He knew who I was but didn’t say anything to me directly. Did he realize I didn’t recognize his voice? Or did he just know I wouldn’t talk to him, smooth as glass?
I should like that, being smooth as glass, shouldn’t I? Unaffected, unconcerned. That’s exactly what I want to be. Why should I suddenly hate it that some people might think that about me? Why should I care what anyone thinks anyway?
I don’t. I was just caught off guard, that’s all. And only Sarah knows it. Not that I’d care if anyone else did, because I wouldn’t. I don’t.
I sit down in the cafeteria with Molly, who also brings her lunch, and start eating. Thinly sliced turkey, Swiss, light mayo and mustard, like always. Sarah will show up in a few minutes after filing through the hot-lunch line with Rick Gartner, her Sort Of Boyfriend. I told Molly last period she was welcome to join us—I don’t know what she did yesterday since I spent that lunch period working out logistics with audio textbooks at the office. I warned her that a lot of people call us the Table of Misfit Toys but not in the ironic complimentary way. She said she wasn’t worried about labels. I said that was both wise and foolish. She agreed.
“What do you mean, Rick is sort of Sarah’s boyfriend?” Molly asks. “Is he or isn’t he?”
“Do they seem like boyfriend-girlfriend to you?”
“I met them yesterday for all of five minutes.”
“If I hadn’t told you, would you have worked it out?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“There you go. You can call him Sarah’s Maybe Boyfriend. I know they’re sometimes more than friends so I call him her Sort Of Boyfriend.”
“They break up and get back together a lot?”
“Not exactly. So much for not worrying about labels.”
“It’s not the same thing. I’m not worried, just catching up. Here they come.”
“Parker. Molly.” Rick clatters his tray and silverware onto the table. Sarah does the same only quietly.
“Hey, Rick,” I say. “Have a good summer?”
“Not really. Hung out with losers mostly.”
“Me too.”
Molly must look bewildered because Sarah says, “We all spent the summer together.”
“Is that all you’re eating?” Rick asks.
“It is,” Molly says. “It’s not much or I’d offer you some. Do you like coleslaw?”
“He likes being an asshole,” Sarah says and almost sounds like she means it. “Eat your lasagna.”
“I was going to offer her some,” Rick says. “Not that I’d be doing you any favors, unless you like cardboard soaked in tomato sauce.”
“Thanks anyway,” Molly says.
“I haven’t seen Sheila yet,” Rick says, taking one of his classic conversational left turns.
“I haven’t seen her either,” I say.
“Hilarious. How about some new jokes this year?”
I smile. “It wasn’t a joke. You need some examples? This is a joke.” I grab a button on my vest, I think the one that says: Have I seen you here before? NO!
“You’ve truly opened my eyes, Parker.” Rick chuckles. “Now that I know what jokes are, will sitcoms make me laugh, ’cause, man, they just put me to sleep.”
“No promises. And no, I haven’t bumped into Sheila here. Only at my house. Don’t know why you care, though… she’s got a boyfriend… you’ve sort of got a girlfriend…”
“It’s just weird. I know you guys are, well… whatever. It’s just that you’re the only one she knows here.”
“It’s complicated,” Sarah says.
“You mean it’s a girl thing?”
“Rick,” I say with my tolerant voice. “We let you sit here because you’re sort of Sarah’s boyfriend, not because you’re one of the girls. If you don’t understand, just accept the confusion. Or embrace it.”
“Confusion requires giving a shit. Making nice with your stuck-up bitch cousin isn’t high on my list—it isn’t even on my list at all. I get it that she’s in a new school and that sucks for her but it sure as hell wasn’t your fault. She needs a sense of proportion or at least some fucking compassion.”
I smile. “I don’t care what you say, Sarah; this guy’s A-Okay.” I hold out a fist and feel a knuckle-bump. “Maybe he can be my Sort Of Boyfriend, too. Or all of ours.”
“I’m still window shopping,” Molly says. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Rick says. “I knew it already when you turned down my ketchup-covered cardboard. Which I need to wash down. Anybody want a drink?”
“My usual—a can of C-6?” I say.
No one else speaks and he leaves. I say, “I’m pretty sure I haven’t been complaining about Sheila. Not around Rick anyway.”
No replies.
“Sarah?”
“I didn’t tell him much. Just what you’d expect about moving to a new town in the middle of high school.”
I shrug. “There’s nothing else to tell. We also don’t get along generally but I don’t get along with lots of people.”