Cat & Drew's Whirlwind Adventure

9. Know too Well

Call it what you like, but I don't think I'm being irrational. Even an hour into my shift, what happened with Troy continues to weigh on my mind, I'm obsessed with it, pulling it apart like my insides to look it over through and through. So maybe we have known each other for years, a long time actually now that I'm really stopping to think about it, but I could say that in regards to pretty much anybody in Goodbury—again, that's just a benefit of living in a town like this. Yet none of them came flocking out of nowhere offering friendship when I got back from Resthaven, only him, and the more I obsess over it, the more I hate myself for not understanding the reason why sooner.

I can imagine all the little hints he must've been picking up from his dad all summer long on where I've been, who knows, he could've even overheard a conversation or two Coach had with my mom on the phone. So of course, being the habitual and archetypical good guy, friend to all type that he is, Troy set off to crowbar his way into my life thinking he could make it all better. But what if I hadn't tried to kill myself? What if last summer had never happened and I'd never gone to that place? Over a decade's worth of chances is evidence enough that we more than likely would have gone about this year the way we've gone about all the others.

He didn't want to be friends because he thinks I'm so awesome and cool. He only wanted to be friends because of what I did, and while anyone else might say that's noble or kind to put himself in the middle of such a chaotic mess to try and help, it just feels like pity to me. I think that would feel shitty no matter the person, but I'm not sure why it's so much worse coming from Troy Baker. Where does he get off? At what point in all of the dumb stuff he does to protect his status as Goodbury High's favorite goofball does he think he of all people has any capacity to give pity?

He hasn't come a long way, come to think of it. I can still remember that gap-toothed little boy who chased all the other kids around at recess, screaming that he had rabies. Even after he got fit for a thick pair of corrective lenses that didn't stop him—despite the fact that he ran into stuff a lot more after that. Maybe that's why he doesn't wear them anymore? Not that it matters, I'm perfectly aware that I'm spending way too much time and energy thinking about him, so I shake the thought off and tell myself to move on. Better that we established all of this now than later down the road where it would've hurt a lot more, right?

It's been a slow day at the shop though, the single mom who works the shift before me had been very clear on how bored I should expect to be. That complicates the whole not thinking about it part when there's really nothing else for me to do. I tap the counter lightly, attempting to come up with anything else to occupy my mind, but when that fails very quickly I get the thought instead that maybe I should just text him. With my phone already in my hand, I don't even know what I'd want him to say, and it seems stupid, yet for some reason it's what I really want to do.

I hesitate, knowing what a bad idea it'd be.

"If you're just going to play on your phone, do you mind giving me a hand with some of these boxes?" Coach stumbles into the shop, saving me from making a terrible decision. His arms are piled high with one too many of the aforementioned boxes, so I rush over to help transport them to his so-called office—which is really nothing more than a closet that he somehow managed to cram a desk into. "Thanks, bud. Now that the season's starting to heat up I'm taking inventory of all the equipment that needs replaced. After that whole fiasco with the fire in the cafeteria the school managed to scare up some extra money, you know how rare that is, I figure I better take advantage of it while I can."

"Yeah, sure." It's all I can think of to say, and even then I wait too long to say it. That's one of the glories of being a public school, and a year ago I would have jumped for joy to finally be getting some upgrades—I'm convinced a few of our starting boards are held together with nothing more than glue and duct tape. These days, today in particular, the whole thing is a bit of a sore spot.