Tuesday (part 2)

T .4

Meredith Levine squeezed her eyes closed and tried to keep calm. This was somewhat more difficult than it sounded: panic kept bubbling up her throat, threatening to erupt in a gout of... What? Screams? Crying? Vomit? She'd bet on that one, if it came to that. Hopefully it wouldn't.

She couldn't remember ever being this nervous in her life. But then, she couldn't remember ever having been this stupid in her life either.

"Brandon," she said. "Brandon. Can I talk to you for a little bit?"

The entire line of people—Brandon, Jane, Christa, Arie, Derek—ground to a halt. Meredith swallowed to clear a suddenly tight throat and tried not to wilt.

Derek said, "Yes. Yes, I think Brandon does want to talk to you for a bit."

"Yes he does," Christa agreed. "And we'll—" She glanced at Meredith, a questioning glance, and Meredith nodded. "—we'll just... Keep walking."

"We will?" said Jane loudly.

Arie turned her bland, calm scorn on her. "Yes, Jane. We will."

Jane looked at Meredith for a moment, her face stony. Then she relaxed. "All right. We will."

Meredith wasn't sure what to make of that. Was Jane abandoning her claim on Brandon? Or had she decided that Meredith wasn't even a threat? Did Jane even have a claim on Brandon? Nobody really knew what had gone on between them, and Meredith knew least of all.

"See you tomorrow," said Christa.

Brandon Chambers and Meredith Levine stood facing each other across an empty patch of ground. Their friends made no sound as they left. Meredith felt as if they were the only people in the world.

"So, um, how've you—" "I'm all right, everything's been—" "Good, I'm, um, glad to hear that, uh..."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm sorry I had to go away for the summer," she said suddenly. If I hadn't, none of this would have happened.

"Two months was a long time," he said, and for a panicked moment she thought he was going to condemn her. Then he smiled—not the smile of old, opening up his face to the light, but a tired thing, though still with warmth. "But as long as you enjoyed it, I guess I can accept it."

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to prevent her tears from showing. Of course, it didn't work. It never worked. When would she learn? Just about anything would make her cry, it was just one of the odd little things about her personality. It wasn't important. She should stop caring if anyone saw her cry. If you acted like it was normal, everyone around you would accept it as normal. She had learned that a very long time ago.

She had the strangest feeling that Brandon loved her for her crying.

His arms encircled her, trying to draw her close, and she backed away. "No— No— Not yet, Brandon, not yet. I don't— I'm not finished." The skin between her breasts itched. She had not worn the engagement ring Brandon bought her since she went to band camp—not even on the chain round her neck where it normally hung. You may yet find reason to hate me, is the thing. You may not thank me when we're through.

Brandon looked at her, momentary worry on his face. "Okay..." He tried to settle himself in preparation for what she was about to tell him. What was she about to tell him?

She knew he was going to hate her. Or be so kind and understanding that he would make her feel miserable. Either way, life was about to get very, very rough. So she started from the beginning. She felt she owed him a clear picture of how her life had gotten so screwed up, and why.

"As you know," said Meredith, "I was away at a music camp for the entirety of July and August."

"Yeah," said Brandon. "You were a counselor there. I remember how excited you were that you'd get to help run it."

"Yeah." She swallowed, sniffled. "Yeah. Three sessions, three weeks each. It... It worked out pretty well."

"Meredith," he said impatiently, "I know all this."

The Brandon of old would have had patience. She suppressed a new freshet of tears and moved on. "And, as you may have guessed, all was not quite right between us when I left. There was the thing with my brother... And there was your constant fury with your parents... We didn't know how to deal with—"

"Meredith, get to the point."

"When-I-was-at-camp-I-slept-with-Rick-Downing." One long word.

Brandon felt the world rock.

Meredith stared at the ground, her eyes sad.

"I was so lonely. And there were... All these problems above my head, and I just... I just needed to... Get away."

Brandon knew who Rick Downing was, of course. He didn't know him very well, but well enough. He was quiet, but with a strangely charming competence about him, as if nothing could ever surprise him. Not much else was known about him—a danger sign, in Brandon's experience. And he had...

A vision of the two of them jammed through his mind—Meredith lying below him, arcing up to meet him, his hands on her breasts, while below her legs wrapped around his waist, as he—

"And was this something you initiated," he growled.

