“Do what?” he said, speaking very slowly as if she were in the ‘special’ class two tables over, the valedictorian of which was currently shoving his carrot sticks up his nose in a vain attempt to get the broccoli out. “What am I doing?”
She cursed and slammed her drink down on the table, tiny droplets spraying up into her face and hair. Her voice took on an accusing tone, one that made it clear she was no longer dealing with his crap. “If you’re gonna keep pulling this shit out of your hat, then you don’t have to be so fucking patronizing about it, okay?” she demanded, glaring into him with full feminine fury. “Because I don’t need it. You think that you hold the monopoly on pain? That you’re the only one who misses Sara? Guess what, you can get off that damn high horse right now, because she wouldn’t have put up with it and I won’t either.” Her voice slowed as his had, so that his tiny masculine brain could comprehend the words. “I - don’t - need - it. Okay?”
He took a long pause, meeting her gaze evenly. He reached over, picked up her drink, and took a small sip before asking, “What? What don’t you need?”
“Ugh!” she screamed, her cheeks puffed out with frustration. She thrust her fingers into the air, then turned on a dime and leapt off of the table, pausing for a moment to see if Xander would try and stop her. He didn’t. She walked away, trying hard to take as much swivel out of her hips as humanly possible.
Shnieder stepped out from behind a tree, his eyes behind him at the two young girls having a smoke by the corner. He bumped into Cathy, who narrowed her eyes at him in frustration.
“I... I was just...” he stammered, slowly backing away as he realized their bodies as a whole were touching.
She set her jaw, her mouth seeming to become smaller as she got even angrier. “Men,” she spat finally, disgust in her voice, then shoved past him.
Shnieder, awestruck and looking very much like a small furry animal caught in the headlights of a eighteen wheeler, turned to Xander for explanation. Xander merely shrugged one shoulder lazily, maneuvering the straw of Cathy’s former drink to suck up the last little bit of cola.
Mike stomped into the playground, almost knocking into Cathy and barely realizing it was her, his eyes fixed on the picnic table at the far corner which Xander occupied. “Oh!” he squirmed, trying to get around her. “Sorry, babe!”
She gave him a little shove, then made her way past him and toward the bottom floor locker room to get ready for her Biology class.
He squinted, and could have sworn he could hear her touting profanities against testosterone on her way down the stairs. He shook it off, regaining his set jaw and driven stare. Mental note: if I ever understand that girl, commit self into nearest mental hospital.
He made a beeline across the grounds for Xander, who watched his approach calmly. They both ignored Shnieder, who was still whimpering next to the tree after his confrontation with Cathy, rubbing his bald head and trying to wrap his mind around girls.
Some things, it seemed, didn’t change as one got older.
Mike stopped a foot in front of Xander, who was now staring down into the drink cup, as if there were something in the bottom that nobody else was aware of. It was something he did when he was depressed. His mind started latching on to simple things, trying to keep itself occupied so that it wouldn’t drift back -- to her. Mike knew this and often dealt with invading thoughts in the same fashion, but he found different things to grasp his thought processes. He took out a C.B.H.S yearbook of last year’s date and threw it down onto the table between them, the leather binding smacking against the wood with a hard thump.
Xander ignored this, seeming very intent on discovering what lay just past the bottom of his drink cup.
Mike motioned toward the yearbook with one hand, still with no words, his jaw seemingly locked shut.
“Did you tell Cathy what a carpenter’s dream was?” Xander asked finally, still ignoring the green leather book with Coral Beach High School engraved on it in golden letters.
“Open the book,” Mike sighed.
“Are there bars full of chocolatey goodness inside?” Xander asked with a weird, manufactured grin. “I’ve got a weird case of the munchies today.”
“Just open it, okay?” Mike growled, annoyed at Xander’s indifference. “It’s important.”
“Is this for real, or is this like the time you told me my parents were dead?”
“Open. It. Why is this difficult?”
Groaning at the mere idea of movement, Xander lifted his arm and opened the front cover. He began to flip stupidly though the pages. He passed a picture of Sara with some senior at last year’s grad, blowing a kiss into the camera. He turned the page quickly, then looked up at Mike. “Is there a point to this, or are we just taking a fantastic trip down memory lane?” he asked, his voice sounding tired and old. He stopped, pretending to point to a spot behind a brick wall, his voice filled with mock wonder. “Hey, look! It’s that spot where I threw up after the middles threw me a beating. Good times!”
“Page seventy-four,” Mike replied, disregarding his friend’s crudeness.
Xander flipped open to the page Mike had said to go to. It was an eighth grade gallery from last year, with all of the students’ individual shots. He shrugged. “I don’t get it.”
Finally, Mike sat down across from him, turning the book sideways so they could both look. After scanning the assortment again for a moment, he came upon a picture
