Page 15 of Someone Just Like You

I nodded eagerly. “You were being shrewd without even trying! A tattoo party is genius!” I flashed the tattooist’s business card. “I said we’d be in touch. What a great way to show our parents that sixty is still young…feed into the whole ‘midlife crisis’ idea. You know?”

Jude blinked, then shook his head like a dog after a bath.

I pulled down the strap on my yellow sundress to reveal a tattoo in the shape of a jar of honey on my shoulder. “It’s why I was late. The best reviews are from personal experience, right? And I’m too sweet. Like you always say.” I gazed at the ink like a mother with a newborn baby on her chest then beamed up at Jude.

The smirk had disappeared, replaced with shock. “That’s not…you didn’t actually…wow.”

His face!I wished I could bottle it. Like I’d told Esther, it wasn’t easy to pull one on Jude, but when it worked, it was glorious. This one was risky, since there was a decent chance he’d immediately know it wasn’t a fresh tattoo, but I got lucky for once. In a perfect world, I’d maintain the ruse for as long as possible, but I was incapable of keeping it together another second. A laugh tickled the back of my throat, forcing me to put him out of his misery. “You’re not the only shrewd one in this partnership. In other words…” I paused dramatically. “Don Messwidme either.” I lost it, cracking up while Jude stared at me looking momentarily bewildered.

It took a second before he joined me in howling. When we finally stopped laughing, Jude said, “It’s not real, is it?” He touched the ink lightly, sending a weird jolt of electricity up my arm.

“Of course not. It’s temporary.” I wiped a tear from my eye.

“Phew.” He swiped his forehead exaggeratedly. “I should have known.”

“Yeah…you should have.” It felt good to be the one smirking.

“Falling for one of your pranks is one thing. Molly Blum getting a spontaneous tattoo is another. It seems like a decision worthy of one of your famous pro/con lists.” He chuckled.

“I don’t do rash decisions.”Except once.And just like that, I wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Why do you look so sad all of a sudden? You won. You should savor this rarity.”

“I’m not sad. This was fun. It’s just…I believed you…about making peace.”

“That’s on you.” His eyes softened for the briefest of moments. “You wouldn’t want that anyway. Fighting with me gives you an excuse to let your mean flag fly. You like it. Case in point, the victorious look on your face less than five minutes ago. I haven’t seen it in ten years.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t like it…thiswarwe’ve been fighting for a lifetime. Where you’re concerned, I act out of necessity, not for my enjoyment. Any amusement on my part is a consolation prize.”

His response was a facial expression I could only describe as cynical yet bordering on entertained. It screamed, “Bless your heart,” and for a moment, I wondered if he’d follow it up by ruffling my hair. But he just smiled. “It’s okay. I like it too. Especially since I’m better at it than you. Most of the time.” He typed something on his phone, more interested in whoever he was texting than continuing our conversation.

I watched in interest as he worked the thumbs of both his hands on opposite corners of his phone. He wasn’t texting after all. But whatwashe doing? I leaned forward until his screen came into view and froze. It looked like a 3D video baseball game. For someone like Jude, who once brought the stadium fans, albeit mostly students and parents, to their feet when he hit real home runs, could the virtual version ever compare?

With no interest in asking him this question and even less prepared for the answer, I stepped back, before he could snap at me for hovering, and revisited what he’d said. Was he right? Despite my denial, did I like fighting with him?

I’d always used Jude’s behavior to justify my own—I had to defend myself—but the look of surprise, defeat, and sometimes awe on his face when my plans had gone off without a hitch had been priceless. I couldn’t deny the twinge of disappointment I felt when I thought he’d been telling the truth about the restaurant’s address change.

If I was being honest, I’d more thanlikedtaking Jude down a notch; I’d reveled in it. Until one day, when I’d been so angry with him, I reacted rashly instead of planning my actions with painstaking detail as per usual. The incident, one I’d kept bottled up for a decade, had changed everything, not only for Jude, whose dreams were stolen in one pivotal moment, but for me.

Chapter Eight

Ten years earlier, I’d been stuck at home on a Friday night, grounded because the video Jude had filmed of me drunk and puking at a classmate’s party had found its way to my parents. It couldn’t get worse than being homebound for the entire weekend. Or so I thought until I received back-to-back rejections from both Cornell and U. Penn that same night—TGIF, my ass!

My hatred of Jude burned hotter than lava. If he hadn’t run for student council for no other reason than to rub his popularity in my face, the election would have been mine. With senior class president on my applications, those emails might have begun with “We are pleased to welcome you” rather than “We regret that we cannot offer you admission.”

I’d glared out the window at where his bike sat on the Starks’ otherwise empty driveway, grabbed the wire hanger left by the trash from my dad’s dry cleaning, and snuck across the street. Then I stabbed his back tire once, twice, three times. It wasn’t a prank. It was rage. I regretted it instantly and ran home with a plan to slip money into his locker to pay for a new tire the following Monday at school.

Only I didn’t know Rude was still inside his house at the time. I thought he was already at the high school warming up for the game against the Spring Valley Tigers. I had no idea he never actually made it because he rode his bike and the tire blew out on the way.

I only learned about the accident later that night, when I heard my parents whispering about how Jude would be okay eventually, but the damage to his knee would likely take him out of commission for the rest of the season. Except it wasn’t just the rest of the season. He lost his baseball scholarship and suffered sustained injuries that crushed his dream in one fell swoop. And it was my fault.

I never told anyone what happened. I was way too ashamed and, if I was being honest, terrified my parents would force me to come clean to Jude and his family. But the guilt ate away at me. For months, I woke up in cold sweats after dreaming about Jude being thrown from his bike and falling to the ground, leaving his limbs raggedy like a doll’s.

Even though I couldn’t change the past, what happened next was in my control. I’d made a vow: end this war with Jude. No more pranks. It was easy enough once I went away to college. Slowly, the guilt and nightmares subsided.

Until now. Being around him so much these days was a constant reminder of what I’d done. But, lacking all the facts, Jude provoked me at every opportunity. I’d tried not to let him get to me. I really had. But he had made it clear the wheels were in motion for Jude and Molly Wars 2.0. My choices were to play along or get played.

Which meant there was no choice at all.

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