Sequel: Cancer ›
Vegas Boys
Chapter 13
I think I sat on the couch in my living room, engulfed in the empty silence, for at least an hour, not moving, not talking, not doing anything. Just thinking.
Brendon had given me a lot to think about.
First of all, he had given me the answer to the question that had been bugging me since my first day of school here: Why did everyone like me so much? Well, because it was common knowledge around here that Dad was loaded. Being the naive new girl from northern California, I had, of course, never stopped to realize just how much money my father really had. Now that I thought about it, it kind of bothered me.
Secondly, despite everything I'd said, I wasn't willing to take an F on that Drama assignment. I would have to meet with Brendon after school sometime. Now that he was mad at me, that might not be so easy, but we'd have to find a way...
And then there was all the Brendon shit.
He was mad at me now--that was definitely something to think about. And I guess I should have known better than to assume that he'd had superficial motivations for being my friend (or something more), or at least known better than to say it out loud to his face. And, finally, though I hated to admit it, he was right: he had given me chance after chance to get to know him, to be his friend.
But I'd never given him a chance.
It wasn't fair. He had welcomed me with open arms right from the start. He had always been so nice to me, and I was such a bitch to him, for no reason other than that I was afraid.
How was I ever supposed to have a healthy relationship with someone if I was scared all the time? Brendon and I could have something great, but I'd never let it happen because I couldn't get past the deep loathing of men my mother had so expertly instilled in me. I couldn't trust him.
I sighed heavily. He had been right earlier: I was already regretting the way I'd treated him.
One way or another, I'd have to make it right.
-----
Saturday morning, one of Dad's partners called and said he needed to come down to the casino as soon as possible, so I finished breakfast alone and decided to do some of the chores to help Dad out a little.
I walked around to the back of the house where the enormous dumpsters were parked and struggled to wheel them around the house and down to the sidewalk for the garbage man to collect later today. I strained; they were a lot heavier than they looked, and the little wheels kept getting caught in the grass.
"Need some help?"
I gave a start and glanced over to see Brendon, of course--how could I have expected otherwise?--leaning casually against the quaint picket fence that separated his backyard from mine. As he grinned at me, squinting against the bright sunshine, his whole face was scrunched up in a way that made me want to laugh, despite the state of things.
"Nope," came my automatic reply--a second later I was kicking myself for it. There was my perfect chance to make it up to him, and I passed it up in order to be a complete bitch yet again. Way to go, Kelsey, way to go.
But it didn't matter, because this was Brendon I was dealing with.
You know those almost annoyingly good-natured people, who always seem to be in a good mood and whose occasional bad moods pass by so carelessly that they have to be constantly reminded of their grudges? You know, the ones you really just want to punch in the face when it's early in the morning and you haven't had your coffee yet and they just keep prattling on about what a nice day it is outside? And then when they finally shut up about the weather they start smiling like an idiot and humming the Friends theme song, which, of course, is then stuck in your head for about five days straight?
Well, Brendon was one of those people.
He hardly noticed my unintentionally sour tone; he just said brightly, "Okay," and remained propped up against the fence, watching me with a childish grin that would have been irrestible under other circumstances. But at the moment, I was simply far too embarrassed to think of much else.
I only bothered struggling with the dumpsters on my own for another minute or two--during which time I only advanced about three or four feet--before I gave in and turned back to Brendon, who was looking at me with an amused expression that made me think he knew exactly what was coming. "Okay," I admitted sheepishly. "Maybe I do need some help."
A second later, he had hopped the fence as deftly as if he had done it a thousand times before, and was at my side. He wasn't really any faster at it than I was, but at least I only had one to deal with now, rather than having to try and push both of them at once.
We finally managed to get the dumpsters down to the curb and he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, grinning at me--his dark bangs stuck haphazardly to the moisture on his forehead, and I tried not to notice how attractive it was. (Brendon aside, sweat should never be attractive.)
"Thanks," I said, a little shyly, as I noticed that we were just standing there in silence.
"No problem," Brendon replied.
"Um...look, I'm really sorry about yesterday," I tried, awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck and shuffling my feet sheepishly. I hated admitting to my own faults like this--especially to him, of all people. "You were right--I shouldn't have treated you like that..."
