“Nope,” Gabby said, tucking one denim-covered leg underneath her and turning to face him for the first time, holding her hand up. “Don’t even start. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault, okay?”
Ryan shrugged. Intellectually, he knew she was right: odds were, even if they’d won this afternoon his dad would have found something else to give him a hard time about, the other team playing dirty or a bad call the ref had made. He got in these kind of dark, crummy moods sometimes, and there was nothing anybody could really do to talk him out of them. It was just how his dad was. Sometimes it sucked a little, sure. But that didn’t mean Ryan wanted to talk about it. “Yeah,” he said finally, hoping she’d take the hint and drop it, so they could ride home in peace and forget this ever happened. “Okay.”
But Gabby wasn’t biting. “No,” she said. “Ryan. Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Ryan did. She looked tired, makeup creeping down underneath her lower lashes. She also looked like she could fight a bear, should the need and opportunity arise. “Yeah.”
“Your dad—and I have literally never said this about anyone’s parent before, but I am going to say it: your dad is a huge dick.”
Ryan snorted, not entirely in amusement. “Okay . . . ?”
“I mean it,” Gabby continued. “Every time he opened his mouth today, I wanted to punch him in the face. I can’t imagine what I’d do if my dad talked to me that way.”
Ryan’s back prickled at that, like a cat or a porcupine; he felt his face go hot with shame. “He’s not that bad, if you get to know him.”
“Really?” Gabby shook her head, dismissive. “Because I won’t lie to you, today seemed kind of bad.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” Ryan said tightly. He didn’t like the tone she was using, like he was some dope from a white-trash family who wasn’t even smart enough to realize how tragic his life was. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Really?” Gabby asked, frowning. “Does that mean it’s usually worse?”
“It means not everybody’s family is as civilized and pristine as yours, Gabby.”
“Wait, what?” Gabby’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with my family?”
“It’s not about your family,” Ryan said; he could hear his voice getting sharper, but it was like he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He didn’t have a bad temper, generally, but enough was enough. “It’s about you not knowing what you’re talking about.”
“You realize I’m on your team here,” Gabby said, eyes flashing like he was being the unreasonable one. “I’m telling you as your friend that this wasn’t normal.”
“And I’m telling you we’re not good enough friends for you to be telling me what’s normal about my life!”
Gabby looked at him like he’d punched her. “We’re not?” she asked, and her voice was so quiet.
That was when the bus began to smoke.
GABBY
Gabby stood miserably on the side of the highway twenty minutes later, stamping her feet against the cold and listening to the irritated murmur of the displaced crowd all around her. There was another bus coming to rescue them, allegedly, since theirs was still emitting great, billowing clouds of stinky black smoke from underneath its massive hood. The bus driver had assured them it wasn’t going to explode, but he’d also quickly ushered them all about a hundred yards down the shoulder, so Gabby wasn’t entirely impressed with his confidence. She had no idea how long they’d been waiting. Her phone was officially dead.
She crossed her arms inside her hoodie, trying not to shiver as the frigid wind blew. She hated buses. She hated Albany. She hated hockey. And she hated Ryan most of all.
God, she was so humiliated. He was right: she’d completely misjudged their relationship, just like she completely misjudged all social interactions, because she was a weird, awkward, mentally broken person who nobody actually liked. Who even Ryan didn’t actually like. She’d made the mistake of thinking that just because this friendship was important to her—was the most important, even—it was important to him, too. And she’d been wrong.
It should have been a relief, Gabby thought, shoving her icy hands into the pockets of her hoodie. After all, she’d spent the last year waiting for the other shoe to drop—for this whole thing to come crashing down—and now it had. But instead she could feel the anxiety starting to close in all around her, like a pack of wild animals creeping out of the woods that ran along the edge of highway. Gabby gritted her teeth, tried to beat it back. She’d be home soon, she reminded herself urgently. She’d be fine.