“You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” he says.
I look at him and I think he’s telling the truth. Before, I could see it—that he hated me. But now it’s not there enough for me to see, if it’s there at all, and that’s the strangest feeling I’ve had in a long time.
“Regina,” he says. “I don’t hate you.”
He edges closer until there’s no space between us and brings his hands to my face so awkwardly, like this isn’t what he set out to do, but now that we’re here, he’s going to do it all the same. This is a test. This is not a test.
He kisses me. Presses his lips against mine gently, hesitantly, and when I kiss back, he kisses harder, deeper. I feel like he wants me. He brings his hand to my neck and kisses me and kisses me again. I bring my hands around to the back of his neck, his hair tickling past my knuckles, and his fingers drift down to my sides. For a minute, I’m dizzy with how good it feels and how amazing it is that I could have this moment that feels so good.
He’s so nice.
He brings his mouth to my neck. I shiver and close my eyes, my hands still in his hair. He stops for a second and we stand there, his lips just barely there, and he brings his hands up and gently pushes my collar back so there’s more of me for him to kiss and my legs feel sort of weak. His mouth comes back to mine. I bring my hand to his chest.
Steady.
The door flies open, puts a space between us so wide it’s like we were never on each other at all. I’m breathing heavily and he’s breathing heavily. I squint at the figure in the door, waiting for my eyes to focus.
It’s Bruce. He bursts out laughing as his stupid tiny brain registers what he’s just seen and what it’s seeing now, and I feel my face turn red.
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “Are you serious?”
“Fuck off,” I tell him, crossing my arms. My head still feels fuzzy with the kiss. I shake it a little, to clear it. “What are you doing here?”
He just smiles and he doesn’t say anything, and I get this uneasy feeling that he knew—he knew I was here all along. I glance at Michael, and I think he’s thinking the same thing, because he clenches his jaw. Even Bruce notices. He backs off and laughs again and then he goes and he laughs himself down the hall.
“Great,” I say. “Now they’ll know that we—”
“So?” Michael asks, turning to me. “So what?”
We stare at each other. So they know; so what? I wonder if, even after all this, he understands how fragile good things are in my hands and how many times they’ve been taken away from me. I lean over and give him an impulsive kiss on the cheek, and then I leave the storage room and he leaves after me.
I wake up wired, and I go to school wired, popping antacids like they’re
candy. It’s been one day and I feel sick, excited, nervous.
It was almost easier when he hated me. I’m used to that.
Hallowell High: Everyone’s dressed for the weather.
Michael is waiting for me at my locker. The red door hangs open, a useless empty mouth, waiting to be filled with all I could salvage last night. He straightens when he sees me, and I try to ignore the funny feeling in my stomach, but when he smiles, it gets worse in a good way, and it goes straight to my head in a good way.
“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand. His fingers are closed around something I can’t see. “I have something for you. Open your hand.”
I do. He presses something heavy into it. I look down. A new combination lock.
“Thanks,” I say.
“The combination is four, fifteen, thirty, and three.”
“Thank you,” I repeat.
He moves forward, and then he hesitates and moves back. Whatever’s between us is that kind of new. He runs a hand through his hair.
“So I’ll see you at lunch,” he says. I nod.
He studies me for a good minute and then—he kisses me. Like, right here in the hall. In front of everyone. I feel people milling around us, their voices getting louder the closer they get. Breaking news: My mouth is on Michael Hayden’s mouth, and he means it.
I glimpse blond hair. Liz. She turns a corner going to the girls’ room. Which means she saw this. Michael pulls away and says, “Okay, good.”
“Lunch,” I repeat. He nods this time and passes me. I watch him go, and then I turn and head for the washroom because I want to see what she makes of it. When I push through the door, she’s coming out of the stall. She glances at me and then runs the water, keeping her eyes on her reflection, and I just stand there keeping my eyes on her.
“What do you want me to say, Regina?” she finally asks. “I don’t know,” I say.
“I’m not giving you my blessing,” she says. “I didn’t ask for it.”
“Then why are you here?” I don’t know. She turns off the water and I turn back to the door, and she says, “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“But when he hates me, he knows what he’s doing?”
