Page 22

Ricky

“Rick, buddy! Hella funny bumping into you at the beach last night, huh?”

I was still in the middle of tying my apron as I walked into the kitchen the following morning, but I stopped dead and stared in disbelief when Brett addressed me the moment I stepped through the door.

Funny? Nothing, literally nothing, about that encounter had been funny.

“What was funny about it?” I asked stiffly, tightening the knot on my apron as I headed for my station.

“Just…” Brett shrugged a little. He looked exhausted and hungover from too many nights of drinking in a row. I had no idea if that was his regular work-life pattern, hadn’t worked here long enough to know that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. “Just was. Seeing you there out of the blue, ya know?”

“Mm.” I turned my back on him and heaved the big sack of potatoes up onto the counter.

“My buddy might be organizing a rager this weekend. You should come.”

I tensed, but at the same time, I could feel a wave of weariness creeping in, one born from his unrelenting pursuit of a friendship between us, no matter how disinterested I seemed.

“I already said I’m not interested, Brett,” I told him, trying to stay polite. Not that he really deserved it after the way he’d treated Elliot.

“Not interested in the beach party, yeah, which I totally get, bro. Nowhere near as much fun as it is in the summer ’cause the girls get too cold to stay in their bikinis all night, which sucks ass. But this’ll be at his house. He has a dope house, man. His parents are loaded.”

“I don’t want to go to any party, Brett.”

“Nah, yeah, I get it. Gotta save up energy for a Halloween blowout, huh? Hey, what’s your fave costume for a girl? I think those cat ones are wicked hot. You know, with the hairband with the little ears, and they draw those whiskers on…”

I felt my eyes glaze over as I tuned him out while I scrubbed a bunch of potatoes in the sink. Despite my naivety in some things, I recognized Brett for the kind of person he was. Someone who’d do anything to get the approval of the people he’d deemed worthy of his approval. He’d decided he wanted me to like him, so he was willing to change his camouflage like a chameleon until he’d figured out what fit for me. What would make me like him.

More than that, though, I was pretty sure his dogged determination to make me like him stemmed from a mean-spirited desire to get one over on Elliot. To steal me from him. To take away the friends Elliot had and keep them for himself, simply so Elliot didn’t have them.

I remembered what Elliot had said on the beach, and it rang even truer now. Brett was just a mean person. I’d witnessed it for myself several times now, and the fact that he was nice to a select few didn’t change that. It didn’t give him a free pass to be a complete dick to some, just because he wasn’t to others. It was just another way of alienating certain people.

“Hey, so.” Something in his voice made me tune back in, and I was already tensing up. There was a sly edge to it, like he was gearing up for a joke only the two of us were in on. “What were you really doing with Elliot last night? Did you, like, bump into him and felt too bad to tell him to get lost or something?”

My temper frayed and finally snapped. I was still stewing over what he’d said to Elliot last night, still thinking about it, still getting annoyed and feeling guilty for not doing more. It didn’t help that I knew I wouldn’t be able to see Elliot tonight. And that I’d be subjected to my mom’s tuna noodle casserole.

My shoulders hunching, I turned to face Brett and glared at him. He didn’t even seem to notice. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Stop being such a dick about Elliot. Why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him. He’s just…” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and that said everything.

“I don’t want to be your friend, Brett,” I told him bluntly, my heart pounding as I said the words. I never talked to people like this. I always tried to be nice, and I hated making someone feel uncomfortable or upset. But he didn’t give a crap about making Elliot feel that way, so why should I? “I don’t want to go to parties with you, or hang out with you at all.”

“Woah.” Brett looked perplexed by my outburst. “Don’t wig out, man. I’m just messing.”

He’d said the same thing last night, and it was infuriating. My face was hot with anger, and I was trying my best to calm down so I could think of a response. Think of something I could say that might finally make him realize I did not like him, because apparently, even “I don’t want to be your friend” wasn’t enough.

Before I could, he came closer and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. I stiffened, then tried to subtly turn my face away from him when the smell of stale beer on his breath hit me in a sickening wave.

“Look, bro, I get it,” he muttered to me in a conspiratorial tone, as if we were in on something together. “You’re a nice guy, you want to be friendly to everyone. It’s rad. I respect you for it.” His tone made it sound like he definitely didn’t. “But a word of advice, bud? If you hang around with certain people, it’s gonna affect how other people see you, ya know? Like… you don’t want to become one of the weirdos, right? Betties don’t go for weirdos, Rick.”

God, he was such a… I was clenching my jaw so hard my teeth ached. I shifted my shoulder out from under his hand and took a step away from him. I’d never, ever wanted to hurt anyone in my life, but right now, I wanted to punch Brett in the face. The only thing stopping me was the fact that I didn’t want to get fired.

I turned to face him, trying to breathe as little as possible while he was this close so I didn’t have to inhale the scent of stale beer. “Elliot’s my friend, Brett. Not you. Leave him alone and leave me alone.”

He made a face and finally stepped back. “For real? Whatever, bro. Tiff’s friends wouldn’t like you anyway.”