pizza here. âYeah, thatâs my point. Eating with me isnât going to help.â
âDo I look worried?â I unwrapped a sandwich, bit halfway through the first triangle, and spoke with my mouth full. âI donât know anybody here but you and figured youâre better than eating by myself.â
He laughed once, a rasp of air that held no humor. âYeah, well, thatâs a first. Iâve been eating alone since seventh, noâ¦sixth grade.â
âThat really blows.â
Another laugh, this time with sound. âYeah, tell me about it.â He nibbled another piece of his pizza. âSo, whatâs up with you and Dean? Heard you broke up another fight.â
Told ya so.
Ouch. I winced. âUh, you heard about that, huh? It wasnât a fight. Just an argument. I tried to help. What the hell is his problem with you anyway?â
Brandon shrugged. âI exist.â
I finished the first sandwich and started on the second. âYou never did anything to him?â
Brandon made no response except for the shadow that passed over his face and watched me eat. âYou always eat sandwiches in, like, four bites?â
I shot him a look and waved my hand, encouraging him to answer my question.
âFine. I stole his girlfriend once.â
The hand about to tip the Snapple to my mouth froze, mid-flight. Brandon grinned. âGotcha,â he said.
I laughed and hated myself for believing Brandon couldnât possibly win any girl from Jeff. People nearby stared at me for laughing. I glared back. Yeah. Iâm laughing. Iâm eating lunch with Brandon Dellerman, and Iâm laughing. Assholes.
âSeriously, whatâs his problem?â
Brandon sighed and stared down at his grease-stained paper plate. âWeâ¦uhâ¦used to be friends. When we were little. Then Jeffâs mom died, and heâsâ¦well, letâs just say he didnât handle it well.â
I tried to imagine it. My own motherâs death. Immediately, my chest tightened, and my lunch soured. Too much. Way too much. âI donât think anybody could handle that well.â
Brandon shrugged. âYeah, well, he blames me. Like I killed her or something. Heâs been pissed off at me ever since her funeral.â
I angled my head, waited for him to confirm or deny. âYou didnât have anything to do with herââ
Brandonâs eyes darted to mine, huge and hurt. âNo way, man! She had, like, cancer or something.â
I was totally lost now. Why would Jeff hold Brandon accountable for his motherâs natural death?
Dick, do I need to remind you there are two sides to every story? Maybe you should ask Jeff what his problem is.
Jeffâs an idiot. I donât need his version.
Yeah. You do.
I wanted to ignore Kennyâs insistence but was too curious. Just when I was about to press Brandon for more details, I noticed the way his hands shook, so I quickly changed the subject. âSo, what is there to do in this town? You donât have a skate park. I checked.â
âYou skateboard?â
âNo. In-line.â In-line skating helped me maintain my ice-skating skills when I couldnât get near a rink. I hadnât been near a rink in years. âI play hockey.â
Brandon nodded. âIâm not into sports. I just play a lot of video games.â
At last. Common ground, neutral territory. We spent the last fifteen minutes of the lunch period exchanging tips on Assassinâs Creed , Call of Duty , and Madden NFL . Iâd had to intimidate one brave soul who dared to throw something at Brandon as we made our way to the recycling bins. He immediately backed off and even apologized.
Smart kid.
When the bell rang and Brandon took off with a grinâa real one this timeâI figured maybe whatever coolness I had by virtue of going hand to hand with Jeff (and living to tell about it) might rub off on him.
Want a