How dare he smile? He has no right to smile!
I remember a time when I could smile. Friday was a good day.
Clarissa closes the car door, and I pull out of her driveway. She doesn’t turn back to blow Blake a kiss, and Blake isn’t watching her with love in his eyes, so I don’t need to freak out. They aren’t going to get married and have a bunch of half-cool, half-devil kids.
I probably should root for them to get together because if they got into a fight, Clarissa could snap Blake in half over her knee like a twig. It would be fun to see Blake get snapped, but the mental scars of knowing that he was dating my drummer would never fade. I’d be ninety years old and having occasional screaming fits from thinking about them holding hands.
Anyway, as I have been about 372,218 times since Blake showed up in Florida, I’m being ridiculous. Clarissa is not going to go out with Blake. If he asked her, he’d get a drumstick through the nose.
A few minutes later, I pull into Mel’s driveway. “Thanks for the ride,” he tells me.
“No problem.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says to Blake. Clearly, he didn’t notice my revulsion when Clarissa said those same words, or he wouldn’t have spoken them.
“Nice to meet you too,” says Blake.
They fist-bump.
Fist-bump!
Did you see that? No, no, of course you didn’t. I’m the one describing everything. But did you see the part where I said that they fist-bumped? I want to make sure you didn’t skip over it. They fist-bumped! You can politely shake hands with somebody that you can’t stand, but a fist bump implies that you tolerate a person, maybe even are friends with that person.
Oh, I left this out of the description because it was too painful, but you deserve to know. Mel initiated the fist bump.
It’s as if their fists connect in slow motion, creating a friendship explosion. I haven’t felt this betrayed since Clarissa told Blake it was nice to meet him. And for the record, Blake is terrible at fist-bumping. There’s no technique. No style. He sort of makes a fist and moves his hand forward. I think he’s worried that it might hurt.
Then Mel holds up his fist to me, and I’m so frazzled that for a split second that I think he’s going to punch me. But then I accept the fist bump, even though I hate the idea of bumping a fist that bumped Blake’s fist.
“Seeya,” says Mel, getting out of the car.
Blake also gets out of the car and then gets into the front seat. Wow. He opened both doors himself. Is he showing off for Mel?
Blake puts on his seat belt. “Thanks for letting me come along.”
“Sure.”
“I like your bandmates.”
I back out of Mel’s driveway. “Good job fooling them.”
Blake looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“How did I fool them?”
“You know.”
“Clearly, I don’t, or I wouldn’t be asking.”
“I disagree. I think you would be asking if you knew, and I think that’s what you’re doing. You know, and you’re asking. It’s the kind of thing you do.”
“Are you okay? Should you be driving?”
I pull away from Mel’s house. “Admit it. You pretended to be decent.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Do you mean you didn’t pretend to be decent or that you weren’t decent? Because you were decent. I’m saying it was an act instead of your natural self.”
“You need to take a deep breath,” says Blake.
He’s right. I do.
He continues, “Breathe in, hold it for five seconds, and breathe out. Very slowly. Breathe in and breathe out. Close your eyes and…no, wait. Don’t close your eyes. Eyes open at all times while driving. But breathe in…”
“I don’t need you to talk me through it,” I say, following his instructions. I breathe in, hold it for five seconds, and breathe out.
“Again,” says Blake.
“I’ll decide when I’m done breathing.”
“Rod, I think you need to do something to manage your stress level, or you’re going to have a heart attack at seventeen.”
“What’s your plan here?” I ask.
“You mean my nefarious scheme where I’m nice to your friends so they’ll be my friends too?”
“Yes! That one!”
“They’re going to be at our house all the time, right? Why shouldn’t I hang out with them? It’s not like I’m going to turn them against you or anything.”
“You got your own lemonade. You opened the car door by yourself. You didn’t make any subtle insults.”
“And that’s what you consider scheming?”
“From you, yes.”
“Listen to yourself. If I were recording this conversation, which I’m not, and I played it back, I think you’d be surprised by how crazed you sound. Your mom would be worried about you. Who knows where that could lead?”
“Are you threatening to play this conversation for my mom?”
“No.”
“See, that’s the kind of thing you do! You create scenarios where you might have been recording me and float the possibility that I might get carted away to an asylum to make me paranoid! I’m sick of it.”
“Stop sign,” says Blake.
“What?”
“Stop sign.”
“Is that the phrase you use to try to make people quit talking?”
“No, I was saying that there was a stop sign. You just drove through the intersection.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t good. I don’t want to get into a car crash, especially since the other vehicle might hit my side instead of Blake’s. I take some more deep breaths.
“Whatever it is you think I’m doing, believe me, it’s all in your mind. I don’t want to live with you any more than you want me there, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it, so we might as well try to get along. I’m not going to steal your girlfriend or your friends. I’ll be gone in three months, and your life will be back to normal.”
“I never thought you were going to steal Audrey,” I tell him.
“Good. Because I’m not.”
“It was never a possibility.”
“I agree.”
“She’s not attracted to you.”
“Nor I to her.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Not
