I got under his skin, and he’s walking away because of it.
“Stick around long enough and you’ll see what I mean,” he adds.
I’m counting on it.Because little does he know that Summer already had this conversation, it just wasn’t with him.
He swipes the vest off the pavement before he gets blasted by the door of his preciousschool.
“Watch it,” Brian hollers at a kid who barrels out of the building. “No skateboards on school premises.”
The kid leans back, front wheels lifting off the ground as the board comes to a stop.
It’s a shock he listened after that kind of exit. He tucks his board under his arm, spinning his hat backward.
Blake.
Pain and anger build in equal measure just looking at the back of his head. He walks to the farthest bench from me, sits down, and pulls out his phone.
“Practice is over,” he says to the person on the other end of the call he just made. There’s a brief pause where he spreads his legs out wide, taking up as much space as he wants. The opposite of how he made Quinn feel minutes ago, shrinking to fit into the insignificant box his label put her in.
“Please, I don’t want to walk all that way,” he pleads.
We’re the only two people out here, and Summer drove. I don’t have her keys. Not eavesdropping on this conversation is impossible.
“Come on,” he whispers when he pulls his phone away from his mouth. His elbow sinks into his knee as he leans on it, pinching his forehead and temple between his thumb and middle finger.
“Yes, I have my skateboard, but it’s… Fine. Got it. Yeah, you too.” He hangs up, sighs, and stands.
“Hey,” I call out.
I don’t have a plan for what I’m going to say, but I’m not letting him leave here without clearing the air. As pissed as I am about his comment, he’s a kid who has a lot to learn. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.
“Yeah, no skateboards on the premises, I know,” he repeats, tucking the board under his arm.
I move closer to him. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
He waits for me to continue.
“You picked on someone smaller than you in there,” I remind him.
A flippantI’m sorryfollows that statement. “She can color the grass whatever she wants.”
“This isn’t about what color she chose, Blake. You called her stupid. I know you’re the oldest one here, but imagine if you weren’t. Pretend you’re the youngest one and a bunch of middle school kids embarrassed you in front of everyone. How would that make you feel?”
“I said I was sorry,” Blake repeats.
“I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to.” Yes, his name-calling dredged up some of my own shit I try to keep buried, but that’s not his fault. This is about Quinn.
“I said sorry to her. You weren’t in there.”
Thank you for the reminder.
“There’s a difference between saying it and meaning it. Quinn wants to fit in just as much as you do.”
I eye his graffitied skateboard and his backward hat and the wad of bubblegum wedged between his molars. Looking cool matters to him whether he’ll admit it or not.
He studies me for a second. Makes me believe my words are sinking in. Then he flips his hat forward, turns, and walks away.
“On the phone… was that your mom?” I stop him.
