Hello, my name is Loser

Chapter 8: Familiar Strangers

The chicken pesto wrap is fucking divine. I inhale it in a handful of bites and lick my fingers for good measure. My gaze flicks to my phone screen. Fifteen more minutes and then the hour is over. Then it's time to catch up...

Bobby is refilling water at a booth closest to the front doors. The failing afternoon sun sneaks through the windows and paints his skin golden. He's listening intently to something the elderly couple at the table are saying and when they show him something on their phone he smiles. It tickles my stomach. What the fuck?

The place is even busier now as the summer dinner crowd shuffles in. Sunny's is alive with laughter and chatter, the drone of a sports game on the TV, and Chef calling out orders. It's overwhelming.

Bobby seems at home among the locals, like he never left. I feel like I'm above the room, floating, watching as he hands back the couples' phone and nods.

His eyes flick to me as if he can sense me staring. I snap back to myself. My gaze darts to the window, the ceiling, the table. Why is my heart beating so fast?

"So I guess you liked the wrap?"

I look up, cheeks warm, and see him leaning against the table, water jug in his grip.

"I hated it," I say, reflexively.

He glances at my empty plate. "Right," then he smirks. "I'd hate to see what I'd have returned to if you'd actually loved it."

"I might have just kept going. Eaten the entire table."

"The whole thing?" He asks in mock concern.

"Maybe not the metal bit here," I point to a section, "I have TMJ." I rub at my jaw.

He nods, "Of course, that would understandably be a doozy."

Then we're both nodding, staring at each other and it's the weirdest fucking thing. I don't even know what we're talking about. I've spent the last six months isolating and fucking everything up so this is the most I've actively participated in a conversation in a while. But Bobby doesn't know that version of me.

Mercifully, Bobby breaks the tension. He scoops up my plate and says, "I'm just about finished so I'll go punch out and then join you, yeah?" His honey colored eyes are outlined by the gentle curve of his monolids, and for a brief second I forget how to breathe.

"Sounds good." I exhale slowly once he passes through the kitchen's swinging doors.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask myself quietly. Get it together, you weirdo. He's Bobby. My breath hitches. Jesus, that's Bobby.

In another heartbeat he's sliding into the booth across from me, a plate stacked with fries and a burger resting before him. "Hope you don't mind if I eat dinner. I've been here all day."

"That's fine," I say as he stuffs a fry into his mouth.

"So where ya been? I haven't seen you in, what? Ten years?" He asks casually.

I put my hand on my chest, just above my heart, "Nine, actually." But who's counting? "I spent the last three-ish years in Boston for college."

"Boston! No kidding," He says around another mouthful of fries, eyes widening, "So you pursued your art?"

"Uh, no...Finance actually," I speed forward before he can ask me more, "What about you, though? Why are you here? I mean, in Brokenstone, that is."

He shrugs, "I don't live in Brokenstone actually. Me and my mom live in the Somerset Apartments just outside of town." He averts his gaze, "I just work in Brokenstone because...well, because the tips are great at Sunny's and," He glances at me then starts applying ketchup liberally to his fries, "And yeah, I just wanted to come back here, I guess."

"Is that where you moved after middle school?" I could have sworn it was farther than that. It had felt like he'd moved to another planet. No contact; letters, phone calls, texts. Just gone.

He scoops a fry drenched in ketchup into his mouth. He chews for a long time and I get the faintest feeling that he's stalling. A secret maybe?

"Uh, yeah it is." He finally mumbles, not looking away from his fries. "I went to Vale High School in Somerset."

He was a thirty minute car ride away for the last 9 years. I blink. Unsure what emotion to land on. Surprise? Hurt? Anger? Somehow all I feel is exhausted.

"And you didn't write or feel the need to stop by?"

"Sam, that was so long ago. I figured that you'd forgotten about me."

"Well I didn't." The words are out before I can stop them and sharper than I expect.

He pauses, mid chomp on a fry.

I shrug like he did earlier, "You just bailed."

"I'm sorry." He sighs and pushes the plate away. I try to hide my shock at his words, "Look. The truth is, me and mom were flat broke back then and Brokenstone is and was not for people like us. You need to be a lawyer or a dentist to survive here. Not a single mom working two part time gigs just to pay out the ass for rent. Not to mention what it was like being raised by just one mom here...Half the time other moms didn't want me interacting with their perfect children because they were afraid my mom would try to take their husband or something."

"I-I didn't know..."

"So yes, I bailed. I felt like you would be better off just forgetting me."

I don't know what to say. How could he ever think I'd forget him? Why would I even want to just because his family was in a different tax bracket? I sit and stare at him, feeling my chest tighten.

His forehead creases and then he smiles, "Sorry, that was a lot."

"I didn't know," I repeat. "You could have told me. I had to go to high school with those losers by myself after you left. It was a nightmare."

His smile breaks into a full grin and he raises his brow, "So what you're saying is you think I'm cool?"

I feel a smile creep to my lips, "You were." I shrug. "Too soon to say now." I snag one of his fries and toss it in my mouth.

Bobby entered my life like a tornado, shaking up the foundations so much that I was never going to forget a storm had passed through. Then he'd left just as suddenly. One year there, the next gone. But somehow the shortest friendship I'd ever shared was the one I remembered the most. Riding our bikes past the lake, sneaking alcohol from my parents' cabinet, and sketching him as he wrote in his journal.

Maybe I can still be that person from a decade before. I want to be honest, too, but I feel the fear of losing someone else clinging to me. I can still see Tammy sobbing as I tell her what me and her boyfriend did, or the Resident Assistant telling me to pack my bags and leave campus while students stand in the hallway watching.

I need a drink.

I purse my lips. "I know a way you can show me you're still cool."

He holds up a hand, "I'm not streaking naked, Sam."

I snort, "I'm not thirteen anymore, Bobby." Although the image does flood me with an annoying warmth.

"Just saying," He laughs.

"What are you doing tonight? You up for a party?"

__________________________

Hello! 

Thanks for reading! Things are about to get wiiiiiild. Would you live in Brokenstone? Hmmmm?

Thanks for commenting, voting, and liking! Chapter 9 will be up this Sunday! 

--Heather