Page 21 of Crew
The tapping started again after that.
I grinned. "Are you worried about me eating?"
The tapping stopped. Her eyebrows pulled together. "I'm that transparent?"
I nodded, unwrapping my burger.
She wasn't the first to be worried. It'd been a theme for me. I was thin--had been all my life. I just was. I didn't work at it. I didn't starve myself. I might forget to eat sometimes, but it wasn't intentional. Food was just not on my mind.
Being detached from myself meant from my stomach too. I had enough insight to know that much.
I shrugged, taking a big bite. "Mom used to worry too, when I was little." I swallowed. "Don't take it on. Channing knows this is just how I am. I'm not sick or anything."
"Still, you could do with a few more meals." She pulled her knee up to her chest, her foot resting on the chair. "I have a friend kind of like you, except she runs all the time. She told me once that she had an eating disorder, but it went away later."
I took a second bite and swallowed. "That the Olympic runner?"
Surprise pulled her eyebrows up. "Yeah. Sam. You know about her?"
I nodded, reaching for some fries. "I listen." I smiled. "Channing's proud of his Fallen Crest friends. They're big deals."
Unlike us. They were big deals. We weren't. The unspoken meaning hung between us.
Another town, another life and owning and running a bar would be an accomplishment, but I could see the thoughts in Heather's mind. There was a sadness in her eyes. Against an Olympic runner, whose husband was an NFL player, and the other dude who was in law school, I could tell Heather had a complex.
I held my burger in front of me. "I'm not stupid, but I know my path. Graduating is my big goal, and after that..." I shrugged, staring at the meat but feeling how quiet she'd gotten. "If I ran a successful business like you do with Manny's or Chan does with Tits, I'd be proud." A goddamn lump was in my throat. "I'd be damned proud." I looked up now, meeting her gaze. "I wouldn't let anyone take that from me."
Her lips parted, and she leaned forward. Her hand flattened on the table. "Bren, I wasn't thinking about--"
I stood, but I slid another fry from my container.
I knew she wasn't. Heather was good people.
I was just the one in the way.
Stuffing the fry into my mouth, I put the rest of them back in the bag. With my water in hand, I motioned with my head to the door. "Lunch is almost done. I'm going back."
Heather's hand fell to her lap. She looked down at it, not responding before gesturing toward the back door. "I'm parked out back. I should get going too."
She didn't move, but I did.
In just a moment I was back in my Jeep, pulling away from the curb.
I still wasn't going back to school, though I wasn't avoiding the new Ryerson, or well, everyone. I just didn't want to deal with people at the moment.
Surprise: I'm not a fan of people. They were like aliens to me. So I headed toward where I always went when I wanted to hole up.
I went to Cross' house.
He wouldn't be there, but neither would anyone else. And bonus, I knew where they kept the secret key.
I settled into Cross' room, though not in his bed or at his desk. I was in his closet.
I know it sounds creepy, but it's not. It's just our thing--or maybe it's more my thing. If I need to crash somewhere that's not my own bed, I like his closet. He usually crashes on my floor if he returns the favor. So me being in his closet wasn't weird--to us.
What was weird was hearing footsteps in the hall a few hours later and two voices entering his room.
"I don't think we should be in here."
