I walked into the house, ready to tell Trish that she was a slut and that I’d heard what she had said about me, but I found her passed out cold on her bed with a baggie of something white by her head. I almost shook her awake, but instead I grabbed the car keys on her dresser and decided to direct my anger at someone else.
Maybe it was because Abel had pretended to be nice to me. Maybe it was because he had me fooled that he was like Brock. I don’t know what I saw in him that reminded me of my past, but I couldn’t let it go. I sped down the highway, weaving in and out of traffic as I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent a quick text to Abel.
Where would I find an arrogant prick at noon on a Sunday?
I dropped my phone and continued toward the old house, and after a minute or two, he replied.
How would I know how Donald Trump spends his weekends? Shaving orphans for a new toupee is my best guess, Kettle.
I groaned and sped up as I made my way down the back road to the decrepit house. The black muscle car was nowhere in sight; the old pickup truck was parked in its place. I got out, slamming the door, and Abel stepped onto the front porch, his T‐shirt gone and an old shop rag in his hands as he wiped them together. He came down the front steps, his brow furrowed as I stormed toward him with fire in my veins.
“You’re an asshole,” I yelled, as we closed in on each other.
“So it was me you were talking about in the text.”
As I reached him, I poked my finger hard into his tanned chest. “You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?”
“Do you think I’m funny?” His brow lifted, and I wanted to scream.
“I think you’re a fucking jerk.”
“Kettle, calm the hell down and tell me what’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong? Really? In a matter of days, you’veruined everything. I was fine with being the sidekick. I was accepted. I finally fucking belonged in the stupid bubble you and all your jackass friends live in.”
“Whoa, don’t lump me in with those assholes.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“You think I’m cute?” The side of his mouth pulled up in a smile, and I fought back the urge to slap him.
“Shut up,” I yelled, exasperated. “Why did you have to humiliate me in front of Trish during spin the bottle? You made me look a like a fool. Then you keep putting the seed in my head that she isn’t really my friend and that she’s using me, and the icing on the fucked‐up fucking cake is you and her making fun of me then me having to listen to you fuck her right next to my goddamn room!”
I was out of breath, and my chest rose and fell rapidly as I struggled to get a grip on myself. I knew I should be mad at Brock. I knew this was all my own doing, but I wasn’t ready to accept responsibility for any of it.
“Can I talk now?” Abel paused, and I nodded like a bobble-head because I had no fight left in me. I could hear how stupid I was acting as the words left my mouth, and now I couldn’t take them back. “I didn’t humiliate you in front of a girl who’d just been passed around between three fucking guys. I knew you were better than her, and I wasn’t going to let you compromise your integrity for a bunch of assholes like us. There’s also the matter of your boyfriend. I didn’t want you to hate yourself for doing something you’d regret, and—let’s face it, Kettle—I’m the type of guy you’d regret.”
Abel stepped closer, and his chest pushed against mine as his breathing grew as ragged mine. “Second, Trish isn’t your real friend, and you fucking know it. And no matter how much you try to pretend you’re like her, I see through it. You do care about her, and you’re wasting your fucking time. You may not see it, but you’re better than her.”
He was right. She wasn’t my friend. Oh, God, he was right. I felt like I was going to be sick. I could only hope this humiliation would end soon. Abel’s voice lowered, and I could tell he was trying to compose himself. “I wasn’t talking shit about you. That was Trish. I just wanted to know what Brock did to you. It wasn’t my place, and I should have known you wouldn’t have confided in her, but I was fucking curious because I’ve seen you cry over him. It’s not right.”
“If I wanted to tell you, I would have.” My voice was small, defeated.
“Third, I didn’t fuck Trish. I’m not into girls throwing themselves at me. It’s not very fucking attractive.”
“Then why did you go into her room?” I tried to stand taller, to match his height, but I still had to bend my head back to look up at him.