Envious (23 page)

I looked down guiltily. I felt I owed it to Todd to tell my parents the truth, to tell them everything that happened last night. But I also knew that they might blame Todd for all of it. Todd would hate it if I told them how caring he was to me, how scared he was…

“Cassandra! Answer your mother!” my dad yelled.

I looked up into my parents’ faces and carefully answered, “Todd’s a really good guy.” My father let out a grunt and my mother sighed with frustration. “No, he is. I guess I never took the time to realize it before, but he is.”

“Sandy,” my mother began, but I wouldn’t let her continue. I had to tell them how wrong they were. I had to, even though Todd would kill me for it.

“Todd’s not in a junior college,” I said.

My father added blandly, “That much we figured.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I continued, pushing myself to finish, “Todd isn’t going to a junior college. He’s going to Yale.” Their eyebrows furrowed in mild disbelief. “Yale…Ivy League. He received a full scholarship. He has three majors that he’s working on. He didn’t want you to know.”

“Obviously because he’s lying,” my father said.

“Well there’s one easy way of figuring that out.” I picked up the phone and held it out to him. He took it from me and placed it back on the cradle.

“That doesn’t explain anything we’ve asked you. Why was he here?”

“He was sad,” I said, planning not to reveal anything incriminating to them. “He was upset, so I invited him over. I wanted him here!”

The next day, I sat in a booth at a diner, waiting for Todd. He wasn’t late, not yet. I shifted my weight uncomfortably, hating the sound that the rubbery seat cover made. I pretended to look over the menu. The waitress was being so impatient with me for not ordering immediately. It wasn’t as if there was a line waiting for my seat or anything. The place was mostly empty. Just a lazy jerk, I guess.

The glass door swung wide open, and Todd walked through nonchalantly, looking like the King of Gloom in his torn, faded jeans, black hoodie and black t-shirt underneath. His eyes did a quick scan of the place, then spotted me. He strode over, ignoring the hostess’s greeting, and slid into the booth across from me, leaning back like he owned the place.

“Early much?” he asked, obviously not expecting a response from me. Todd took off his zip-up hoodie and tossed it to the end of the booth, over my coat. He drummed his fingers on the table as he shifted his weight in his seat. His knuckles were battered and cracked, with old dried blood and scabs covering them, and his hands looked swollen even through the dark purple bruises that covered them. He looked me in the eye suspiciously as I looked up to his face. His
bruised
face. It hadn’t been bruised the last time I saw him. The skin under his left eye was red, purple, and puffy. He had a nasty cut on his lip, too.

“What?” he asked me impatiently.

I shook my head, figuring that I didn’t want to know what happened. It would only make me feel guilty. I knew it had to do with me.

“Did you order?” he asked. I shook my head. A smirk spread across his face. “Did you forget how to talk?”

“No,” I snapped back. A small laugh escaped his lips, but he quickly extinguished it, flipping open the menu in front of him.

“Do you know what you want?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Perfect,” he said, closing the menu. He looked around for a waitress, caught her eye, and gave her a head nod. She walked over to us.

“Ready?” she asked, staring a little too long at the bruise on his face.

“Yeah. Double pancakes, sausage and bacon. Plus some OJ,” he said. “And for the lady, something she’ll pick at and not finish.”

I rolled my eyes at him before speaking up with my real order. “French toast. Bacon. Coffee.”

The waitress wandered away. “Coffee?” Todd asked. “Since when?”

“Since now,” I snapped back. “And I don’t need your commentary on what I eat.”

“You mean, what you
don’t
eat,” he said, his expression hardening, ready to battle it out.

“I eat plenty,” I said, not fully believing it.

“Yes,” he said. I couldn’t believe my ears.
Todd agreed with me?
“If you want to be the size of a Chihuahua, you eat exactly the right amount.” I should have known better.

“Whatever,” I said as our beverages appeared on the table. Forget guilt. “How’s your face feel?” I asked like it was an insult.

