good natured grimace.
It wasn't as if I couldn't or wasn't going to check everything that was being announced as soon as I got home, but it was being announced now. Not that I could ever get Amelia—or pretty much anyone else really—to understand that, but I suppose another pass through shirts and slacks wouldn't kill me. Well, at least as long as Amelia figured into the equation.
It was getting later, and the Saturday night mall traffic was winding down some. I held Amelia's hand tight between us as I leaned into her while we walked. She put her head against my shoulder and I stared up at the ceiling lights, which were down to that indoor kind of gray that made all the store lights seem so bright.
"Look at that," Amelia tugged me to a halt in front of a large display.
"What?" I asked, trying to discern what shiny piece of merchandise she was referring to. It was kinda difficult since it was mostly stuff geared towards men.
"They've already came out with a new razor," Amelia said.
I focused on one of the center displays, where a razor was set up like the next pinnacle of human engineering. Or something along those humble sort of lines.
"Wow, it's so shiny," I said as I leaned forward and read the display, "The Mach Sillis? What does that even mean?"
Amelia giggled. "I don't know."
"So let's see here," I continued, looking back into the store where the slightly less flashy displays were, "There's the Mach 3, the Mach 3 Turbo, the Mach 3 Power, the Mach Fusion, the Mach ..." We were both laughing quite a bit at this point. "I don't know ... the Mach Mach?"
Amelia leaned into me and squeezed my shoulder, like she was happy that I was the funniest guy in the world.
My laughing slackened a little. "But seriously, what's the difference? They're all exactly the same."
Amelia grew a little more serious as she looked up at me. "No they're not ... are you serious?"
"No," I looked back at the display, "... Yes. Oh, I forgot your dad used to work at a razor place. How does that work anyway? From razors to computer software?"
"It's a long story," she rolled her eyes, "But are you serious?"
"Why?" I asked a little defensively.
She inclined her head a little. "Well, what kind of razor do you have?"
Crap.
"Oh, you know," I trailed off as I tried to pull away from the window, half seriously, "A sharp one ..."
"Freddie Benson," Amelia said in mock shock, "Are you telling me that you don't have a razor?"
"It's on my to get list," I said, not altogether okay with this line of conversation.
"But don't you ..." she giggled in a way that wasn't particularly funny in this particular context, "Need one?"
"I'm working up to it. Can we go now, please?" I asked.
She resisted my tug and ran a cheeky hand over my cheek. Still giggling of course. "Working up to it—" she managed.
It was getting late.
"It's not funny, okay," I said.
"But you know how to, right?" she asked.
Fragments of me sporadically sneaking my mom's in the rare occurrences when it was needed came to mind. Now that was something I really hoped Amelia—and the rest of the world for that matter—would never find out about.
"Not ... exactly," I admitted, surprisingly with more honesty than I would've thought my mood would permit.
"Really?" she looked at me like it was a big deal, like I was missing out on something. But seriously, it wasn't like she had ever— "It really isn't hard or complicated. I mean, didn't you ever even pretend to shave in the bathtub when you were little? We used to do that all the time ... with dad ..."
She trailed off there for good reason. This time she let me lead her away from the store front.
When I looked back down at her I saw how much she regretted that; a little of my own guilt was inevitable.
"You should know better." I said it that way to purposely get her scared for a moment about what I was talking about. "You don't pick on a guy's facial hair. That's like our third biggest insecurity."
"Oh, yeah?" she asked, "Would you mind it if someone else was picking on you about it?"
"Like who?" I asked.
She shrugged. "So—what are the other two insecurities?"
I lolled my head back up to look at the ceiling and smiled a bit. "Well, the second is our hair—like on top of our head."
Amelia laughed out loud at that.
"I'm serious, do you think Rogaine is a failing product?" I laughed. "I know a guy who's freaking out right now because he's only in his twenties and has a receding hair line."
"Okay," Amelia said with a lingering note of skepticism in her voice, "What's the first insecurity then?"
