Page 41 of Yours

“I’m…not,” I say. “I’m just home from college,” I add.

“You look good,” he says, and I can practically feel his eyes scan me.

I risk a glance at his face and see that he’s not sneering.

“College, huh? What are you studying?” he asks.

Making conversation with the boy who teased me every day of eighth grade is surreal. I try to make my voice sound normal, but it comes out squeaky. “Literature,” I reply.

“Wow, good for you,” he says. “You always were so smart.”

The bartender slides over and takes Joey’s money.

“Let me buy you a beer,” he says to me.

“Oh, no thanks,” I say quickly.

“C’mon,” Joey says, giving my shoulder a little nudge.

I flinch. “No, just water for me, please.”

“Sure,” he says, then places his order with the bartender. “And some water for the lady,” Joey adds.

Lady?I repeat in my head. This does not fit. He used to mime stroking a pair of large breasts every time our eyes met.

“Are you in school?” I ask to fill the silence.

“I work at the plant,” he says with a shrug. “It’s a good job.”

The bartender sets down two frosty bottles and my ice water plus Joey’s change.

“You should come say hello,” Joey says, nodding in the direction of the opposite side of the bar where a group of people are playing a rowdy game of foosball.

No thanks, I think, stifling a gasp as the memories of what they did to me flash before my eyes. I pick up my water and wish I could dunk my hot face into the glass.

He frowns, but it’s not unfriendly. “Look, I get it, okay? I was a jerk when we were kids. I shouldn’t have teased you like that. I was goin’ through my own shit at the time. I took it out on you.” He sighs, and I see something flicker behind his eyes, something genuine and sad. “I mean, look at you,” he said, his expression brightening. “Studying Literature at an Ivy League school. You gonna be a famous writer someday?”

“Hardly,” I reply, though the news from my poetry professor warms my belly with a beat of pride.

“I’m glad you made it out of this place.”

This is all starting to feel like too much.

“What are you gonna do, after your degree?”

Instantly, I think of Brian. We haven’t talked about the future. I finger the necklace he gave me, feeling so many emotions—hope that I won’t drive him away with my crazy thoughts, sadness that I have to leave him after the holiday break, and a desire so powerful it hurts. “I don’t know,” I say.

“Well, if you want, stop by and say hey,” he says, lifting his beers. “We’re all grown up now. Suzy’s a hair stylist, Darren’s a cop. Franklin’s on leave from Fort Benning, he’s gonna deploy next month,” Joey adds. I glance at the group involved in the foosball game. It’s too dark, and half of the figures gyrating against the table have their backs to me so I can’t identify them, but I remember their names.

“Okay,” I say, though I’m not sure I will.

He nods. “Nice to see you, Darcy,” Joey says, and shuffles back toward his friends.

I watch him for a moment, then take a long sip from my water. I bring it back to the dart board.

“Who was that?” Brian asks, his quick eyes zipping in the direction of the foosball table.

“Someone…from school. From before,” I say, though this makes little sense.

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