“Pretty damn good,” Todd answered nonchalantly. He didn’t even care. No way was he that cool. It had to burn him up inside. “I bet the other guy feels wonderful.” Todd raised his hand, pointing a finger at his cheek and motioned as though he was turning a knob or something.

“What does that mean?” I asked, completely lost.

He furrowed his eyebrows at me, apparently surprised. “I broke his jaw,” he answered. He made the motion again. “They wired it shut. He won’t be biting anyone for a while.” He gulped down half of his juice. “You’re welcome,” he added.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I said, guilt creeping in anyway.

“I know. By the way, how are you?” he asked sincerely, leaning forward. It was hard to keep track of his flip-flopping emotions. He was always back and forth. But he really cared. He had proven that.
Maybe it’s best to take everything he says lightly.

When I didn’t answer, he tipped his head slightly to the side and gazed sadly into my eyes. “I’ll be fine,” I said.

Todd rested back against the seat again and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. “So, you said you needed to tell me something?”

I sighed. I wished I wouldn’t have to tell him, but I knew the story would get back to him anyway, and I’d be the prime suspect. “Yeah,” I began. “I…told my parents that you go to Yale.”

He looked at me, expressionless, then tipped his chin down, nodding, looking at the floor. “I figured you would,” he said. “Frankly, I’m surprised you lasted this long.”

“What, you don’t think I’m good with secrets?” I asked, challenging him.

“No, I think you’re great with secrets. So, how’d my mom take it?”

“I don’t think they told her yet,” I said.

Todd burst out into his typical mocking laughter. “Ya think? I can guarantee she knows by now.”

“Are you mad at me?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t friggin’ care.”

I wished that were true. And I bet he wished it too. I saw the look on his face. He stared down at the table, worry spreading over his expression and he scratched at his arm violently. I looked away. I had to.

Everything will be fine,
I told myself.
Todd will be fine. His mom will be fine. They will both be fine.

“Sandy?” Todd called out to me. I looked at him. His arms were crossed, and he was looking down. I couldn’t see his eyes, hidden behind his dark, disheveled bangs. I wanted him to look at me. I had a hard enough time reading him without hair blocking his face. I said nothing, knowing he would have to look up. And he did. His light gray eyes held probably the deepest, most intense emotion I had ever seen on him.

Remorse.

“Sandy,” he began again, trying to escape my gaze but drawing back to it. “I’m really sorry about what happened to you. I shouldn’t have asked you there. Screwed up. Crap. I
fucked
up.”

I didn’t know what to say. He did mess up. He shouldn’t have asked me to go to Josh’s. It was the most frightening day of my life, my whole life. And all for him. But, I could have said no, right? No. I would never. I had offered my help, and he took me up on it. I wouldn’t have gone back on my promise. There was nothing I could say to make him feel better.

Thankfully, our food arrived. Eating would fill the silence. It would distract him. I watched him, waiting for him to eat. I picked up my fork, waiting for Todd. Nothing. He stared off into space, darkness filling his eyes. I set my fork back down on my placemat.

“Todd, it’s over,” I said, needing him to stop tearing himself down inside. “I’m fine. Let’s eat.”

Todd nodded, slowly picking up his thin fork in his thick, bruised hand, looking as though he was having trouble keeping it in his swollen grip. It felt like I was coaxing a rabbit out of its burrow with a little baby carrot. I’d need more than that with Todd.

“Todd, I’m serious,” I said, hoping that would make a full carrot. Almost. He looked into my eyes. It was hard to bring him out of his guilt, especially since I was still blaming him for it all. I guess, deep down, I knew it was my own fault. Todd said it was from me turning my back on my food. And he would know, wouldn’t he?

“Please, just eat. Okay? You’re depressing me,” I told him.
Real nice. Meet his apology with more guilt.
It was a bitchy move. I knew it, but I couldn’t face him or even the subject.
But he took the bait. He began to eat, sort of violently, as if he were forcing himself into action, spearing the sausage and shoving it in his mouth. But at least we were finished with the apology portion of our morning.

