Page 62 of Mad Girl

“I’m serious. I don’t think I should with Casey here.”

“You shouldn’t at all,” Michael said. “You shouldn’t ever do it.”

“It makes me feel better.”

“Yeah? It makes me feel like shit,” he said. The huskiness of his voice tore through me, choking me, like a vise around my throat. “I forgave you, Elliot. I fucking forgave you for stabbing me, and all these years later, you’re still punishing yourself for it.”

“I could’ve killed you,” I whispered, voice cracking on the words.

“But you didn’t,” he said, his expression softening. “I’m still here. And you know what it feels like when you get your nose broken? Or a black eye? It feels like I’m being punished. It hurts me. It hurts all of us—especially your dad. It shouldn’t take Casey being around to stop you from doing it.” Michael stopped and glanced away again, throat bobbing as he shook his head. “I wish you’d stop doing it for me. For my sake.”

The pleading tone of his voice settled it. I couldn’t keep hurting myself if it hurt him, too. Not like this. “Fine,” I said on a hard swallow. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Did you tell Casey why I do it?”

“Yeah. He wouldn’t leave me alone about it.”

My stomach clenched. “So now he knows I’m a freak.”

Michael cut his eyes at me. “Don’t call yourself that—and he doesn’t think you’re a freak. I tried not to tell him, but he has this way of…pulling things out of me.”

“Yeah,” I said, kicking my legs in the water, “he pulls stuff out of me, too. He’s really annoying like that.”

We smiled at each other.

“Hey,” Michael said, his expression turning serious again. “Sorry about the mom stuff at breakfast the other day. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. It’s just…when my mom talks about having me, it’s always centered around her, you know? On what she accomplished. She doesn’t talk about falling in love with me or any of that sappy stuff like my dad does. It’s like she didn’t see me at all, just one more thing she could tick off her list of achievements. Like she handed me over to my dad and said, Here, you take care of this, then ran off to conquer the next thing.”

“I understand why it probably seems like that, but she clearly loves you. Remember how she used to cry every year when they sent you off to camp? And you were only there for a week.”

“I guess so.”

“Plus, she always bakes your favorite cake on your birthday, and she was really shaken when I stabbed you.”

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Of course she was. She came dangerously close to winning her first city council election by the sympathy vote. The only thing worse than losing an election is winning one because people feel sorry for you.”

“Stop it,” I chided, brushing a wet lock of hair off his forehead. “And, listen, now that we’re talking again, we need to get started on those driving lessons you promised me last summer.”

“I don’t remember promising that,” he said.

I placed my foot on his shoulder and shoved him back in the water. “You’re full of it.”

He smiled. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

The next day, when Michael asked if you wanted to join us, you lowered the tea you were drinking, glanced between us, and said, “I’ll go once she’s had a bit more practice. I don’t especially feel like dying today.”

I shoved you in the arm, which only made you laugh.

My dad looked nervous as he handed Michael the keys to his Range Rover. “No intersections or winding roads—I mean it, Michael. Start with a parking lot.”

The driving lessons didn’t go well. Either I pressed the gas too hard or not hard enough. I turned the wheel too sharply. I braked too soon. I kept jamming my foot on the brake, jerking us forward in our seats. Michael doesn’t have the kind of patience you have, Casey. He yelled—and I yelled back. We slung a whole lot of profanity at each other in that car.

Michael yelled especially loud when I failed to stop at an intersection. I slammed on the breaks just as a big SUV whizzed past us, the driver laying on his horn.

Michael went pale, his body pressed hard to the passenger seat. “Oh my God,” he said, gripping the console. “Oh my God. My whole life just flashed before my eyes.”

“It did not. You’re being dramatic.”