He just shrugged, though I glimpsed the flicker of a pained expression in his dark eyes, briefly--as soon as I noticed, it was gone again. "It's okay. It's not like I never--"
"Gave me chance?" I finished, remembering his words from the day before. "Even though I never gave you one?"
He stared at me intensely for a moment longer, studying my face carefully, and then he said again, "It's okay, though. I understand. I mean, if you don't want to..." He trailed off, and this time the pained look wasn't as well disguised as before.
I was torn: on the one hand, I couldn't bring myself to admit that I did like him, more and more every day; on the other hand, his hurt expression made me want to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything would be okay. But neither of these options were possible, so I just ran a hand through my hair nervously as I tried to think of a good excuse to go back inside.
"Well, I can't make you like me," said Brendon finally, looking decidedly downtrodden and pathetic.
But, in fact, I had never liked him quite as much as I did in that moment, when I turned away and hurried up the front walk to my house and left him standing there on the sweltering sidewalk without so much as a goodbye. All of this was too much, and I didn't how to deal with it--so I just put it behind me again.
-----
"I swear, it's like I can't get away from him!" I vented to my best friend from back home, Jamie, over the phone. Even as I said the words, I could see, out of my bedroom window, Brendon ducking into his beat-up car, rifling through the clutter on the floorboards for something. "He's everywhere, all the time! I can't even walk to school or go out in my backyard or look out the window without--"
"Maybe that's because you're neighbors," suggested Jamie sarcastically. "You know--you live right next to each other?"
"No--it's not just that," I growled irritably as I watched him emerge from his car with a handful of dusty CDs. "I mean, he bugs me constantly. He won't leave me alone."
"Well, maybe you should just give in," she said slyly.
"No."
"Why not? You said he was cute," she reminded me.
"Because--" I spluttered for a moment, taken off guard and without a good excuse, and I was glad she was thousands of miles away so she couldn't see me blushing. "Because I just don't want to, okay?!"
"Why not?"
"Because he's...he's just not my type," I lied.
"Whatever, Kelsey," sighed Jamie in resignation. "You know, I really don't get you sometimes."
Brendon glanced up and noticed me looking; he smiled and gave me a little wave, but I just turned away and pretended not to have seen. And the truth was, I really didn't get me either.
Brendon had given me a lot to think about.
First of all, he had given me the answer to the question that had been bugging me since my first day of school here: Why did everyone like me so much? Well, because it was common knowledge around here that Dad was loaded. Being the naive new girl from northern California, I had, of course, never stopped to realize just how much money my father really had. Now that I thought about it, it kind of bothered me.
Secondly, despite everything I'd said, I wasn't willing to take an F on that Drama assignment. I would have to meet with Brendon after school sometime. Now that he was mad at me, that might not be so easy, but we'd have to find a way...
And then there was all the Brendon shit.
He was mad at me now--that was definitely something to think about. And I guess I should have known better than to assume that he'd had superficial motivations for being my friend (or something more), or at least known better than to say it out loud to his face. And, finally, though I hated to admit it, he was right: he had given me chance after chance to get to know him, to be his friend.
But I'd never given him a chance.
It wasn't fair. He had welcomed me with open arms right from the start. He had always been so nice to me, and I was such a bitch to him, for no reason other than that I was afraid.
How was I ever supposed to have a healthy relationship with someone if I was scared all the time? Brendon and I could have something great, but I'd never let it happen because I couldn't get past the deep loathing of men my mother had so expertly instilled in me. I couldn't trust him.
I sighed heavily. He had been right earlier: I was already regretting the way I'd treated him.
One way or another, I'd have to make it right.
-----
Saturday morning, one of Dad's partners called and said he needed to come down to the casino as soon as possible, so I finished breakfast alone and decided to do some of the chores to help Dad out a little.
I walked around to the back of the house where the enormous dumpsters were parked and struggled to wheel them around the house and down to the sidewalk for the garbage man to collect later today. I strained; they were a lot heavier than they looked, and the little wheels kept getting caught in the grass.
"Need some help?"
I gave a start and glanced over to see Brendon, of course--how could I have expected otherwise?--leaning casually against the quaint picket fence that separated his backyard from mine. As he grinned at me, squinting against the bright sunshine, his whole face was scrunched up in a way that made me want to laugh, despite the state of things.
