Page 13 of Damaged Boys Don't Fall For Bubbly Girls
It feels so good to hold Brock’s hand as we walk into the cafeteria. I never thought I would experience that ever again.
But it doesn’t last long because we need to get trays and wait in line for lunch. As soon as our hands break contact, I feel cold. I wish I could hold his hand forever.
The rest of the gang is either at the front of the line or already at our usual table. I watch how Brock looks around the cafeteria, taking in the unfamiliar room with the familiar kids. He seemed a little overwhelmed earlier today when various kids said hello to him and asked how he was doing. He always gave the same response: “I’m good.”
I wonder if they’ve noticed the pain etched into his eyes. How he tries really hard to make it seem like he’s okay when he obviously still carries the heartache in his soul.
We’re quiet as we move down the line. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t want to bombard him. Should I talk about some random thing? What if he wants to be left alone with his thoughts?
I decide to keep quiet.
When we reach the food, I gesture for Brock to go first.
“Thanks.” He clutches the edges of his tray as he surveys the options, eyebrows pinched in concentration like this is the most difficult problem in the world. He looks so cute.
“Zoey always told me the food here is pretty good,” he says.
“Yeah!” I say, then realize I sound just a tad bit too ecstatic because we’re talking again. “I mean, yeah. The food is usually really delicious—Easton and Dani make sure of that. Was school lunch good at your old school?”
After accepting chicken tenders and roasted potatoes and sweet potatoes from the lunch lady, Brock shrugs. “Not really. It wasn’t terrible, though.”
After we get our food, I lead him toward our lunch table. I notice some kids staring at Brock, most likely trying to determine if he looks messed up. I’m sure they remember how broken he was the days following Andy’s death, looking like a ghost. Like his heart and soul were sucked out of his body. No matter how much the guys and I tried to include him, he preferred to be alone. And he always appeared to be battling tears.
“Our man Brock!” Theo claps Brock on the back and yanks him forward, kicking out the chair next to him.
Brock drops his tray on the table and lowers himself on the chair, giving each of the guys a smile. I wonder if they notice that it doesn’t reach his eyes.
I place my tray near his and am about to lower myself next to him, but Finn swoops in out of nowhere and plops down. He throws me a smile before nodding to the chair on his other side. I slide my tray closer to me and settle down next to Finn, wishing I were sitting near Brock.
“So how’s everyone’s day going so far?” Gael asks.
As the guys dig into their food and complain about how much their classes suck, I keep my eyes on Brock. I don’t mean to stare at him all the time, but I can’t help but feel that something is…I don’t know, off. I mean, obviously things aren’t easy for him, but he seems quieter than he was earlier today. Maybe he’s just tired?
But as the minutes tick by, he seems to grow even more uneasy. And he squeezes his eyes shut every few minutes and shakes his head, as though he’s trying to push away a memory.
Is it Andy? Brock befriended him in sixth grade. It kind of came out of nowhere. One day he was hanging out with me andthe guys and the next minute, he was spending all his time with Andy. Of course I was happy that he made a new friend, but it hurt that he pushed the rest of us away for him.
Andy would sometimes convince Brock to gobble down his lunch as fast as possible so they could sneak out of school and run the few blocks to the elementary school and play on the playground. It was usually empty at the time. Theo wanted to join them a few times, but they kind of made it obvious that they wanted it to be just the two of them. The guys didn’t seem bothered about that. They certainly didn’t seem jealous. Unlike me.
I didn’t even realize at the time just how hurt and jealous I was by how much time they spent together. Their friendship lasted for all of sixth grade and most of the summer, until...
I try not to sigh as the awful words I said to Brock onthatday gallop around in my mind. The same words that have been haunting me for the last four years. Brock assured me a little while ago that he wasn’t mad at me, but does he really think I’m that gullible? I saw the way his face twitched in agony. He’s always been such a nice guy and always put my feelings before his own. He would rather makemefeel better by assuring me that he’s okay whenhe’sthe one who’s hurt. No, Brock has every right to be mad at me. Heshouldbe mad at me. Because I’m a horrible person for saying the things I said. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.
I just hope we can still be friends despite it.
“Why’re you so quiet?” Dean pokes his elbow into my arm. “Love all your classes?”
“Sure,” I mutter with an eye roll.
“You’re quiet, too.” Nate claps Brock’s back. “Edenbury High not good enough for you, snob?” he jokes.
Brock chuckles lightly. “The school’s really neat.”
The guys expect him to expand, but he focuses on his food. They continue to complain about school. Either they don’t realize he’s not in the mood to talk, or they’re trying to act as normal around him as possible. I think it’s the latter.
Now Finn digs his elbow into Brock’s arm. “Any hot girls catch your eye?”
Brock’s gaze shoots to mine, and I internally startle, my stomach getting all twisted. But he quickly yanks his eyes away and shrugs to Finn. “There are lots of cute girls here.”
