Page 7 of Something Good
“No.”
“Get in the car, Sammy.”
The asshole shoved up his middle finger.
“He’s still just as stubborn as ever,” I commented to Jimmy, who was riding in the back seat.
“Depends on how pissed off he is.” I caught his shy, apologetic smile in the rearview mirror before I turned my attention back to the stubborn asshole walking down the street next to my car, which was barely moving faster than idle.
He was soaked to the bone, baggy T-shirt clinging to him, his hair hanging limply down the sides of his face. Even still, he was beautiful. Slender and lean. Angles and edges. I wanted him. I had since the moment I’d seen him perched on top of that boulder last weekend. And in the ensuing days, I’d found my thoughts drifting to him time and time again.
What had his life been like over the last seven years? Gone was the quiet, curly-haired kid with worn shoes and scraped-up knees. The Sammy I saw now, with the slit razored into hiseyebrow and fingernails painted black, had an edge to him. A hard exterior I wanted to break through.
None of that mattered right now. It didn’t matter that we’d once been friends or that I thought he was hot as fuck. Right now, I just wanted to get him into my car and out of the rain before he made himself sick. Tired of this ridiculous standoff, I surged forward, angling my Jeep into his path so he had no choice but to stop. “Get in the damn car, Sammy.”
Anger radiated off him in waves as he glared at me, clearly wanting to get out of the rain but not wanting to give in. Huffing out a breath, he finally stepped forward and grabbed the door handle but winced and switched hands. He yanked it open and climbed in, slamming it shut, and turned his face away from me. He cradled his right hand against his chest, and I could see it was swollen and two of the knuckles were split open.
“You should get that looked at.”
“It’s fine,” he said, refusing to look at me.
“Sammy, don’t be?—”
“Just fucking drive the car.” He glared at me, our eyes locked in a furious stalemate. I nodded once and turned back in the direction of his house.
We rode in tense silence. I didn’t even dare turn on the radio for fear that would somehow piss him off even further.
I pulled up in front of his house a few minutes later. It looked much the same as I remembered. Though maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. If anything, it looked worse. The brown paint was peeling, a shutter hung crookedly off one window, and there was a crack in two of the panes of glass in the single-car garage door.
The house was dark, and I wondered where his mom was. Miss Charlotte had always been kind of…absent, I guess. Even as close as Sammy and I had been growing up, I’d only met her a handful of times. He’d almost always hung out at myhouse, often bringing Jimmy with him, making excuses for why I couldn’t come over to his.
Actually, when I really thought about it, I realized Jimmy had been with us more often than not. Sammy had never really given much of an explanation, and I’d just sort of accepted they were a package deal. I hadn’t minded. Jimmy had been a shy kid, mostly just following along with whatever we did. But looking back on it now, I realized how odd that was. What kind of mom put their eleven-year-old in charge of an eight-year-old?
When we’d moved, I’d put that stuff out of my mind, but now, looking at the condition of his house, I wondered what kind of a life he’d been subjected to. I felt bad that I hadn’t thought of it before now.
We sat for a moment, and I searched for something to say. I hated not knowing why he was so pissed at me. I hated that I cared, but I couldn’t let it go. And I didn’t know how to fix it.
“Jimmy, go on and get inside,” Sammy said, breaking the silence. Lightning-fast, Jimmy bolted from the car, trotting up the path through the rain and into the house. I’d almost forgotten he was in the car.
“Listen, I know we were friends back in the day, but shit’s different now,” he said. “You’re the golden boy who lives in a nice house with a nice car and a nice, cozy life. Nothing about my life isnice. And you and I both know that kids like you don’t mix with kids like me. So thanks for the ride and for looking out for Jimmy, but that’s it. That’s the end of it.”
“What do you mean ‘kids like you don’t mix with kids like me?’ What the fuck does that mean?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Look at you! You’re wearing a fucking Hurley T-shirt with—I don’t even know what material your shorts are made out of, but you look like you walked out of a yacht commercial. Jesus.”
Despite the heaviness of the air between us, a short laugh burst out of me at the absurdity of that image. “A yacht commercial? In Nebraska?”
“Fuck off. You know what I mean.” Agitated, he started to run his right hand through his hair but winced and dropped it back into his lap. “I don’t even have a car, and you drive—” He looked around the interior of the car. “What is this? A fucking Jeep?”
Guilt and frustration swept through me in equal measure. I looked out the window through the raindrops running down the windshield at the house that could only be described as ‘rundown.’ I hadn’t given any of this a bit of thought in our childhood. It was just the way it was. And with it just being Mom and me back then, our house hadn’t been much bigger.
Looking back now, I could see the differences. Not in size, but in the state of things. Mom had kept a clean house, maintained the yard, and had made sure our landlord took care of repairs that came up. She’d worked hard as a single mother, sometimes working multiple jobs, and had not only taken pride in our home but had made sure it was a comfortable environment for me to grow up in. I didn’t think Sammy and Jimmy had had anything like that. No loving touches in the decor. No Spider-Man sheets. No freshly painted cabinets. No curtains or rugs or throw pillows. Nothing that made a house a home.
Mom and I’d come a long way since then. With Jeff’s income as a high school principal and the addition of Mom’s dental hygienist certification, we lived comfortably. I wouldn’t consider us rich, but we definitely didn’t struggle like it appeared Sammy’s family did. I hated it for him. And for Jimmy. But I also couldn’t help that I had nice things. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Sammy, though, and I didn’t know how to bridge that gap between us.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sammy. Do you want me to be sorry that I have a Jeep? That I dress the way I do? Is that what you want?”
He shook his head and scoffed. “No, I don’t want a goddamned apology. For fuck’s sake. You just don’t get it.”