“Did you really break his jaw?” I asked, amazed that the words spilled out on their own, out of nowhere.

Todd smirked, swallowing his food. “What do you think?”

And that was a yes. I smiled. It was nice to know he had my back, and even nicer knowing that he was tough enough to handle the job. Those thick muscles weren’t just for show.

I sipped my coffee, watching Todd drown his pancakes in syrup, stuffing his mouth like someone was going to take his food away from him. I brought a piece of shriveled bacon to my lips. The smell seemed to nauseate me. Or maybe it was just the conversation. I chewed, the greasy crispiness breaking up in my mouth tasted wonderful, but I had to force myself to swallow.

You have to eat it. All of it.
I had unsuccessfully countered Todd’s comments on my eating habits earlier, and I could not let him win it again. I sliced my French toast, dipped a piece in syrup, and shoved it in my mouth. I chewed it until it became a thick paste in my mouth, and forced it down.
Keep going.
Another piece. And another.
More, more.

One slice down, one to go. But my stomach was hating me now. My throat felt like it was closing.
Force it down!
I chewed, and chewed. And the more I chewed, the more my throat closed. Todd was looking at me now. He was chewing. He was swallowing. Why couldn’t I?

I drank my coffee, using it to wash the food down. It worked. I set the mug back on the table, satisfied but only for a moment. My stomach lurched. I turned to the side and raised my hand to my mouth just as I began to choke on what I had already swallowed. My body heaved the food out of my mouth and past my fingers, dribbling vomit onto the rubber seat cushion.

“Jesus, Sandy,” Todd exclaimed, leaping out of his seat. He rushed toward me.

I heaved. More food spewed out of my mouth. I was choking on it. I tried to cough, but all that came was more chunks of French toast mush. Todd squatted before me, blocking me from the restaurant, pulling my hair away from my face. I heaved again. Nothing but dribble now. My stomach lurched again. There was nothing left. It was all in my hand and on my bench. One last heave racked me. My jaw muscles locked open, gagging on nothing.

“Okay, okay,” Todd said, reaching for the napkins with his free hand. He wiped them across my lips and the seat, trying to clear it so I could slide out of the tight booth. People were staring. I could feel their eyes on me as Todd worked quickly.

I heaved again, covering my mouth with my hand, needing it to stop.

“More?” Todd asked. I nodded harshly. In one quick movement, he had me in his arms, sliding me out of the booth. He carried me quickly around the hostess stand and toward the bathrooms. There was a short line formed outside the women’s room. Todd pushed into the men’s, carrying me into the empty space and set me on my feet over the sink. My stomach heaved again. There was nothing. Just dry heaves. My throat felt like someone was twisting it, tying it in knots. And it burned. I grasped the cold white sink with both hands, leaning over it, waiting for the lurching of my body to stop. Todd still held me, one arm around my shaking shoulders and the other holding back my hair.

Finally, I felt calm return to my body. I breathed, trying not to take in the pungent smell of vomit, and trying not to taste it on my tongue. I turned on the water with trembling fingers, and Todd backed away from me, giving me space. I rinsed my hands, trying to get the slimy putrid mess off as quickly as possible, then cupped my hands, rinsing out my mouth.

“You okay?” Todd asked, beginning to wash his own hands in the sink beside mine.

“Yeah,” I said.

Todd wiped a wet paper towel over the front of his black t-shirt. If I had the capability of appearing any color other than green at that moment, I would have been red with embarrassment.

“I’ll get our coats,” he said, leaving the bathroom.

I looked up into the mirror and ran a shaking hand through my hair. Amazingly there was nothing stuck in it. Todd must have some experience in holding back girls’ hair while they vomit. He knew just what we really care about.
Nobody look, and don’t mess the hair.
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. My stomach still felt squirmy and my head was beginning to pound.