"Nope," came my automatic reply--a second later I was kicking myself for it. There was my perfect chance to make it up to him, and I passed it up in order to be a complete bitch yet again. Way to go, Kelsey, way to go.
But it didn't matter, because this was Brendon I was dealing with.
You know those almost annoyingly good-natured people, who always seem to be in a good mood and whose occasional bad moods pass by so carelessly that they have to be constantly reminded of their grudges? You know, the ones you really just want to punch in the face when it's early in the morning and you haven't had your coffee yet and they just keep prattling on about what a nice day it is outside? And then when they finally shut up about the weather they start smiling like an idiot and humming the Friends theme song, which, of course, is then stuck in your head for about five days straight?
Well, Brendon was one of those people.
He hardly noticed my unintentionally sour tone; he just said brightly, "Okay," and remained propped up against the fence, watching me with a childish grin that would have been irrestible under other circumstances. But at the moment, I was simply far too embarrassed to think of much else.
I only bothered struggling with the dumpsters on my own for another minute or two--during which time I only advanced about three or four feet--before I gave in and turned back to Brendon, who was looking at me with an amused expression that made me think he knew exactly what was coming. "Okay," I admitted sheepishly. "Maybe I do need some help."
A second later, he had hopped the fence as deftly as if he had done it a thousand times before, and was at my side. He wasn't really any faster at it than I was, but at least I only had one to deal with now, rather than having to try and push both of them at once.
We finally managed to get the dumpsters down to the curb and he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, grinning at me--his dark bangs stuck haphazardly to the moisture on his forehead, and I tried not to notice how attractive it was. (Brendon aside, sweat should never be attractive.)
"Thanks," I said, a little shyly, as I noticed that we were just standing there in silence.
"No problem," Brendon replied.
"Um...look, I'm really sorry about yesterday," I tried, awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck and shuffling my feet sheepishly. I hated admitting to my own faults like this--especially to him, of all people. "You were right--I shouldn't have treated you like that..."
He just shrugged, though I glimpsed the flicker of a pained expression in his dark eyes, briefly--as soon as I noticed, it was gone again. "It's okay. It's not like I never--"
"Gave me chance?" I finished, remembering his words from the day before. "Even though I never gave you one?"
He stared at me intensely for a moment longer, studying my face carefully, and then he said again, "It's okay, though. I understand. I mean, if you don't want to..." He trailed off, and this time the pained look wasn't as well disguised as before.
I was torn: on the one hand, I couldn't bring myself to admit that I did like him, more and more every day; on the other hand, his hurt expression made me want to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything would be okay. But neither of these options were possible, so I just ran a hand through my hair nervously as I tried to think of a good excuse to go back inside.
"Well, I can't make you like me," said Brendon finally, looking decidedly downtrodden and pathetic.
But, in fact, I had never liked him quite as much as I did in that moment, when I turned away and hurried up the front walk to my house and left him standing there on the sweltering sidewalk without so much as a goodbye. All of this was too much, and I didn't how to deal with it--so I just put it behind me again.
-----
"I swear, it's like I can't get away from him!" I vented to my best friend from back home, Jamie, over the phone. Even as I said the words, I could see, out of my bedroom window, Brendon ducking into his beat-up car, rifling through the clutter on the floorboards for something. "He's everywhere, all the time! I can't even walk to school or go out in my backyard or look out the window without--"
"Maybe that's because you're neighbors," suggested Jamie sarcastically. "You know--you live right next to each other?"
"No--it's not just that," I growled irritably as I watched him emerge from his car with a handful of dusty CDs. "I mean, he bugs me constantly. He won't leave me alone."
"Well, maybe you should just give in," she said slyly.
"No."
"Why not? You said he was cute," she reminded me.
"Because--" I spluttered for a moment, taken off guard and without a good excuse, and I was glad she was thousands of miles away so she couldn't see me blushing. "Because I just don't want to, okay?!"
"Why not?"
"Because he's...he's just not my type," I lied.
"Whatever, Kelsey," sighed Jamie in resignation. "You know, I really don't get you sometimes."
Brendon glanced up and noticed me looking; he smiled and gave me a little wave, but I just turned away and pretended not to have seen. And the truth was, I really didn't get me either.