"No, I..." Meredith paled. She could feel the storm beginning to brew in his body. "It was his idea. He was so blunt about it. He totally didn't care about anything except himself."

"And you went along with it!"

"I was so lonely, I needed to get away... Brandon, it was awful! Once it happened I knew it was a mistake! I felt so terrible about it for days, they almost fired me from—" There was no stopping the tears now. It was over, she had lost, she had failed. "Brandon, I shouldn't've done it!"

"No, you shouldn't have," he muttered.

There was no use. If she stayed around he might hit her. The thought registered panic in her mind (Brandon? Kind, gentle, loving Brandon? Hit... ) even as logic confirmed it (The Brandon I knew would never hit anyone. But then, the Meredith I knew would never sleep with anyone but him. Especially not Rick bloody Downing). "I... I'm sorry. I'll leave now. If you want to talk tomorrow... Brandon, I love you." Even as the words left her mouth she knew they had been the wrong thing to say. But she needed to say them. Needed to leave them with him, one last time, while they were still true.

She drove fast because she couldn't see through the tears in her eyes.

Stasya came over immediately. "Oh, Meredith... You tried your best, honey. That's what counts. If it didn't work... Well, sometimes life doesn't—"

"You think that helps," Meredith spat. And then: "I'm sorry, I know you're..." Anger was the last thing she needed. Look at how far it had gotten Brandon. And especially not to Stasya, who was only trying to help. "It's just..."

"It's frustrating for me too," Stasya said, correctly guessing Meredith's thoughts. "I'm not spouting faded clichés for entertainment, you know. But... What can I say? You screwed up, Meredith."

Meredith gave her a wan smile. "Don't remind me."

"But... You said he was mad, right?"

"Yeah. He was furious."

"Well... That's good, then."

Meredith looked at her. "Why's it good?"

"Because it means he still cares about you," Stasya said. "If he didn't, it wouldn't bother him that you..." She couldn't bring herself to say it. "Messed up. He wouldn't be so pissed off."

Meredith grimaced. "Might be safer for me if he didn't care."

"Today, you mean."

"Yeah."

"But tomorrow?" Stasya asked. "When he's slept on it and gotten over it a bit? When he's calmed down?"

Meredith said nothing.

"See, this is why you keep me around," Stasya said, grinning. "To provide you with logical information."

Meredith managed to produce a smile. "You've gotta learn how to let a girl mope a little bit."

"Sorry. Nope. Can't do." Stasya beamed. "Moping's reserved for whiny, bossy bitches who can't stand not having their way, not sweet, well-intentioned people who occasionally screw up."

"So, basically, you but not me," Meredith said.

"Exactly! So stop moping."

"I'm not..." Meredith sighed. "I'm not moping."

"Excuse me? Look at you. You're sniffling, you're crying, you're— How is that not moping?"

Meredith looked up, her eyes huge. "I screwed up, Stasya. I screwed up soo badly."

"Oh, Meredith." No one could help but feel bad for her with that expression on her face, and Stasya was no exception. "You did, but... You have got to stop carrying all this guilt around. You made a mistake—sure. Everyone makes mistakes. But you don't just sit there groaning—you learn from it. And this one's no exception."

Meredith sighed. "You're right. You're right, of course." The only problem with Stasya was that she tended to be so blunt. It was hard to concede to her arguments sometimes. Christa was better at it—she could lead you to her conclusions step by step, instead of just bludgeoning you with the truth. But no one knew Meredith the way Stasya did—not even Brandon.

"Oh, Meredith." Stasya pulled her best friend into a hug. "It'll work out. It always does. You've still got your friends, you've still got your health, you've still got your family—"

"Not all of it," Meredith mumbled.

"You've still got your negativity," Stasya said, grinning.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. A moment later, Mrs. Levine's voice rang out: "Meredith? Would you, uh. Could you come down for a moment?"

It was Brandon, and the look on his face made her suddenly wish she had something to defend herself with.

Before he could open his mouth, Stasya surged forward. "Okay. Outside. Go." Meredith thought Brandon might have been inclined to argue, but he let himself be swept out onto the front lawn. As she shoved him out the door, Stasya shot Meredith a significant look: follow me, stupid. With a sinking heart, Meredith did.

