Page 8 of Worst in Show

After a moment’s deliberation, I decide to return his serve with one of my grandma’s favorites.

SingerQueen Thursday 12:38 PM

But do you know who built King Arthur’s round table?

Unfortunately, my momentary distraction from the threat across the street doesn’t last long. All afternoon, hammering and clanging interrupts our calm at irregular intervals like some kind of water torture, and by the time we close up and I set off for home, my rage at Leo Salinger’s presence has once again reached combustible levels.

I have never—and I mean never—met a guy who’s so full of himself, who cares so little about the people around him, and, and…” I gesture toward the ceiling.

“Okay, take a deep breath and start from the beginning.” Micki pulls her legs up under her on our couch and pops open a can of seltzer. She and her sister, Jaz, returned from their cousin’s wedding hoopla in Barbados last night, and the apartment looks like a closet ate something bad and threw up.

“Yeah, who is this person?” Jaz asks. She’s a few years younger than we are, graduated with a double major in English and theater arts but no plans. As far as I know, she’s been working on the same screenplay since I first met her. “I need details, so I know where to direct my ire.”

“His name is Leo, and he’s a jerk,” I say, the petulant child in me stomping her foot. I tell them about our run-in in the park and his visit to the store. “It’s like he’s dying to rub our faces in how he’s going to steal our customers. Just, ugh!”

“Sounds stressful.” Micki brushes her newly purple bob away from her heart-shaped face. She’s a hairdresser at the salon next to Happy Paws and changes her look with the frequency others change their towels. “What does Harvey say?”

“You know him—always seeing the best in people. He called him ‘a nice, young man.’” I roll my eyes.

“Really? Maybe you misjudged him then. You have only met the guy twice.”

“Well…”

“Is he old? Young?” Jaz asks.

I twirl the tassels of my hoodie together and then untwirl them again. “I actually went to high school with him. Or, well, he was a year ahead of me.”

“Wait, hold up.” Micki straightens.

“You know him?” Jaz adds.

“It’s not important.” I don’t like where this conversation is heading so I go for distraction instead and point to Micki’s head. “I like the purple-gray fade thing you’ve got going on there.”

“Nuh-uh, that’s not going to work. Spill.”

“I don’t know him know him,” I tell my captive audience. “More like I knew who he was because everyone did.”

“Ooh, do I sense a confession of a youthful crush coming on?” Micki hoots.

I tsk. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Boo.”

“But he remembers you?” Jaz asks.

I shake my head. “He’d have no reason to. I was a complete nobody. A younger-than-him, complete nobody.”

“You should tell him you went to the same school,” Micki says. “Maybe that’ll chill him out a bit.”

“I did. He could not have cared less. I believe his exact words were ‘What’s wrong with your dog?’”

“Seriously?” Micki’s face contorts.

“Told you he’s a jerk.”

“Was he always?” Jaz asks.

An image of Leo with his peer buddy from the special education program imposes itself in my mind, unbidden. They were always huddled together in the high school cafeteria at lunch. I know the peer coaching program was for credit, but if I’m being honest, despite all his popularity, teenage Leo had seemed like a pretty decent guy. So either I misjudged him back then or something’s gotten stuck up his butt along the way.

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