"Uh uh," I said, "I don't think so."
A few more windows down we paused in front of a clothing/other stuff store. Amelia because she evidently found something else interesting on display. Me because I wasn't really paying attention.
"Whaddya think?" she asked again.
It was like a game. "About the ... shoes?"
"No," she nudged me like I should've known what she was talking about, "The jacket."
"Oh, the jacket," I stalled as I tried to pinpoint exactly what jacket she meant. "I suppose it would ... look good on you."
"No," she said, correctly discerning that I wasn't joking and was in fact looking at the completely wrong one. "Not the women's one, that one—" she took my hand in hers and pointed at a dark brownish leather one off to the side. "I kinda want to know what you'd look like in it."
"Are you serious?" I asked, trying to muster up the energy to pretend to be interested. "Who do you think I am, Indiana Jones?"
She giggled and wrapped her arms around my stomach. "I think you'd look handsome in it."
"Yeah, right," I said.
"Seriously," she put her head over my shoulder, "Don't you think so?"
"What?" I hadn't really been paying attention. I guess she was actually serious. "No, I don't. Come on ... we should get going."
"Ah, you're no fun." She pretended to whine as she gave tokens efforts at slowing me as we started off again.
"Come on."
--
"Mm hmm," I nodded. Or at least I think I did.
"So the new iPear Pro isn't going to have eight cores?" Nathan asked with an expression I vaguely registered as shocked ... which didn't make ... sense—
"What?" I jerked my head to refocus on him. "What are you talking about?"
Nathan laughed and I looked over at Carly, who was giving us both a bemused expression.
"I don't talk nerd, but I'll assume that was a crazy thing to say ..." She looked over at me with something practically approaching disdain, "If it was enough to get your attention."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, not really feeling up to bristling.
"Yeah, Freds," Nathan said, using his "pet" name for me, "It practically has to take a lot more than computer blasphemy to get your attention anymore. You're like dead, man."
I looked over at him and tried to figure out what I was supposed to say to that. Could say to that.
"Have you been sleeping well lately?" Carly asked, disdain traded for genuine worry.
"No, not really," I murmured and only slightly backed away from her motherly hand. It was worth it if it would make the two of them shut up.
"But yeah, saucy," Nathan nudged his shoulder into Carly's, "We've got to get going if we don't want to miss another banging day of pre-calc."
Carly gave me a look with a relatively ridiculous amount of regret in it as she withdraw her hand and let herself be pulled along by Nathan. "Well, you should get some sleep—but not tonight!" she quickly added.
"Why?" I belatedly called after a second. "What's tonight?"
"The party!" Carly answered like she thought I was kidding.
Oh, yeah. The party.
"Yeah, see you there, Freds!" Nathan shouted back as they began to get swallowed by the pre-bell rush.
But the rush wasn't vigorous enough yet, and my degree of attention deficit wasn't quite rabid enough to miss the demure hand he draped around her waist. Or her only half-hearted attempt to pull out of it. Half-hearted and attempt being key words.
Wow. I'm really glad I didn't miss that. Like really glad.
Oh, yeah. The party. Tonight at Carly's to celebrate mid-term and the welcome but cruelly brief lapse in homework. The one Carly was inviting a lot of people to—"a lot" being irrelevant as long as Sam was coming.
The party. The one I'd more or less had to say Amelia and I were going to be at. The one that I hadn't gotten up the courage to get out of yet. And wasn't going to, no matter how much fantasizing about it made me happy.
Walking to class, not really paying attention. Then I hear her say something and I look behind me. Sam's walking in another direction with a handful of delinquents. Not an altogether unusual occurrence lately. Actually, I would have to not care—which I obviously don't—and be completely blind to miss the recent uptrend in the downtrend of people Sam had been running with. "Running" being the verb that they probably practiced a lot in the latter half of their fun.
I turned my head away.
Seriously, there's no way she can be as happy as she looks hanging out with people like that. Not to say that there was anything necessarily wrong with having criminal records and bad hygiene, but she … couldn't be.
