Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [88]
Sage and I didn’t cross paths all day, and I began to wonder if she’d stayed home. I didn’t see her until after school as I was talking to Jack in the commons.
“The way I see it,” said Jack, halfheartedly pummeling the soda machine, “if I bring my computer and you get a minifridge, our dorm will be pretty set, at least to start off. We might start saving for a DVD player later.”
Jack could not contain his excitement about our freshman year. Saturday, I would have been just as eager. Of course, that was when Sage was going to be part of my college experience. Now she’d be there, but I’d never talk to her. Never hang out with her. Never …
“Sage!” shouted Jack suddenly. “Hey, Sage!”
There she was, strolling through the commons. She was wearing the same black-and-white dress I’d seen her in on her first day at school. Apparently, I’d misjudged; she wasn’t at home weeping over my picture. Of course, she looked like she was ready to punch out the first person who talked to her.
“Sage!” hollered Jack, oblivious to her furious expression. “Gimme a buck!”
She iced by, not looking at either of us. I stared at her as she stormed out the front door, trying not to think of the now familiar freckles just under the back of her dress.
I almost followed her. Honest to God, I did. I’d grab her by the shoulder, spin her around, and apologize. But just as I was getting into my sprinter’s crouch, I froze. Jack was still standing there. And he’d wonder what I was apologizing about. And if he ever found out …
She was gone now. Out in the parking lot, out of my sight, out of my life. I was deluding myself thinking she’d ever want to be friends again. If I tried to talk to her on campus, she’d probably call security.
“What did I do now?” whined Jack. He was used to apologizing for offenses he didn’t realize he’d committed, and he thought Sage’s brush-off had been directed at him.
I shook my head. “It’s not you, it’s me. She’s all bent out of shape for some reason.” I rolled my eyes, trying to project a who the hell knows what chicks are thinking? expression.
Jack didn’t smile. “I think I know why.”
My guts rattled. “Why?”
Jack sat on a bench, then immediately began tapping his feet. I sat down next to him. “Tim told me you slept with some chick at Mizzou.” There was no admiration in his voice.
“So?”
“So, that’s kind of sticking it to Sage, isn’t it? I know you don’t like her, but she’s all messed up over you. I can’t say I blame you for chasing some tail, but that had to have been hard for her.”
Yes, hard for her. Almost as bad as if I’d slept with her, then told her the next night that I was embarrassed by her. But what kind of a jerk would do that?
“Thanks, Captain Sensitive.” I marched off. Jack didn’t know how right he was. I’d hurt Sage, but much more deeply than anyone realized.
I thought of a poem from eighth-grade English. I couldn’t remember the title, or the poet, or any of the words. The gist was that everyone wishes they could turn back time, but of course, no one can.
For once, I understood a poem. If I could just turn back time a couple of days, then all my problems would be solved. I could … What? Warn Sage to be careful in the shower stall? Or … go straight to Brian’s room after the party?
It was stupid even to think about. That was all in the past. I didn’t know what my future would hold. I just knew one person who wouldn’t be in it.
I couldn’t avoid talking to Laura forever. Eventually, I’d have to say something. But I tried my damnedest to put that off. Every day that week, either I had track practice or I mowed lawns. I was collecting quite a little bundle of cash. Since I didn’t have a car to pay for, I’d have plenty of spending money for my first year of college.
Sage and I didn’t talk. Tammi never looked in my direction at school (I think I was more afraid of talking to her than to Sage). They were going to let me get away with it. No confrontations, no revenge; I was gone. We were both free to live our own lives.
I knew things weren’t irreparable. The night we’d broken up, Sage had been pretty