"Now," Stasya said. "If you're inclined to yell, Mr. Chambers, just remember that all the neighbors can hear you, and that Mr. and Mrs. Levine are pretty well-respected. They'll know. Everyone will know. So you just consider that before you pop that vein I can tell you're so desperate to burst."

Brandon glowered.

"So," said Stasya. "Anything you got to say?"

"Nothing that can be put into words," Brandon growled. Meredith's heart quavered at the rage in his voice.

Stasya heard it too. "If you hit her, Brandon Chambers—"

"I'm not gonna fuckin hit her," Brandon retorted.

"Give up this anger shit," Stasya said. "It doesn't solve anything. I hope you realize that half your problems are because you keep getting pissed off and scaring Meredith away."

Brandon had enough presence of mind to look at Meredith's face. Meredith wasn't sure what he saw there, but it must have made a difference, because his expression softened. Not much, but a little.

"Why don't you just go home," Stasya said softly. "You've both hurt each other enough for one day. You won't solve anything by staying to fight. You'll just hurt each other more. Is that what you really want, Brandon? To hurt Meredith? The girl you love?"

Brandon looked at the ground. Meredith couldn't see his face very well.

"I thought I did. Just like I thought she loved me... Now I'm not so sure anymore."

He left.

Meredith couldn't watch.

T .5

"Wow," said Christa. "Big crowd there."

Derek looked up. They were escorting Jane back to the clothes boxes, and he and Arie had walked with their heads close together, murmuring things meant for no one else's ears. Now that he looked, there was indeed a pretty significant clump of people there: five or six boys, just standing around. It was a pretty normal sight—there were always hangers-on at the boxes, interested in copping a quick feel—but, to his knowledge, Jane was the only Program participant who was due to stop by, at least until 5:30 when the sports teams let out. "Uh-oh," he said. "What do you wanna bet they're waiting for Jane?"

"What?" Jane said.

Derek frowned. "We have got to learn to talk quietly so she can't hear."

"Who are all those people?" Jane asked.

Arie rolled her eyes. "A very observant girl indeed."

"Are they there for... Me?" Jane asked.

"That is... The impression that I get," said Christa.

One of them stood forward when they arrived, to issue the challenge. He was young, his face thin and innocent, but he seemed confident in himself. "Jane Myers!"

"What do you want, Simon," Jane said quickly. Derek saw Arie's questioning glance, and shrugged. He didn't know how Jane knew this person's name.

"There's someone else who wants a chance at you," the boy Simon said. "He wants to see if he can succeed where others have failed."

Derek blinked. "Wow, Jane. Your fame is spreading."

"You're going to Rule Three me again," Jane said flatly.

"Not me," said Simon. "This guy over here."

Beside him stood a handsome young man. He held forth his hand. "Hi, I'm Will."

Derek gaped.

Will Streuger wore his hair long and loose, and it tumbled in curlicues and waves. His eyes were an intense blue and his smile was known to make girls melt. He was a shoo-in for any number of titles in the graduating class—student of the year, Valedictorian, Most Likely To Appear on the Cover of Some Popular Magazine—and yet there was nothing pretentious in his gaze. He was attractive, almost unbearably so, but he did not lord it over others the way someone else might. He never went for any of the cheerleaders or glamour queens the sports jocks seemed to favor, the ornamental girls whose everything came in tits and asses. So far as anyone was aware, in fact, he dated no one—though there was no shortage of girls who would throw themselves at him if given half the chance. And yet he got around, and got around well, for his prowess in bed was well recognized. If there was anyone who could break through Jane's shell, it would be him.

"He's good, Jane, one of the best," said another of the boys in the crowd. He had reddish-brown hair and for some reason reminded Derek of the sort of iconic burly man that graced commercial cleaning products. "You'll be in good hands."

"How do you know he's good," Jane asked suspiciously. "Do you boys talk about these things?"

Simon and Will Streuger and the unnamed boy traded glances. "Well... Yes, we do, Jane Wendy Darling," said the nameless boy—Where'd he get that name from? Derek wondered—"and we've come to the conclusion that Will is the best artist in the school at playing that delicate instrument that is the human body."

"And you just... Asked him to come play with me, and he said yes," Jane scowled.

Will shrugged. "I like a challenge." His gaze sharpened. "And believe me, my lady, I consider it a crime for one such as you to go uninitiated into the wonders of your own body."