Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [38]
Then again, how do you tell a friend something like that? Could you pass the salt, Logan? Oh, and by the way, I’m really a boy. Shit, I would have run for the hills! I wouldn’t have been able to think of anything else. I would have asked Mr. Elmer to move me to a different table in biology.
It was bad enough to know that when things had gotten rough and I’d found out Sage wasn’t what I thought she was, I was so hateful to her. Jesus Christ, I’d almost punched her! I’d never imagined I was capable of that. It scared me.
I guess no one could blame me for my initial reaction—all things considered, I’d kept my cool. But later, at the cemetery, I’d called Sage some names … said some things that I shouldn’t have. Looking back, it would have been better if I’d just kept my mouth shut and let her talk. Then, when she was done, I could have said, Sage, under the circumstances, I don’t think we should see each other anymore. We wouldn’t have parted as friends, but there wouldn’t be all that hate. And I regretted throwing away the blanket she’d made me. That was a dick move, no matter how you looked at it.
Recently, I had begun contemplating whether I should talk to Sage again. I could take her to some isolated place and explain why I’d been so disgusted.
The only problem with that was I had no idea how to put any of my feelings into words. All I knew was that Sage brought out something in me I didn’t like. A violent, paranoid man. Whatever she was trying to do with her life was none of my concern. We’d avoid each other from now on. It was better that way.
On the day after Valentine’s Day, the skies opened and it poured. Missouri rain can be harsh, second only to (your state’s name). Mom insisted I take her old station wagon to school; she had a friend drive her to work.
Using our English books as hats, Jack and I hurried to my car. The windshield instantly fogged up. Rather than wait five minutes for it to clear, I sailed my way off school grounds, peering blindly though a tiny patch just above the heater vents.
Through the flapping, erratic movement of the wipers, I spotted a pedestrian. A girl. Someone in a glaring yellow rain slicker. She carried a folded umbrella by her side and stared up at the clouds like a drowning turkey. There was something familiar about her; in fact, she kind of looked like …
“There’s Sage,” said Jack, wiping his window with his sleeve.
I made no comment and just kept driving.
“Aren’t you going to give her a ride?” Jack realized Sage and I were no longer close, but he didn’t think I was going to let her stand out there in the rain.
“No.” I wasn’t going to offer, and I doubted she would accept.
“It’s pouring,” he said as if I hadn’t noticed.
“She won’t drown.”
“Lemme put it this way,” said Jack. “Give her a ride.”
There’s a fine line between being hurt and being an asshole. Maybe by giving Sage a lift I could show that I’d calmed down. Even though she’d hurt me worse than Brenda had, I’d gain nothing by making her live in fear of me. Just one final, friendly gesture to the girl who’d baked me cookies. Sage would realize that so long as she kept her mouth shut about what she really was, I could let bygones be bygones.
I waited until we were about ten yards away, then braked so hard we almost spun out. Sage jogged to reach my car.
She looked uncertain as she opened the back door, though she did smile warmly at Jack. We drove in silence. Bitter, uncomfortable silence. All I could think about was her tear-streaked face on New Year’s Day, her telling me the secret I wished I had never found out. And I’m sure Sage had her own nasty memories of me as well.
Jack began to squirm. I think he realized Sage and I were happier not seeing each other. He nervously crossed and