"Hey, there's one!"
It was enough to make me turn. Sadly I discovered that they were talking about me.
"I bet the freak channel told him that was a cool outfit," one of the lankier ones said. It was more the way he said it that made the rest of them laugh. Sam included.
I gave a sarcastic smile, the kind that worked the best for these kinds of situations, as I turned away and tried not to increase my pace. I filed the kid who had spoken as Anthony, new this year and someone that I'd noted before vaguely rubbed me the wrong way—that is, in a complete and infuriatingly distinct sort of vague way.
But my neck didn't really begin to burn until I heard Sam's voice rise above the others that were still laughing from Anthony's comment.
"You should see the pajamas he wears."
More laughing. More difficulty.
I just couldn't wait for the party tonight. Just couldn't wait.
--
"I'm just not feeling good," I said as Amelia put a hand to my head. Not that I had a fever, but I honestly wasn't saying this just to try to get out of this party thing. Since we were standing in front of Carly's door, it was a tad too late for that. Sometime during this afternoon I had decided that the fuzzy feelings I'd been experiencing all day weren't of the healthy variety.
"Do you think we should tell Carly?" Amelia asked.
"No, it's not that bad," I assured her as Carly opened the door.
"Hey!" Carly burst out, "I'm so glad you're here early, we've got a ton of stuff to get—" She was pulling us through the door and listing off just what exactly had to be done.
"Oh, I can help with that," Amelia put in quickly when something involving—food I think—came up.
I was glancing back at their bathroom where I'd caught a glimpse of movement and something—
"Yeah, you want to help me with that, Freddie? I've just got a few more to—" Nathan called from the kitchen about whatever Carly had just added to the list.
"Sure," I said, trying not to sound too distracted, "But can I get a—aspirin or something, Carly? I've kinda got a headache—and trying to get medication from my place would—"
"I understand," Carly laughed as she joined Nathan in the kitchen, "There should be some in the medicine cabinet."
"Thanks," I said as I made my way through the living room, which was already half assembled in what I registered was an underwater theme.
I hesitated somewhat at the voices coming from the bathroom and the sound of running water, but I came around the corner when I heard Spencer's voice.
Sam, Spencer, and another guy I didn't recognize were ankle deep in the bathtub, holding a large, conspicuously Spencer-sculpture-looking-thing that they were filling the top of with the shower hose. In true Spencer form, it was large and intriguing in how it looked like a school of octopuses run over by—I don't know what, something big and fast moving. And it was tall and awkward and taking all three of them to keep it from toppling over, among other things. Spencer was holding the showerhead at the very top where he was trying to fill it. All three of them were soaked.
"Hey, Freddie!" Spencer shouted as he half sprayed himself. "How's it going?"
Sam looked up.
"Great," I said, surprised at how distanced I sounded.
"Did Carly send in you here? Cause you can tell her we don't need any—whoa, watch it!" Spencer shouted as the showerhead slipped out of his hands and fell on top of the third guy who was scrunched in the corner trying to hold the bottom. "Sorry, Pablo!" Spencer lunged for the flaying showerhead as it bounced outside the tub and sprayed the toilet. Spencer grabbed it and pointed at the third guy. "This Pablo, he's Sam's date. He's from Columbia. Isn't that awesome?"
Columbia? Why doesn't she just file to the IRS for desperate?
"Yeah, awesome," I nodded at him and Pablo nodded back in a way that reinforced my notion that he didn't speak a ton of English. "Hi. I'm just going to … uh, get some aspirin."
Spencer had some weird inclination to continue the conversation. "What's the matter, you feeling all right?"
"Just a headache," I said as I jumped to one of the low points in the lagoon/bathroom's standing water, "I think—" I reached over and grabbed the aspirin bottle, and then looked at her, "I think my pajamas have been bothering me lately."
Her face looked sort of bad.
"Oh," Spencer nodded, and looked off to the side, "I guess that happens … often."