“You really fucked him up, so if—” She shakes her head, like this whole turn of events has been pissing her off since the dawn of time. “You probably don’t get it, but if he’s giving you a chance, that’s a big deal.”
I grit my teeth. “I get it.”
I wish I’d never come in here at all.
“I don’t think you do,” she says, looking me up and down. I bite the inside of my cheek but I don’t say anything. “But whatever, Regina; use him up.”
Some people will never give up on their lack of belief in you. I’m used to that feeling, but for the first time ever, it hurts. Maybe because Michael got past it, and now I’m standing here wondering why she can’t and if she ever will.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I couldn’t talk him out of you.”
I couldn’t talk him out of you. Her voice echoes in my head from class to class, and my stomach aches. When the lunch bell rings, I’m eager to see Michael. I pass Josh in the hall on my way to the cafeteria and keep my eyes straight ahead.
“Are you and Hayden a thing now?” he asks.
I roll my eyes and stop. “What?”
He stops. “Bruce said he caught you two fucking around in a storage room, and now everyone’s talking about how you two were making out in the hall earlier. Is it true? Are you with Hayden?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“If you’re making out with him in hallways, it’s everyone’s business.” He looks me over and laughs. “You’re not with Hayden. He hates you. Everyone knows he hates you. He feel sorry for you or something? Desperate to get some?”
“Fuck off.”
“He must be really desperate,” he says. “Or maybe you’re the desperate one.”
“Michael’s the best thing that’s happened to me.”
My cheeks warm instantly. It’s one of those insanely stupid-sounding declarations that people laugh at you for, no matter how true it is. But it’s true.
Josh laughs at me. “I’ve noticed a whole lot has changed for you since you decided to hang around with Mr. Mysterious—” I punch him in the shoulder before he can finish, because I can’t think of a better or more satisfying way to shut him up. “—Jesus Christ, Regina! What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you? You just stand there and watch every day while Anna makes my life a living hell. Who just sits there and watches something like that?”
“You did,” Josh snaps. “You always did. Her name was Liz, remember? Don’t act like you’re better than me, Regina. You’re not.”
“But Michael is,” I tell him.
Josh turns red. I know somehow I’ve hurt him. “Well, maybe your new boyfriend should watch his back.”
My stomach lurches and he smirks, satisfied. The threat goes deep. I turn and head for the cafeteria, digging into my pockets for an antacid, trying to understand how I can be this close to fucking everything up already. When I see Michael at the Garbage Table, I’m flooded with relief. He’s in one piece.
And he’s waiting for me.
I weave around tables and sit across from him. His lunch today— fries and Coke. His Moleskine rests beside him. I just watch him for a minute and I feel like Liz is right. He’s really lonely and I fuck things up. Just because he gets to this point where he wants to kiss me doesn’t mean I instantly wake up tomorrow brave. I’m afraid of what Josh said.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing.” Everything.
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but then, thankfully, embarrassingly, my stomach makes this awful hungry gurgle and he hears it. He raises an eyebrow.
“Hungry?” he asks.
I wave a hand. “I’ll eat when I get home.”
“Let me get you something,” he says, nodding at the lunch line, and I start telling him how I can’t eat in this place, and he interrupts. “I’ll get you something small.”
Like that would make a difference. But he gets up and goes. I watch him go. My gaze drifts over to the center table, where Josh is leaning over and whispering something in Anna’s ear. His mouth moves from her ear, grazing her cheek, and meets her lips; I don’t want Michael on their radar.
I turn back to the table. Michael’s trusty Moleskine is resting next to his tray.
I want to read it.
He’s standing in line and he’s not looking my way. I know I shouldn’t do this, but I have to do this, and I don’t have a lot of time to have an ethical debate about it right now. I grab it and flip it open, flip past page after page, searching for my name. I glimpse words like Mom, Dad, hate, yesterday, I, stupid school, and all of them mean something, but they’re not what I want.
I skip to the end, and then—
Might not last.
I know it’s about me. It’s dated yesterday. It says I’m not a sure thing—like I could really fuck this up. I press my index fingers against the words, as if I could feel what he was feeling when he wrote it, but it’s just ink on paper. I flip ahead, but there’s nothing. I set the Moleskine back where it was and wait for him to come back, and I guess there’s some truth in it. I don’t think I can divide myself so completely between him and Anna.