Revenge(8)

She’s wearing a pink track suit, slung low across her hipbones. The edge of her tattoo is visible, but it’s not a mystery to me, since I saw the whole thing in all its naked glory this morning. The tattoo is a flower, a lily colored in with yellow. It’s pretty, unlike the one on her lower back. She’s got a tramp stamp of a snake biting its own tail.

Amanda has, by the looks of her roots, brown hair that she bleaches blonde. She’s the same height as me, five foot seven. We didn’t measure our heights or anything, but when I stand in front of her, my eyes look straight into hers.

Amanda’s eyes are mostly blue, with one little pie-shaped segment that’s darker and greener. I’d like to ask her why her eyes are like that, but I don’t want to be rude. I’m sure if my brown eyes had a different-colored chunk, she’d have no problem asking me.

She slathers my bread with a layer of my peanut butter, and then a layer of Nutella. She rolls the bread into a tube and says, “Hey, Caleb, what’s this?” She pretends to deep-throat the whole thing.

I can feel my cheeks flushing as I blush with embarrassment.

I could probably be friends with Amanda, if she wasn’t so profane and vulgar all the time. It’s really hard to believe she’s the granddaughter of Nan’s best friend. Amanda is nothing like her family. Her father is a minister back in my hometown. He’d be horrified if he knew how his second-oldest daughter was living. I just hope Nan doesn’t ask me too many questions, because I don’t know if I can lie to her.

“Tell me about this alleged mugging,” Amanda says. Instead of taking a seat on the other stool, she elbows her way onto Caleb’s lap. He looks surprised, but lets her settle in, shooting me an apologetic look.

“I was just taking out my wallet—” My throat tightens, cutting off my voice. I have to start again, this time with my voice pitched lower and deliberately calm. “I was just taking out my wallet to donate a few dollars to a street busker, when this dude came out of nowhere and snatched the wallet from my hands.”

Her lips smack as she chews the rolled-up bread. “Who punched you?”

I rub my eye, which actually seems less swollen already. Maybe it won’t even turn black, which would definitely make showing up for work tomorrow easier.

“There was a big crowd,” I say. “I fell backward, and I think someone’s elbow smacked me by accident. It’s not a big deal. Seriously, you guys. I’m not going to get weird PTSD and sleep-murder my roommates.”

Amanda laughs with gusto, bits of food spraying out of her mouth onto the counter between us. A fleck lands on my arm, on the bare skin just below the rolled-up jacket sleeve.

I flick the food off. “On the other hand, I may get PTSD from people’s chewed food spraying onto me. I know we’re supposed to share everything, but some things I’d rather not share. Like spit.”

She covers her mouth with her hand this time and says, “I’ll be damned. It’s got a sense of humor.” She cranes her neck back and kisses Caleb on the forehead. “It’s got a sense of humor,” she repeats to him.

I don’t like being referred to as it, but I suppose things could be worse. I stand by the sink to eat my sandwich, away from Amanda’s spray zone.

She feeds the other rolled-up piece of bread to Caleb, cooing at him like he’s a baby. I have to wonder if she’s always this insane, or just overdoing it to make an impression on me.

Caleb seems to know her better than I’d expect for some random dude she picked up last night. They seem cozy together, and I wonder if he’s her boyfriend. Yesterday when we met, she said she was celibate.

At least now I know how to tell when Amanda is lying. Her lips move.

She finishes feeding Caleb and says to me, “That mugging doesn’t sound right. They wouldn’t do it in a crowd of people, because it’s much better to pick-pocket in a crowd.”

Caleb chuckles. “Is there something you want to tell us, Miss Criminology?”

Her eyes widen. “I did study criminology, before I dropped it.”

I’m annoyed by her doubts, but try to play it off with a casual shrug. “Whatever.” I pull out my wallet to check that my ID cards are still in there. “I know I didn’t punch myself in the face, or throw away all my money, because that would be—.”

Crazy.

That would be crazy.

I stare at the contents of my wallet in disbelief. The inside pocket where I keep bills isn’t empty at all. My money is still there. And on top of that, there’s extra money in here. I didn’t have any hundred dollar bills this morning, but now I have three of them, plus the original cash.