"Yeah," I said as I gave one last look at Pablo before jumping back to dry ground. I was halfway down the hall when I heard Sam say something back to Spencer, followed by rushing squishy sounds, and then a hand on my shoulder just before I was about to turn around.
"Hey, listen—" Sam said breathlessly.
"You're—leaking all over the place," I said as I took a step back.
"Yeah, I know," she said, "And I know I—shouldn't've—"
Ugh. Another apology. Sometimes I miss the old Sam.
"Listen," I held my hand up as I gave her what I hoped was an 'it's okay' look, "Don't worry about it. I was just kidding."
"Seriously? You're not insecure about your pajamas anymore?" she said, sounding practically happy, like she was actually happy.
"I—" involuntarily jerked my head a little bit, "Was never insecure about my pajamas—"
"Hey, I was just kidding," she punched at my arm. "You know everyone thinks your pajamas are—just so …" She paused and laughed a little.
I wish I had a bigger headache, or something that could've kept me from smiling the little bit I did. It was like watching a mirror where everything I did was magnified. Everything namely being my smile in hers.
"Sam!" Spencer shouted from the bathroom.
"Spencer?" Carly called back worriedly from the kitchen.
"No! No!" Spencer shouted quickly. "We're fine, everything's fine, we don't need any help!" Quieter, so that only Sam and I could hear. "Help, Sam—quick, we need help—"
There was a short splashing sound, and a little bit of water seeped over the hall's carpet edge.
But Sam hadn't taken her eyes off mine. Or stopped smiling.
What was she on?
"I guess I gotta—" she made gestures behind her as she backed away.
Oh, yeah. That had to be it. Columbian coffee beans or something.
"You'd better go help Spencer and your date." It was something of a shock, and a miracle that when I checked, I still had something resembling a friendly smile on my face. It was a miracle considering what I actually felt like.
Then she was gone back around the corner. More shouts, some desperate, a few water related noises, and her laughing. All three of them laughing.
--
It was okay. For a while. But then the general crowd wound down, leaving just the usual four of us, along with Nathan, Amelia, Pablo, and Spencer's date. Carly turned the music down a bit and it became harder to hide. I had been mostly doing a decent job of not having a bad time. But I was tired and no matter what I did to avoid her, Sam was within sight, mind, and way too many other things way too often.
Since it was just the eight of us left, Carly had to go and suggest a game of Party Mouse. A competitive board game in which it was possible and actually far too easy to completely ignore how you were supposed to play and pick on someone else.
For awhile I just glared over at Nathan, who happened to be my partner, who was nice enough to be wordlessly sympathetic. When that wasn't enough, I proceeded to glare at my source of wretchedness.
"No, SHRIMP—STRIPS," Sam enunciated carefully as she went through the motions of what the mouth was supposed to do in a proper pronunciation of the phrase. She was trying to get Pablo worked up to saying it five times fast.
He tried again and butchered it more than sufficiently to make everyone laugh.
Amelia, in the fit she was in, nudged me and asked me if I could do it.
No, I couldn't. I knew because this wasn't the first time Sam had addressed this phrase game. Unlike how she was playing it.
Even by that point the atmosphere was fairly relaxed, but beginning to tense. And it should, since Sam was doing every singular thing possible to make this game roundly miserable for me. This whole little pronunciation game she was playing with Pablo wouldn't have been so maddeningly infuriating if she had been leaving me alone game-wise, or even heeding Pablo the slightest bit of attention outside of this.
Ten minutes later marked significantly elevated tensions, but it still wasn't quite awkward by the time Carly came in with a glass and a steaming bowl of one of her experiments.
"But why me? Why do I have to tr—get to first?" Spencer asked as Carly set it in front of him.
"I promised you that I would," Carly chided, "Now go on, try it."
Spencer looked down at it and made a noise. His date, Daphne I think was her name, pushed at his arm and called him a baby as Carly went back to her seat.
