at him.
Neither can Regina, which Anthony Parrina has just noticed as he heads up the driveway on his way back to the party from a beer run.
He doesn’t look too happy about what he sees.
Anthony puts down the case of beer he was balancing on one massive shoulder and wraps a possessive arm around Regina. “What, no chain gang for you tonight, jailbird?” he says to Jamie. “Oh, right, they only let the juvie kids work road crew during the day. I honked at you once on the highway in your little orange vest, but you didn’t wave to me,” Anthony says, making a fake sad face.
I can’t tell if there’s any truth to what Anthony is saying because Jamie’s face is a mask. Jamie’s dad is a cop—a cop who left his son in jail overnight to teach him a lesson—and I wouldn’t be surprised if he arranged for Jamie’s community service to involve spending his whole summer in the blazing hot sun fixing the town’s potholes.
I look at Regina. She is staring hard at Jamie, as if she’s trying to tell him something, but Jamie keeps his eyes on Anthony. I have no idea if Jamie and Regina have talked about what she did to him. But they do live next door to each other, so that probably answers my question.
“What, you got nothin’ to say, Forta?” Anthony challenges.
Jamie and Anthony have unfinished business. Jamie used to play hockey for Union with Peter until he got kicked off the team during the big Union vs. West Union game for high-sticking Anthony in the neck. I saw it happen, and I always figured it was some stupid trash-talking thing. But now I’m starting to think it was something bigger.
And Anthony is dating Regina, who Jamie grew up with and has…what? Liked? Gone out with?
Been in love with?
Jamie slowly turns to Regina, not taking his eyes off Anthony until the last second. When his gaze meets hers, concern fills his face. How can he possibly look so worried about her after what she did to him? What is going on?
“You okay?” Jamie asks Regina in a low voice, as if they’re the only two people in the driveway. That weird, blank look comes across Regina’s face again as Anthony tightens his grip on her and smiles like he won a prize.
“She’s fine,” Anthony answers for her. “It’s Conrad who don’t look so good.” He sort of chuckles.
Anthony is a total meathead.
Jamie turns to watch Conrad pace back and forth on the same spot, water still dripping off his rolled-up jeans.
“Conrad,” Jamie calls out.
Conrad stops. “Don’t you fucking talk to me.”
“Don’t swear at Jamie,” Regina warns. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak all night.
“Oh, that’s great, ’Gina, stick up for the guy who treats you like shit. Should I start calling you ‘Mom’?”
Conrad is shivering in his wet red shirt, which is bleeding pink streaks on his white jeans. His eyes land on Anthony, and I’m hoping Conrad will just keep his mouth shut, for his own sake. I can’t tell whether he has tears or pool water on his face, but the overall effect is the same—with the bleeding shirt and the streaked face, he looks like he’s slightly out of his mind.
“Take him home,” Jamie says to Regina.
“You know what, Forta?” Anthony interrupts. “You don’t get to tell her what to do anymore.”
Jamie takes a step toward Anthony. “And you do?”
“Stop acting like you actually give a shit about us, Jamie,” Conrad snaps.
“I said watch your mouth,” Regina says.
“All right, kids, don’t make me send you to your rooms.” Anthony suddenly sounds annoyed and bored. “I’ll drive you home. Just don’t get my interior wet.”
“Why would I get in a car with you? You’re even more of an asshole than Jamie.”
“Conrad, if you don’t stop talking shit about Jamie—”
“Why you gotta defend Forta, Regina?” Anthony asks.
I can answer that. Because she loves him.
But of course she’s not going to admit that to Anthony.
Regina goes mute again. Anthony grabs her arm hard enough to change the color of her skin, forcing her to turn toward him. For one weird moment, I actually want to pry his hand off her.
“Let go of her,” Jamie warns.
“Fuck off, Forta,” Anthony says. He takes a step toward Jamie, his chest puffed out, fire in his eyes.
Jamie doesn’t budge. It occurs to me that someone who has just finished community service probably can’t afford to get into trouble again. I should get between them, like Jamie did for me last year with Regina. But based on the way Anthony just grabbed her, I’d say the presence of a girl between him and the person he wants to punch isn’t much of a deterrent. So instead I just blurt out the first thing I can think of.
“Conrad, your shirt is staining your pants.”
Everyone turns to look at me as Conrad looks down at his pants. The red is now more of a general pink wash than individual streaks. “How symbolic,” he says.
“Tracy and I can drive you home if you want to get those in the wash before they’re ruined.”
The wash? I’m talking about washing pants right now? What is wrong with me?
He snorts. “You are the reason this all got so fucked up in the first place,” he says, waving in disgust at Regina, Jamie and Anthony. “I’d rather walk.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Anthony says, looking at Conrad. “What are you talkin’ about? Who’s the reason everything got so fucked up?”
Conrad gestures to me with his chin. “Her.”
Anthony points at me, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “This is Forta’s little freshman? The girl who went screamin’ to the principal?”
He looks like he can’t figure out whether to laugh or punch me. In my head, I’m telling him that I’m actually a sophomore now, which, if you pass your classes, is what happens after you’ve been a freshman, generally speaking. But in reality, I’m totally embarrassed and freaked out. It never occurred to me that someday I’d be face-to-face with West Union’s hell-on-ice star hockey player and would have to answer for getting him thrown out of the prom after he went to all the trouble of taking off his skates and putting on a tuxedo.
I wonder if Jamie will come to my defense if Anthony decides to kill me here and now.
“Matt just passed out,” Tracy says as she comes around the corner of the house with our bags. She takes one look at Conrad’s now-pink pants and visibly cringes. “Were those Marc Jacobs?” Then she looks up at his face. “Are you okay?”
I don’t realize I’m expecting Conrad to smile at Tracy gratefully and thank her for asking until he glares at her like she’s an idiot. “Do I look like I’m okay?” he asks.
I want to tell him that I know how it feels to be targeted. But I know it’s not the same thing. I kissed someone I shouldn’t have kissed. Conrad, on the other hand, was just being himself at a team party—a team that he’s supposedly a member of.
“Is somebody going to drive you home?” Tracy asks.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he snaps.
“Probably because no one wants to fish you out of the pool again,” she says.
“Well, I’m not getting in a car with either one of them,” he