I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he says, “So what else do you know?”
“What?”
“You know what school I go to,” he continues, widening his stance. “You know why I don’t come back here. I’m guessing you know a lot more.”
“It doesn’t matter what I know. It’s not important.”
“It’s kinda important.”
“Can’t we just forget about it?”
“No.”
“We should talk about something else.”
“Let’s talk about this.”
“Look,” I say, feeling like an idiot for ruining everything so quickly. “I don’t think you’re going to like it very much. What I know and what they say.”
“I think I can handle it.”
“I don’t agree with them.”
“You probably should.”
That actually doesn’t sit well with me. That he said that.
Not to mention that somehow we got here.
To this ugly, touchy topic.
“You want to know what I know, what they say about you? Fine, I’ll tell you. They say that you’re a rebel. That you’re a rule-breaker. A lawbreaker, a delinquent, an offender, a villain, a criminal. A bandit. They say that you’re dangerous and you’re always making trouble. It’s a good thing that you don’t come back because when you do, you always make things difficult. You always make it hard for everyone to deal with you, especially your parents who love you and just want what’s best for you. And that if I do see you when you’re back, I should run the other way. That I shouldn’t talk to you.”
Or at least that’s what they’ve told my mom over the last year.
I have to admit that I lied to her, or rather, never told her that I did talk to him that one time. And I know that I’m not going to tell her that I met him tonight either.
I’m not a liar, I swear.
I’m a good girl, a rule-follower.
But for some reason, in this scenario, I don’t want to follow the rules.
“But I want you to know something. I don’t put much stock in what I hear. I never judge a person based on rumors. Especially when you’re not here to defend yourself or tell your side of the story. The only thing that I believe in is that you helped me. Last time.” I swallow, my chest heaving with my rapid breaths. “I-I lied to you. I made up stories and… I shouldn’t have done that. I usually don’t lie. I’m not… I’m not a liar, but I did lie that night and you had every right to go to your parents about me, tell on me. But you didn’t. And I… I’m thankful. So that’s what I believe in. What you did, not what I hear.”
By the time I finish I realize that he’s much closer to me now than he was when I first started talking.
Only he hasn’t moved. I don’t think.
I think it’s me.Imoved.
I’m not at the spot where I was standing before. I’m right in front of him.
Somewhere during my speech, my legs moved, as if coming alive on their own, and they brought me here.
Where he is.
Where I can see, can confirm, that whatever I thought he could do with his body — tower and block and span — he really can. He’s doing it right now in fact.