Spencer put the cup carefully to his lips and took a minute sip as everyone momentarily forgot the game in the general humor of the situation, which was spurred on good naturedly by Nathan's background and rather life-like mimicking of choking and then death and decomposition. Well, everyone excluding me, denoted as everyone, because I was well beyond getting ticked off to pay my entire heed, and the person who was doing the ticking was presently engrossed in planning something out on the board.
But I gave a distracted glance as Spencer carefully put down the glass.
"Hmm," he murmured as he thoughtfully pursed his lips and looked off towards the ceiling, "It tastes a little watery."
Carly, who had just sat down, gave him an incredulous look. "Spencer, it's water."
He frowned down at it as everyone laughed. "Oh."
"I meant the soup—try the soup." Carly made feeding motions.
I missed the next few seconds that everyone was watching so breathlessly, mostly because I glanced up and found Sam happening to glance at me the same time. Why did her happiness always have to rest so squarely on my misery?
I jerked my glance over at Spencer, who had taken a sip of the soup and was sporting facial expressions that were almost sufficiently distracting, given the situation.
"Good?" Carly asked doubtfully, not taking much encouragement from the way Spencer was holding the little bit he'd taken in his mouth.
"Mm," Spencer said and nodded with Carly's questioning look. "Tasty," he managed, "It has ... much taste ..."
Then his eyes broke and he wrenched his chair back and lurched for the kitchen.
There was a lot of laughing and exclamations, some from Carly.
"Don't worry," Nathan said and looked over at her, "You're cooking isn't that bad."
Carly was putting on a brave show. She raised her eyebrows at him. "You want to try a little?"
The look Nathan gave her was enough to send everyone into hysterics.
Sam looked up with a slight smile on her face, but had obviously missed the majority of this. She looked at me questioningly, but I only stared back as everything else moved around us. She bit her lip a little, but didn't immediately or altogether look away as fast as she should have. Not that I wasn't supposed to do the same thing, but I was somewhere well beyond caring about sticking to the laid out etiquette and protocol.
Time and the game proceeded some more. Things got worse.
I stared over across at her awhile later. Stared, glared, whatever.
I don't think it was just the aspirin wearing off, because I don't think it was just my mild fever thing that was making my head feel so hot.
She smirked back like everything was all perfectly normal and grossly unfair. Like it should be.
This was ridiculous. Just plain ridiculous, and I was getting tired of saying it out loud and no one listening, or at least doing anything about it.
It was like a steady stream of arguing, not ending and definitely not changing anything. The words were there, coming out of my mouth, but it was like they weren't mine. They were having absolutely no effect. Everyone was just doing their best to ignore us. And the feeling. That feeling that I wanted to inflict harm on something, because it was just so unfair. And stupid. There was just no way I could describe how stupid it was. And maddeningly infuriating. Why did she have to do this to me?
I normally wasn't a violent person. But I wanted to do bad things to that chick, as Sam fond of it putting it. Hurt her, maybe not physically, but somehow—because she always did this to me. Singled me out, and it was getting to be more than I could stand. Especially now, in front of Amelia, in front of everyone.
It was nearly terrifying how badly I wanted to hurt her—or do something. Something that involved how her hair was done up, how her lips were always there when I looked; I had been having plenty of time to look tonight. The way she laughed when she was laughing at something other than me. The way she watched the game when she wasn't looking at me, figuring something out in her head, probably how best to tick me off next. The way she was treating Pablo. The way she looked when she looked at me looking at her looking just … so attractive. Not attractive in the way that it was usually taken, of course. But in a kinetic way, like she was swallowing up the whole room. And I supposed the way it was usually taken as well.
Amelia said something to Carly and I looked over at her quickly, just a mere notch or two below feverishly hoping that she didn't realize how badly I wanted to touch Sam.
This wasn't fair.
I had forgotten what this was like. How bad and overwhelming it could be—was. But it also made everything—move. I had forgotten about that too.
Nathan leaned over once when everyone else was elsewhere engaged as he leaked me a hint about what he was planning on the board. Then he added that he was sorry that he had said I was dead today ... in a sort of surprised way.
