College Ruled

thirty-four

34
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Theo regrets coming.

          I know him enough to see it—his eyes circle the group, taking us all in, sizing up the amount of people who might truly want him here, and he seems to shrink into himself, as if deciding the odds aren't in his favor. His broad shoulders round into a slouch when his gaze slides to me, and he holds something out in front of him. A peace offering, I think, if the hopeful lift of his brow is any indication. But when my eyes shift to said offering, it has the opposite effect.

          My blood boils. So much so that any cold left between my bones from the frozen pond immediately fizzles out of me, until I'm suffocating next to that fire, sweaty and uncomfortable.

         "Your mom," Theo says timidly, raising the baking dish a little higher, as if I didn't know what it was, who had given it to him, where it had come from. "She said I should bring these."

        "Dude," Grayson huffs in quiet disbelief, "You seriously brought the fucking yams? What's wrong with you?"

        "Nothing, you jackass. She told me to bring—"

        "Yams?" Wesley rises from his chair and snags the dish from Theo's hands. "I fucking love yams. What's the problem?"

         "Nothing," I say.

         It's a lie of course. I want to smash the glass dish over Theo's head, but along with the anger, a certain kind of fatigue buries into me as I stare at Theo and that dish of yams. I become overwhelmingly tired of the fact that he's still someone. That when I look at him, I don't just see a person but the things that he has done. I decide in this moment that I don't want to care. And sure, this doesn't exactly work in any simple way. I'm still angry. I still care. I still want to punch him in the face when I look at him—

          But if I treat him as if he is nothing, then maybe he will become nothing. Because with the way my blood pressure rises each time I see him, the only person my anger is hurting is me. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let that little bitch give me health problems.

         "Go nuts, Wes," I continue with a smile. It's hard—the smiling—but it's a start. "That was considerate of you, Theo."

         It's a step too far. Grayson's head snaps in my direction like I've grown an extra head, and I can tell he wants to say something else. He was there at the dinner, he felt the anger in that room, and I think he fully decided to never even say the word yams around me again.

         I shoot him a glance, a silent don't, and rip off another bite of meat as Theo reluctantly joins the group. The rest of the circle—besides Wes who's nose deep in the yam dish—is staring at me in a similarly bewildered way, though their confusion is more akin to curiosity, and I've lost my appetite but I keep eating anyway.

        "So, what's the plan for tonight?" It's Preston who asks, his stare sliding off of me to address the group. His lips are still a little blue from the water, the corner of his mouth greasy from his burnt steak. "Anything fun to do around here?"

         "Wait—Yes," squeals Andy. "There's this cute little square a couple miles from here. Bars and antique shops. A farmer's market, that sort of thing. They host fun little things sometimes, isn't that right? Last time I was here it was..." She clicks her tongue. "Oh, what was it, Gray? You bought me that locket—"

       "Craft fair," Grayson mumbles. "It was a craft fair. I think tonight's the chili cook-off. I was going to suggest to Remi—"

        "Hell yeah," Chris cuts in. "Chili's gotta be better than this." She lets her piece of meat drop onto the paper towel in her lap and wipes her hands on her legs.