could have called me.”
“I did. Several times,” Casey pointed out. “You didn’t answer.”
“Well, I guess my phone died or something,” Regan said dismissively.
“Or maybe you were just ignoring me again,” Casey huffed. “Sometimes I think you like being disconnected.”
“From you? Never,” Regan replied sweetly.
Casey nudged her and giggled. “Seriously, though. I wanted to finalize plans this weekend.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Yeah, I know. But it takes me at least three days to get my outfit in order,” Casey said, scratching the back of her blond head.
“I don’t remember any plans,” Regan replied. “And anyway, I promised Caroline I’d take her and her friends bowling.”
“Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“There’s something weird about a teenage girl hanging with her ten-year-old sister on a Saturday night instead of her awesome friend and boyfriend.”
Regan chuckled. “Whatever.”
“We have movie plans!” Casey whined.
“Hey, take it up with Caroline.”
“Oh, I will.”
They hurried into class before the bell rang. Regan slid into her seat, then took an inventory of the room, searching for him. It wasn’t her intention to stare, but as he sat in the back gazing out the window, she couldn’t turn away. She had a perfect view of his scar and the defiant chrome rod that intersected it. She remembered in the past when he tried to camouflage his wound. She witnessed on several occasions him pulling on the tips of his blond hair, trying hard to obscure his eye from sight. Now he sat exposed, and he didn’t seem to care.
She froze when he looked her way, locking eyes with her. Something unpleasant manifested itself in a frown that spread slowly across his face. She wasn’t sure if he was mad or confused, but something urged her to look away. Leave him alone. Everything went darker, and it was the first time she was afraid of him.
He wants to hurt me .
The thought shocked her, and her eyes bugged. His narrowed.
Stop looking at him! her brain screamed.
But the staring contest continued—neither willing nor able to concede victory. Jeremy finally broke the connection when a pen rolled off his desk. He leaned over to retrieve it. Regan turned around slowly, trying to register what happened—trying to make sense of his silent message.
“Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” Casey asked, leaning in her friend’s direction.
No response.
“Pssst! Regan! Hello?”
Regan whipped her head around. Her face was drained. “Huh?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Casey asked, glancing behind her shoulder. She caught sight of Hannah and lowered her voice: “Is it the lesbo back there?”
“The wha—? No! And don’t say that!” Regan hissed.
“Well, you act like she just assaulted you. That happened in ninth grade, Regan. Time to move on.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. You harass her all the time. And anyway, she didn’t assault me. Stop twisting it around.”
“I do not harass her,” Casey argued.
“Bullshit. I’m forever apologizing to her for you.”
“You talk to her?” Casey cried.
“I try. I don’t get much of a response,” Regan said.
Casey stared. “You talk to her?”
“Oh, shut up. You act like it’s weird.”
“Um, it’s weird.”
“I love you, Case. You know I do. But can you please try to be nicer? Just sometimes? I’m not asking for all the time. I know that’s too much for you. But sometimes?”
“What are you talking about? I am nice.”
“You’re mean to Hannah, and I don’t like it,” Regan whispered.
“Why do you even care?” Casey asked. “She’s a freak.”
“No, she’s not.”
“She wants to be in a relationship with you, Regan. She’s obsessed with you!”
“She’s not obsessed with me. And there’s nothing freakish about people wanting to be in relationships with each other.”
“Whatever. And by the way, I am nice,” Casey muttered.
Regan shrugged.
“You know
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley