Rigamarole: Section 3: Confluence
I know heâs not interested in talking, but turning the radio on would still feel like telling him to shut up.
I could think of a thousand things to say if left to my own devices - but my body has felt like one big system error for the last five years.Â
I have a thousand things I want to say and I donât feel like saying any of them, staring at the back of his curly head as he studies his scrawny arm resting on the windowsill, with something like stubborn pride that unsettles me.
âHow do you calculate the length of the hypotenuse?â I blurt brusquely, like itâs a dare.
âI donât need you to quiz me, Lady Licorice,â He doesnât turn his gaze from his arm, rolling down his sleeve until it hides his bloodless hands.
âExcuse me for trying to keep you out of summer school,â I sniff with more than genuine vehemence. âRemind me who got a âDâ on their last test?â
âI didnât study for that one. I studied for this one,â he says in an exasperated monotone, crossing his arms over his chest - leaning forward against the seat belt like heâs a ragdoll just barely being kept upright.
I purse my lips at that, but he canât see me, my eyebrows furrowing into a migraine. I try to push it back with one hand, keeping the other on the steering wheel.
I shouldnât have left without my coffee this morningâŠ
âSo whatâs this âplan?ââ
âDonât want to go into it.â
I can barely feel my numb fingers resting on the faux leather wheel cover - watching the red light grow from a speck and bleed into color. I shift - reminding myself of the feeling of cotton on my skin. Weight. That I can feel my hair on my neck. If I stop to think about it.
âI thought we said we were going to tell each other what was going on?â
He looks over at me slowly as I stare at him, my jaw set, and his eyes dare me back.
âIs Kevin still texting you?â
âNot enough to be jealous of.â
I manage to keep my uncomfortable heartbeat from showing - but I feel cold on the outside - wondering if the only reason my heart isnât pounding against my ribs is because itâs shrinking.
Riley glares at me rancorously.
Shifting uncomfortably against my seat belt as the car pauses at the street corner, I wriggle my phone from my jeanâs pocket and toss it onto his lap with as much un-phase-ed-ness as I can muster, and turn the radio up to a murmur to drown out this feeling under my skin.
âAn albino- a mosquito-!â
Riley scrolls back and forth between the two most recent texts as I glance over his shoulder.
Thatâs what you said last year, Kevin.
Sorry, Lei. I know. Iâve been dying to come see you again but Iâve got no time. My momâs been on my back about grades all year like a drill sergeant because of graduation. But maybe this summer if she doesnât make me go with her to visit her family again.
Riley looks at me in abject indignation. I just shrug a little.
âDonât tell me youâre buying this.â
âIâm not buying anything,â I say a little too shortly, defensively. âI just let him talk. If he comes he comes. If he doesn't, who cares?
Riley looks like thereâs something else he wants to say to that, but he just puts the phone on the dashboard to sunbathe in the little light eking its way through the foggy morning haze and lifts his ghost-like hand to his mouth to check his sour breath.
A thousand thoughts spiral in my brain. Shake themselves up and rearrange into new phrases - nonsense and blabber - like a bag of scrabble pieces - but-
âYou smell like barf.â
He just scowls at me, but I scowl back, bitterly.
âAfter all this time, you still havenât learned how to cover your tracks?â
