"The leather jacket." He bobbed his head, a self-effacing smile on his lips. "God, that thing got some use that year."
"You wore it every damn day," Annette said. "Until the Hemingway phase, where you wanted nothing more than to be an ex-pat."
"That's a difficult goal to realize while living in Maine," he said, laughing.
"And then there was Langston Hughes and I think it wrapped up with a Dostoyevsky phase, right? Am I recalling that correctly?" Annette asked.
Before I knew what I was saying, I replied, "Yes, it was Dostoyevsky."
As slowly as someone could move while still moving, Jed turned his head toward me. "You remember that?"
"Yeah." I jerked a shoulder to make sure he knew it was a stray memory from long ago rather than proof of anything meaningful. "You wore a t-shirt with the book cover on the front and a quote on the back and—"
"'Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams,'" he said.
"You wore it all the time." I stabbed my fork into the cake. I refused to take responsibility for knowing the book he glommed all over in high school.
"Yes, I can picture it now," Annette added. "You loved your tortured, broody writer types, didn't you?"
His gaze still locked on me, he said, "That's what happens when you have after-school jobs at the public library and the graphic design shop out near the highway. They had a full screen-printing setup there, which allowed me to experiment with quippy t-shirts before quippy t-shirts were popular."
"Harniczek was a loner with a library card. Annie was a sweet little cinnamon roll." Jackson's brows bent together. "Where does that leave Brooke?"
Annette beamed at Jackson, saying, "She was the princess."
"Oh my god," I muttered to myself.
"It's true," Annette chirped. "She traveled in an opalescent bubble whenever she decided to grace the small people with her presence."
"That doesn't even make sense." I shoved a bite of cake in my mouth. "For the record, I was friends with everyone. I hung out with all the different crowds. The last thing I wanted was to be that spoiled, snotty kid everyone expected me to be. No princess, no bubble."
"There was a party. Junior year, I think," Jed said, his gaze unfocused. "A bunch of chill, low-key kids put it together. Nothing big or special, just one of those times when we got some beers and built a bonfire on the beach. I remember when you arrived. You didn't pop out of a bubble, but damn, that's not far from the truth."
"What does that mean?" I snapped.
"It was a performance," he replied. "Wasn't that what you did in high school? Every day, you were on stage. You didn't want to be the spoiled, snotty kid, but you did want to be the center of attention. A princess of the people is still a princess. That was the role you played."
"Don't you think that sounds a little harsh?" Jackson asked.
Before Jed could respond, I jumped in with, "No, it sounds accurate. I'm sure I'm guilty of all—"
"We're not doing that, drama llama," Annette said.
"I don't think it's drama and I don't think you need to admit any guilt," Jed remarked. "We were kids who struggled and fought and bounced our ways into who we are today. You probably struggled and fought more than either of us."
"That seems overly generous." I went on hacking the cake to crumbs. "Like you said, still a princess."
I felt Jed's hand on my knee again, but I didn't look away from the plate in front of me. The table was silent, save for the metallic slide of Annette's knife against the cake tray. She dropped another slice on Jackson's plate and then one on Jed's.
"Why are you giving me more cake?" Jackson asked.
"It's for you to eat," she replied.
"Do I look like I need to be fattened up, Annie?" he asked.
"Sorry, can't hear you over the pounding in my head. I have a terrible headache because some brute threw me off a bed," she quipped.
While Jackson and Annette volleyed back and forth about sex and cake, Jed edged closer, ducking his head to catch my eye. "I've hurt you and I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention."
