She looked down at my hand, surprised to find it there. I half expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. “That’s where you’re wrong. I am broken. I’ve been broken from the moment some asshole truck driver decided the text message he wanted to send was more important than keeping his eyes on the road. I am weak and broken because of it.”
I waited until Ana set our food down and we had thanked her before answering Mac’s ludicrous claim. I told her she was crazy if she thought she was broken. She was the strongest person I’d ever known. She looked at me skeptically, asking how I could know that when we’d only known each other less than a couple weeks.
“That’s exactly how I know it. In less than a day I knew you were stronger than you’ll ever give yourself credit for. You think you’re weak because of your injury, but in reality that injury shows just how strong you are.”
“Did Ana lace your food with drugs?” she asked, shaking off my proclamation.
“Let me ask you a question.”
She lowered her fork, waiting for me to continue.
“Why do you think you’re weak?”
“I don’t think I’m weak. I know it. I’m too scared to face people in my dorm, so I hide out in the library every single night.”
“Yeah, but that’s where you’re missing the point. Do you drive to the library or have campus security cart you across campus in their golf carts?”
“God no,” she answered, shuddering at the thought.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need them carting me around like I’m some invalid. I can walk on my own. I might not be very fast, and it might not look all that elegant, but I know how to get from A to B.”
“Exactly. You force yourself to trek across campus every single day in the heat. Campus security would have no problem giving you a ride, and you wouldn’t even think of asking.”
“Of course not, but that still doesn’t mean I don’t hide out every day.” She picked up her fork and resumed eating.
I wanted to press the subject further, and argue with her until she saw how ridiculous her statement sounded. She had a distorted view of herself. The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted to show her how wrong she was.
twelve
Mac
The small amount of my food I ate was delicious. Unfortunately, the dinner conversation twisted my stomach into knots, and my appetite was pretty much shot after that. I was used to keeping my feelings bottled up, but Bentley had a way of getting me to talk. Between that and my heart-to-heart with Trina the night before, I was left raw and exposed.
Bentley had obviously sensed my grief, because he never commented on how little I ate. As we drove back to my dorm after dinner, I was sure this would be the last time he asked me out and the end of his interest.
“What’s your least favorite class?” he asked out of the blue.
The question was so random, it caught me off guard. “Uh, probably humanities, but only because the professor is so boring.”
“Boring how?”
“His voice is so monotone, and it never changes. Plus, he keeps the lights in the room dim. You want to Tase yourself to keep from falling asleep.”
“That’s funny. You know who that reminds me of? ‘Bueller . . . Bueller.’” He lowered his voice, laughing as he waited for me to join in. I must have missed the joke. “You know, Ferris Bueller?” he added when I still looked confused.
“Is that another professor?”
“What! Are you telling me you’ve never seen Ferris Bueller?” He looked at me incredulously.
“I’ve never had him. What class does he teach?”
“No, it’s a movie. An old movie from the eighties.”
“Oh, well, obviously I’ve never seen it.”
“Holy shit. I’m going to have to fix that. I’m a huge John Hughes fan. I’ve seen every Brat Pack movie like a hundred times.”