Damage - A. M. Jenkins [28]
“But he did call in the first place,” you tell him.
Curtis shrugs again. “He made his choice. I’ve moved on from there.”
That’s the way Curtis is; everything tallied and weighed, and while he turns his back on whatever he decides isn’t worth his while, he also digs his heels in on whatever he cares about. Nothing you ever say can change that—one way or the other.
“Thanks for the DP.” Curtis tosses his empty can into the bin. “I’ve got to go get cleaned up. Dobie and me and Stargill are going to a movie in Burlington. I guess you probably already got plans?”
“Yeah. What’re you going to see?”
“Mayhem.”
“Which one’s that?”
“The one where a bunch of terrorists take over the Pentagon. It’s supposed to be good,” Curtis adds. “You’re welcome to ditch Heather and come along.”
“Maybe some other time.”
Curtis just nods—that’s what he expected. “Later, then,” he says, unconcerned, and heads out the door.
The screen bangs shut. You hop off the counter and head back into your room, taking the half-finished Coke with you.
Da da—da da da da. “Don’t be so cynical, baby,” you sing under your breath, and turn up the volume.
CHAPTER TEN
Used to be you’d hang around practice to give Dobie ride home. You’d wait for him to finish straightening locker room, and then drive along in the truck listening to him talk about whatever was on his mind that day-usually food or girls, and in that order.
Nowadays, Curtis is the one who takes Dobie home. Nowadays you spend more time with Heather than with your friends.
Can’t wait for practice to be over, because most days she waits for you. Sometimes you go to the Dairy Queen, where Heather orders a Diet Coke while you get a jumbo ice water or a Sprite. Sometimes you even order fries because it seems like you’re hungry more often these days.
Whenever you take Heather home, she doesn’t move to get out when you pull up in front of the house. Sometimes you make out with her, but a lot of times you just sit and listen to her talk. You like the way her voice sounds, like music that doesn’t have anything to do with anything.
It’s as if you’ve been treading water furiously, and now you can stretch your foot out and just barely touch bottom.
One night after a game, you and Curtis and Dobie come out of the field house, and there she is, standing in that same circle of her friends under the streetlight. Your pickup stands alone a few yards off, where the light starts to fade away.
“Hi!” Heather says, coming to meet you. Curtis gives her a stiff nod, which is as friendly as he can ever get to someone he doesn’t like. She doesn’t return it. “Excuse me, my face is up here,” she’s saying to Dobie.
Dobie’s eyes flick quickly away from Heather’s breasts, his face turning dark with embarrassment. He pulls his cowboy hat down over his eyes.
“And on that note,” Curtis says, “I guess we’ll be heading on out. See you tomorrow, Austy,” he says, moving toward his own car a few rows over.
“Great game,” you call after him.
Heather follows you around to the passenger side of the pickup. “I’m sorry,” she says as you open the door, “but I couldn’t take being leered at by Hopalong Toothpick. And I hope you don’t mind if I don’t want to pal around with Curtis. It’s not that I don’t like him,” she adds, sliding into her seat. “He’s really cute and all. But this is senior year, and it’s like, do I want to hang out with King Tightass when this is the primo party year of my life? I think not!”
“He’s my best friend,” you point out, and shut the door a little harder than necessary. When you walk around to the other side, you can feel how you’ve stiffened up—a lot more than when Curtis said he thought Heather was using you. That’s different, somehow, from Heather telling you she doesn’t want to be around a guy