Page 161 of You + Me – Against the World

“Uh, is anyone there?” I wave my hand in front of her vacant stare.

“Huh, what?”

“I don’t know where you are, Lancaster, but you’re not with me.”

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Go back to class if you don’t want to be here.”

“Stop being such a grouch… I’m here, aren’t I? What’s the matter, you think that I’m going to start crying because we’re sitting on the grass instead of in class? Working here or there, it’s all the same to me.”

“Then maybe you can tell your hand to stop ripping up all the grass.”

She starts putting the little tufts of grass she just pulled out back into the bare spots in the lawn. I can’t help smiling. A born gardener, apparently.

She stretches out her legs, props herself up on one elbow in an attempt to look comfortable and nearly falls backward, then straightens up and decides to sit cross-legged instead. She doesn’t know what to do with her body; it’s kind of endearing. But the way she keeps fiddling with her shoelaces is seriously annoying, like she’s just swapped one nervous habit for another.

“Your hand is at it again. You never stop fidgeting, do you? What’s wrong?” I tease her a little, just to try to get her to open up.

“Nothing, I told you!”

“Yes, there is. You’re tense, distracted. I don’t like it. I’m worried you’re going to start crying and I’ll have to comfort you.”

She doesn’t know if she should take me seriously or not. And I love that.

“I have a boyfriend, you know. Timothy.”

“I know. Tim Wallace, captain of the basketball team. It’s crazy how someone can be so tall and yet so insignificant. But you two go very well together.”

I smile at her, and she holds my gaze for a little too long.

“You’re right, he is tall. At least a head taller than you. And he wouldn’t be on the varsity team if he was as dumb as you claim. But you and your stereotypes go very well together.”

Her comebacks are starting to grow on me. Or piss me off. Maybe she’s one of those girls who has everything she ever wanted and feels invincible. Like her jock boyfriend—handsome, muscular, and loaded, with teeth too white to be real and designer polo shirts ironed to perfection. By his mother, obviously. Or by the sweet little housekeeper.

Honestly, I don’t know what a girl like her sees in a guy like him. A blond giant nearly six and a half feet tall, with a bovine stare and a bull’s neck, an oversized jaw, and a shriveled-up brain. A thick-headed brute who only knows how to argue with his fists. What do they even talk about? Which of their daddies made the most money this month? Which of their mansions has the best security? Whose pool they should swim in today? Did you see how many points I scored? Did you see how good-looking I am, how strong I am, how perfectly groomed I look even when I’m working out?

If I actually gave a shit, they’d make me want to puke.

“So, what should our film be about?” I ask. “A top athlete who gets injured in a stupid accident the day before a final? He has to have an amputation, his life is ruined, he gets into drugs and ends up a total loser because he doesn’t know how to do anything other than play ball?”

“Hilarious. What about a pseudo-artist who thinks wearing a leather jacket and skipping class makes him a tough guy, but who whines like a baby when he doesn’t get the partner he wants?” She tips her chin a little in my direction, just in case I didn’t understand who she’s alluding to.

“Not bad, but I’ve got something better! A young woman who lives in a gilded cage. They want to force her into marriage, but she falls madly in love with her handsome professor, twenty years her senior, who ends up dumping her the day she gets disinherited.”

I just wanted to stop talking about Wallace. And, anyway, I’m sure she has a thing for Abrams.

“How about a misanthropic type who finds himself paying ten women alimony before he’s even twenty, after he knocks up all the girls who agreed to snuggle up to him because he felt lonely at night?”

She actually manages to make me laugh. I’m pretty sure that’s a first.

“You’re getting into something you have no clue about, Lancaster…”

“And you’re spouting bullshit, Arcadi. We still haven’t found a topic.”

“Hey, Alma! What are you doing out here?”

Speak of the devil. Suddenly, the least intelligent member of the pack parks himself beside us, and Alma practically jumps, as if she’d just been caught red-handed.