It finally ended. Needless to say we didn't win.
I guess it was a significant moment afterwards, though by now it practically passed as routine. I was in the kitchen, pressing cool water against my face with my hands when Sam came up beside me to get something out of the cupboard. She said something that I honestly didn't catch. But it didn't really matter.
"Just shut up." I think I muttered it, but it may have been a murmur. In either case, it was about as unfriendly as I could make it.
I actually succeeded in not looking up, so I have no idea what her reaction was to that because she walked away without saying anything.
The remaining tensions eased as the group slowly left. As if just remembering that he was her date, Sam listened to Pablo speaking quietly and left with only a general good bye, unsurprisingly not sparing me a glance.
Spencer made sure to hand out to each of us one of his newest inventions, flavored bean-shaped things he had dubbed "Dream Drizzlers." He explained that these were the prototypes of one of his better ideas, or at least as I thought. Not that I was sporting any serious intentions to ingest any of them anytime soon. Supposedly they would cause someone to have nice dreams that they could remember. It was a wholly untapped market, as Spencer put it.
There wasn't much else significant party-wise. Me and my mom drove Amelia back to her place and we both tried to pretend that what had happened tonight wasn't awkward. It was a good thing she had no idea just how awkward.
Then it was home and bed.
Then Carly called.
I had been on the edges of considering sleep when she urgently went on about something about cleaning up some party decorations.
Grouchy was the adjective of the hour, even for an urgent request from Carly Shay. She was up in the studio. I was drowsy enough that I only registered that she was still in the same party clothes and seemed unnaturally animated about something.
"Oh, I already put those away," she said dismissively about the decorations she'd supposedly dragged me over about. She went on about something about the party.
I tried to cover my yawn.
Something about Nathan. I involuntarily perked when the drift hit on something about dating.
"I don't know," Carly said, suddenly closer than I remembered, "I mean he's cute and really a cool guy and everything ..."
Was she trying to make disagreeable conversation?
"So ... what do you think?" she asked me after a few moments of silence.
"You're asking me if you should date Nathan?" I asked, trying my best to figure out why she wasn't realizing how absurd this was. And faintly insulting.
"I just don't know ..." she said softly and stepped a little closer, "I just don't have that much time for that ... type of boyfriend. And lately ... I've been kinda thinking about a different type ..."
An arm on my shoulder and that questioning look of hers might've been merely friendly ... but it wasn't. At what point had I fallen asleep?
Dread clutched my stomach. I hadn't actually taken one of Spencer's Dream Drizzlers things, had I?
But no, this was real, this was happening, and this was Carly. So it obviously had to be something innocent ... completely misguided, but innocent—
"Freddie," she whispered as she leaned even closer, "What if you asked me out again ... and you knew I had a different answer? Would you?"
Get away, get away now!—
Situations between the two of us were never supposed to be romantically awkward because of her account. That would've been enough to send me into therapy even if I hadn't presently been feeling like jank.
"Uh ... yeah ..." I started, and started to pull away.
"Aha!" Carly triumphantly jabbed a finger and then gave me a token slap.
"Ah—what was that for?" I demanded as I really pulled away. Not that it hurt.
"I knew it!" Carly went on.
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
She jabbed a finger at me. "You're dating Amelia and don't really like her!"
I gaped. "What? I do too!"
"Oh, right," she rolled her eyes, "And are you going to tell her tomorrow that you were going to 'uh, yeah' with me?"
"Uh, no," I put a hand to my head, because it hurt more than where she'd slapped me, "That was not an agreeing 'uh, yeah.' It was a 'you're being creepy and I don't know what to say' 'uh, yeah.'"
"Oh, and it's not even mildly creepy when you do it all the time to me?" She began to look a little angry, just past the general indignation thing on to something more personal.
"I don't do it all the time," I insisted, "I'm dating Amelia, remember?"
She put her hands on her hips. "I'm talking about every other time of every other minute I've ever known you."
