Untitled Part 35

He started with pointing at my half-eaten bowl and asking, "Are you going to finish that?"

"No," I said slowly. "Why?"

"Because I'm still hungry." He grabbed it and took a bite. How he remained rail thin when he ate like that was beyond my understanding. "That's not the only leftovers I'd be interested in, if you know what I mean."

A group of popular kids from the class below me invaded the shop. I took that as my cue to get going. "Need a ride?"

"Puh-lease." He grabbed the yogurt and took it with him, still stuffing his face as he added, "I suppose if I have to bum a ride off someone, at least it's with you."

"Still no car from grandma yet?" I asked as we walked out.

"Getting closer." He slid into the passenger seat. "I overheard her asking my dad if he thought I'd like her old Lexus."

"And would you?"

"Hello? It's a car! And it has leather with heated seats. Do you realize all the naughty thoughts that are going through my head when it comes to that?"

"No, not really." And I really hoped he wouldn't follow Morgan's lead and jump onto the TMI train.

Richard waited until we were out of the parking lot before he spoke, all sass gone from his voice. "So, I take it we weren't finished with the intervention, were we?"

"Not even close." I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Should I even push the issue?

Richard decided to do it for me. "Well, then, let me point out a few things you might have missed, sweetie. First off, all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."

"Thank you, William Shakespeare."

"You're totally welcome, and yes, I freely admit to being a player in every sense of the word, but that's not where I'm going. What I mean to say is that we've all been cast in roles for this wannabe. You're the token Mean Girl."

"I prefer Queen Bitch."

"Same thing. I'm the token Gay Guy, Morgan's the token Goth Girl, Summer the Brainless Head Cheerleader, Brett the Superman Football Hero, etc. But that's not who we really are."

"If you're going to start singing show tunes, I'm stopping the car right now and kicking you to the curb."

"Oh, sweetie, if I wanted to torture you, I'd go all Justin Bieber on you."

"Ack, don't!" I feigned horror in between chuckles. "But since you actually sounded serious at first, I'll let you continue."

"All I'm saying is that while we're at Eastline, we settle into our little niches and act the way everyone expects us to act, but sometimes, that's just not enough. I mean, yes, I'm glad to be the token Gay Guy. I'm glad I came out for everyone to see. I'm glad I'm not living in shame of my sexuality and trying to fake being all macho just so I can be one of the boys. And I'm glad that most of the students are cool with me being gay. But with that comes the fact no one really takes me seriously."

"Are you sure none of that has to do with the fact you tried out for the cheerleading squad last year?"

"Oh, that was just a bit of fun. And it's all part of my token Gay Guy persona. I'm catty and the life of a party and gayer than life, and that's fine—I have fun going to the extremes. People expect that from me, and it, you know, makes them more comfortable with the fact I like penis. But if I tried to discuss the Declaration of Independence with someone in AP Government, do you think they'd listen to what I have to say? What if I'd tried out for the debate team instead of the cheerleading squad? Do you see what I mean?"

I stopped at a red light and let what he'd said sink in. "So, are you accusing me of using my Queen Bitch persona as a shield because I'm too chicken-shit to be myself?"

"You said it, not me." He looked out the window as the light changed. "Look at Morgan. We both know she acts the way she does to rebel against her parents. It's a little immature, but it keeps her from dealing with them. And let's face it, they are a messed-up pair. She'll be so much healthier mentally once she moves away from home."

"Agreed."

"But I don't know if you've noticed lately, but she's calming down a bit. She hasn't screwed Stupid Surfer Boy yet, for example."

"Thank God."

He turned back to me. "You got that 'ew!' vibe from him, too? I mean, what is she thinking? He's so not her type. He reeks of Frat Boy."

"Stereotyping, are we?"

"In his case, yes." A few seconds passed as Richard grew serious again. "But back to where I was going with my Dr. Phil moment—you have a chance to do something most of us only dream of."

"And what's that? Eat blueberry pancakes with Brett Pederson?"

"I was going to suggest something else, but that would totally throw me from this rare moment of maturity. What I'm trying to say is that you can break the mold and shake things up in this upper middle class suburbia hellhole."

My palms grew sweaty just thinking about where he was going. "By doing what?"

"You and Brett—the Mean Girl and the Quarterback, the Queen B and the Homecoming King. Think of the possibilities there, Alexis."

"We are so not couple material," I said quickly enough for even my airhead sister to have recognized the denial behind my words if she'd heard me.

"You were the one he invited over to have breakfast with his family."

We pulled into Richard's driveway right behind a gold Lexus sedan. Must've been his grandmother's car.

But Richard didn't make the slightest move to get out. He stared at me, drumming his fingers on his lap. Like the good friend he was, he wasn't leaving until I'd unburdened my soul.

"Fine. So when Brett admitted that one of the reasons he switched places with the person who drew my name was to help me get over myself, I sort of lost it and told him I didn't need his pity. I even threatened to post a picture of him on my blog that would seriously damage his reputation."

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding.

"But in truth, I was freaking out because I got to see a side of him I didn't know existed, and then he said he liked seeing me smile, which I interpreted as he sort of liked me, but I was too proud to even consider going out with him because we're so different, but in truth we're really not that different, and oh my God, I've fucked up."

I was panting by the time I finished my confession. If I'd been Catholic, I'd probably have been clutching my rosary on the other side of the screen waiting for the priest to deliver my penance. Instead, I had the venerable Richard offering counsel.

He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, trying to appear grim even though his lips twitched with amusement. "So why did you need me again? It sounds like you already know what you did and what you need to do."

I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, I knew what I'd done. I'd taken Brett's act of kindness and thrown it back in his face. "How the hell can I fix things without apologizing? Before last week, I wouldn't have even considered doing that, but every time I think about the way he looked at me when he said he liked seeing me smile—"

My voice broke, and bitterness filled my mouth. "It's just not going to happen, okay?"

"You know, you're getting too hung up on the sex thing."

"Excuse me?"

"I can see it in your eyes. Let me guess, when you two had that 'moment,' you were alone?"

"Yes."

Richard leaned over. "And he was standing close to you?"

"Yes."

"And you probably thought he was going kiss you, right?"

"How—never mind." I closed my eyes and banged my head on my seat. "Yes, I thought he was. But he didn't."

He waited a beat, his eyes showing that he understood my frustration better than I thought he would. Then he cracked a smile that didn't reach the pain lingering in his eyes. "You really need to do something about that sexual frustration of yours. Maybe we can get Morgan to recommend a good vibrator, and you can nickname it 'Brett.' "

My face burned. I'd opened up to him and confessed, and now he was taking the piss out of me for it. "Shut the fuck up."

Richard backed away, laughing. "And while you're considering getting on your knees to grovel and apologize, you might consider throwing in a blow job to sweeten the deal."

I wrapped my fingers around the steering wheel to keep from wrapping them around his throat. "Get the hell out of my car now."

"I was just trying to lighten up the mood."

"Well, you only made it worse, so get out."

"Okay, okay, sorry. But let me ask you this—have you ever considered just being friends with him? I mean, yes, there would always be that underlying sexual tension, but at least you could still have breakfast with him on the weekends without the entire school knowing about it and maybe see if he's worth the risk."

"The risk of what?"

"Of breaking the mold." Richard finally opened the door and got out of the car, never breaking eye contact with me. "Just between you and me, I think you two would be an awesome power couple."

He slammed the door shut. "Thanks for the ride."

I drove home, wondering if Brett would be worth the risk—not only breaking the mold, but for showing him myself.