The Beautiful Between - Alyssa B. Sheinmel [20]
“Do you want me to stop coming over?” He says it politely, softly. Not like a threat. He says it like he means it, even though he must know, as well as I do, that I would never say yes.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He smokes silently for a few minutes. I drop my cigarette to the ground, unsmoked except for Jeremy’s having lit it.
“I know you’re not Marcy McDonald. If you were anything like Marcy McDonald, I wouldn’t be here.”
“God, what did she do to you?” I’m surprised at myself for asking flat out, just like that, but something about Jeremy made me feel entitled to ask. Like, You come to my house every night, I let you intrude on my life, you know how my fucking father died, don’t you, so at least tell me what Marcy did. It’s not like I’m asking whether the rumors about Kate being sick are true. If they even qualify as rumors. It’s just something my mother said.
Jeremy doesn’t say anything.
“Come on, dude, it’s not like she cheated on you.”
Jeremy looks straight at me, exhaling smoke. “How do you know that?”
“Who would she cheat with? Brad bloody Pitt?” I’m embarrassed that I’m flattering him. And I’m embarrassed by my use of the word “bloody.” I expect Jeremy to make fun of me for it. I don’t know where it came from; it sounds like something one of the characters in my fantasies might have said. Sometimes I make my fairy godmother British.
But Jeremy just smiles and says, “Nah, too old. He’s so nineties.”
“Well, I don’t know, then—whoever. She wouldn’t cheat on you. No girl is that stupid.” What am I saying? I sound pathetic; I sound like I feel privileged just to get to see him so close-up. “I just mean, you know everyone. It would totally get back to you. And you could totally decimate her reputation, and that’s important to a girl like that. I mean, it’s even important to me.”
“So I shouldn’t decimate your reputation?” He’s teasing me.
This conversation is so frustrating that my lips are raw, since I bite my lower lip every time Jeremy speaks. I was supposed to be angry at him for showing up rudely; I was supposed to be acting more confident.
And really, why am I being so nosy about his breakup with Marcy? I like gossip just fine, but I’m not like my mother or Gram: I don’t seek it out; I don’t really relish it. The fact is, this is none of my business. But I feel entitled to know about it, like how people in kingdoms feel entitled to know what’s going on in the lives of their royals. Like all the tabloids in Britain sharing the secrets of the Windsors. People probably couldn’t explain why they care, but they still think they have a right to know.
Finally Jeremy says something seriously. “Connie, it was nothing. I just thought I could trust her, and it turned out I couldn’t.”
“So that means she cheated, right?”
Jeremy shakes his head. “No, kid, it doesn’t mean she cheated.”
“You can be a real pain in the ass, Jeremy. I’m trying to have a conversation here. You don’t have to act like I’m your little sister.”
He grins slyly. “My little sister knows why we broke up.”
And he leans down and kisses me on the cheek, but he holds his lips there a second longer than is casual, leans in a little more. His hand squeezes my upper arm, and the pressure of it is comforting. It feels, actually, like the kind of squeeze you might give your little sister, and funnily enough, I kind of wish I could be. How nice to have a boy like this looking out for you, teaching you who you have to steer clear of; telling you about high school parties and what goes on there, that maybe it’s okay to drink and do some drugs—just make sure it doesn’t get out of hand, and of course you can sit in the lounge with the upperclassmen, no one will cross me.
Well, I guess I’m a cliché, a fatherless girl longing to be taken care of by the boy she finds attractive. Nah, for it to be a real cliché, he’d have to be much older.
“See you tomorrow, Con,” Jeremy says, releasing my arm and walking to the corner.