"Stop," I closed my eyes, "Just stop. Could you—calmly—and quietly explain to me why you dragged me all the way over her to—to—" I made frustrated gestures, "Lie to me?"
"Because I thought you weren't—aren't," she amended, "Serious about Amelia. And since I kind of really like her—"
"If it was any of your business," I yelled, "Then you would know that I do like her and what you just did was—was—"
"What do you mean if it was any of my business?" Carly retorted.
Don't go there. Don't go there.
"What would make you even think that?" I asked instead.
"Oh, I don't know," Carly said sarcastically, "Maybe because tonight might make someone think that Pablo and Amelia have a better chance of getting married before you two do."
"Please," I muttered as I turned, "I don't want to hear this."
"Well that's too bad," Carly whirled in front of me, "You've been saying that a lot lately and maybe—just maybe—" her finger was in my chest as she fought for words, "Maybe you shouldn't have been a jerk to Sam tonight!"
"Me?" I looked at her in genuine surprise. "Me?"
"Yeah, I heard what you said to her!"
"And did you happen to miss what she was saying to me all night?" I asked in horror, "She was purposely being the jerk to me all night!"
"No!" Carly yelled. "She was practically back to normal. She said before that she thought you were almost back to normal. She was just acting like her normal self tonight and you know it!"
"Her normal self?" I asked incredulously. "Does anyone happen to realize that maybe I don't like her normal self? I mean, does anyone think I enjoy that?"
"You didn't mind it so much before," Carly put in, like she had this massive revelation she was trying to make me see, "What's the difference now?"
"I'm just fed up with her, okay?" I say loudly.
Then nothing. We're both quiet for long enough that it becomes uncomfortable, and my beleaguered mind has time to actually sort of catch up.
"Are you serious?" I asked quietly, because it doesn't even seem possible to go back to shouting. "Did Sam really say that stuff?"
"Yeah," Carly answered, even quieter than I was.
I was going to shrug at her, but the attempt came out garbled. And I was tired—bed sounded heavenly right about now. Along with maybe a couple quarts of NightQuil. I was turning to leave.
"What ..." Carly began, so quietly that I almost didn't hear her, "What did you mean it was none of my business?"
My thoughts of how to evade the topic more or less stalled at the scared look she was giving me. I don't think I could've tried even if I had wanted to.
"You're like here ..." I said slowly, trying to grasp the best flaying thread that was running through my mind, "To yell at me ... and stuff, but you're not really here. You're always busy with homework, or ... just school. You're only here for the unpleasant stuff."
She looked like she was trying not to cry as she stared back at me. For a long moment I didn't think she was going to say anything. "What do you mean?"
I held up my hands almost helplessly, unable to fathom how I could be anymore direct.
Carly began to look a little angry. "You ... you said that it was great."
"What was?" I asked out of reflex, but also in genuine confusion.
She sucked in a shaky breath.
"You said that it was great, that it was all a great opportunity. That you guys didn't mind ... that—that it was a great opportunity—" she nearly lost it. "You lied to me."
"Carly," I tried, "I didn't lie—"
"Yes you did!" Now she was definitely angry and was definitely crying.
"I didn't lie," I protested, "You were happy at the beginning of the year. I just didn't want to hurt your feelings—"
"No!" she yelled. "No! You just didn't want to go through how bad it would be for you to tell me the truth! You lied to me!"
"I lied?" I yelled back. "I lied? You're saying I'm the dishonest one when you make me come over here and do this to me?"
"I want you to leave," she managed as she furiously wiped at her eyes, "I want you to leave now."
"That's what I've been trying to do," I answer, but I don't want to leave like this anymore.
"I haven't liked you all this year," Carly said, her attempts to recover herself finally failing entirely.
I was perfectly within my right to leave now, at that, without another word. If I still had been angry that was probably what I would've done. But it would only confirm it.
Softly. "Me either."
When I put my arms around her I discovered just how much she wanted to cry.