“No,” I hold open the door, inhale hissing through my flared nose, “after you. I insist.”
The diver, Tyson, walks up with a small girl at his side, their hands linked. A strange sensation flutters in my chest at the sight of them—obviously a couple.
“Hamilton,” he says, eyes shifting between us. “Ah, what’s going on?”
“Just headed back from a firing squad disguised as a dinner with my parents,” I say, uncharacteristically honest. “You guys?”
Tyson looks at Gwen, and when she doesn’t answer, takes the reins. “I had a competition today.” The girl squeezes his hand. “Oh, sorry, this is Presley. Pres, this is Hamilton. He and Gwen are co-captains of the swim team.”
“Oh, you made the shirts!” she says, face breaking into a beaming smile. “Those sound hilarious.”
“Thanks,” I say, shifting awkwardly. My eyes flick to Gwen, who looks similarly uncomfortable, like she’s waiting for a bomb to drop. Makes sense. I’ve devoted the last six months to destroying any vestiges of her social life and here she is with two new friends. I’m a wildcard. “It was a team effort, though. Gwen helped.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.
A customer walks out, prompting us to walk in and get in line. There’s no way to avoid one another, and although Gwen and I both feel the tension thickening between us, Tyson and Presley seem so into one another that I don’t think they notice. Luckily, the line moves fast and their group orders first. When I step up to the counter, Presley insists, “Come find us and sit with us, okay?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.” Tyson looks at Gwendolyn, who just shrugs before walking off with Presley. I exhale and study him, trying to find what tack to take with this guy. Ten minutes ago, it probably would have been some form of aggression. But I’m suddenly feeling a lot less like I want to punch him in the face, so I decide my sense of earnestness could probably use some exercise. “She and I… we kind of had it out this morning at detention.”
“So I heard.” He bobs his head. “By the way, you uhhh, have some paint on your eyelashes there.” He grins, pointing at my face.
I roll my eyes, not even bothering to pick at it. “It was either keep the paint or lose the eyelashes.”
He snorts a laugh. “Seriously, you two need to chill out and work past your shit. The Nerd is neutral territory. None of your Devils will see you fraternizing with the enemy or whatever. Can’t you just give it a break for one night?”
I run my hand though my hair, nodding. “That could sound doable.”
I think.
He leaves me to place my order, and soon, I’m walking toward their booth in the back. Tyson and Presley are on one bench and Gwendolyn is on the other. The sheer awkwardness of the moment almost makes me leave. Sitting next to the Freak? The bitch who, just hours ago, covered my face in paint?
Well, I did say she had a haunted, dusty, self-righteous vagina.
I sigh, shoulders dropping.
I guess that maybe makes us even.
Approaching the table, I quickly slide onto the bench, like pulling off a Band-Aid. Gwendolyn doesn’t even spare me a look when she shifts away, nearly clinging to the wall. I only just barely restrain my eye-roll. As if she hasn’t let me, wanted me, to touch her body before. I know this is different. This is real life, not some pent-up, ragey grope-fest in a dark room.
Seriously, why are the lights so bright in here?
“You said you had a family dinner?” Presley says, chewing on a fry. “But here you are eating another meal. I know Tyson eats a lot, but...”
“No,” I admit, “dinner with my parents was a disaster. I left before the food could even touch my plate.”
“Sounds tense.” Tyson asks.
“Tense is an understatement.” I nod, putting some ketchup onto my burger. “We haven’t gotten along for a while now. Like six months.”
Gwendolyn fidgets next to me but keeps her eyes on her food.
I’m dreading further questions, but thankfully, Tyson’s girl seems to have a short attention span because she blurts out, “I figured it out!” She stares at Gwendolyn. “I knew you looked really familiar. You were at the Community Service Day, a few months ago, right?”
Gwen looks at her pensively. “Down at the park?”
“Yes! I knew it!” Presley’s grin is wide and bright. “Wait. Your mom is the one that started the summer meals program for school kids, right?”
“That’s her.” Gwen smiles fondly. “It’s kind of her passion project.”