Wicked Restless

My excitement from a few minutes before was swallowed up by the lie I know she just told. The only thing that makes it okay is I know exactly why she told it. I’m a Harper, and her parents—they don’t like that she’s going out with me tonight. She lied because she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. Wrong or right, the fact that she cares about my feelings sorta makes it okay.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. She knows I know.

“It’s okay. I get it,” I say.

We don’t talk about it any more. I’ve heard the stories her family has probably heard, and when she’s ready, she’ll ask me for the truth, which is somewhere closer to the middle—between rumor and gruesome fact. Of all of us, I’m the one who was probably the most sheltered. Yet, I still get the same rep as the rest of us, buried by the same fallout.

“Hey, we didn’t get to talk much in PE. But…you’re new here, yeah?” I ask, glancing from her to the road and back again. I threw a shitload of gum in my mouth before I left my room, because I didn’t want to have bad breath, and when I’m nervous, I chew gum. Now the chomping is the only fucking thing I can hear, though. I roll down the window and spit the wad out onto the street. When I look back at her, her brow is pinched and her arms are folded.

“Uh, that’s still littering, you know?” she says.

I stare at her trying to decide if she’s fucking with me again, but after a few seconds, I decide she’s serious. I swallow hard and look back to the four-way stop I’ve been sitting at for a solid twenty seconds. “I’m pretty sure I will never spit my gum out again,” I say, thoroughly scolded by the girl who is in no way going to kiss me tonight now that I’m a litterer.

“You can spit it out, just not where people step. It’s gross,” she says, her voice growing a little softer.

“No…you’re right,” I say, glancing at her again.

“I…I didn’t mean to sound bossy. I’m bossy sometimes, but I don’t mean…” She’s shaking her head while she’s babbling, and it’s adorable. I reach over and touch her knee with the back of my hand, which has the effect of electroshock therapy on both of us. We straighten in our seats. She tugs at her seatbelt and slides closer to her door as I pick my hand up and promptly put it on the two of the ten and two of the steering wheel.

A few long seconds pass in silence, and ironically I wish like hell I had my gum back in my mouth to give it something to do. “You’re not bossy,” I say, smiling as I glance at her sideways. “You were right. It’s gross.”

“Delaware,” she blurts out, and I shrug my shoulders, shaking my head as I squeeze the back of my neck with my left hand.

“Yeah, you lost me. I think I missed the transition,” I chuckle.

“Sorry,” she says. “That’s where I moved here from. I’m from Delaware.”

“Delaware.” I repeat the state, loving that she’s just as damned uncomfortable and awkward as I am now. “That’s my favorite colony.”

I can feel her looking at me, and I notice her start to laugh lightly out of the corner of my eye as I pull into the parking lot of the Ice Palace.

“You’re strange, Andrew Harper. Very strange,” she says through the end of her laugh as we both step from the car.

I move to the trunk, open it, and lift out my skates. “I’m not quite sure what makes me strange, but…I’ll take strange from you.” I grin as I motion toward the front doors to the rink, urging her to walk next to me.

There’s a peewee team on the ice when we enter; a group of maybe fifteen kids puffed up with hockey gear and pads and barely balancing on their skates. I nod to Chad, the guy coaching them. He plays with me on the weekends, and he’s been coaching here for years.

“Oh my god, they’re so cute,” Emma says, stepping close enough to put her hand flat along the glass. She watches as each kid takes a turn skating toward the goal, the only mission stopping before running into the metal. It’s harder than it looks, especially when you’re six. “Was that you when you were little? One of those little round kids wobbling on the ice?”

“No,” I say with a shake of my head. I lead her over to the skate rental counter. “My brothers taught me how to skate by throwing me out on a frozen lake. And we played our own brand of hockey, I guess. Or, they hit me hard and laughed when I fell on my ass…”

“That’s so mean!” Her eyes show genuine sympathy, and it’s sweet as hell.