“What about Becca?”
“Thompson?” I let out a derisive snort. “No.” We may have become close that summer that Shane and I were together, but that friendship ended when Shane and I did. The last time I had any interaction with her was the day I muddled through the mortifying topic of premarital sex during our senior debate class—I had to argue “pro,” against her. Afterward, I walked in on her and Penelope laughing hysterically in the girls’ restroom and got the distinct neck-hair-spiking impression that I was the center of the joke.
The scandal between Penelope’s father and my mother sparked a feud between Penelope and me that lasted until I left town. It was Penelope who initiated it. I was content to lay all blame at my mother’s stilettos. But I guess she needed to exact revenge on her family’s humiliation the only way she knew how.
She was at the root of dozens of ugly rumors floating around about me through high school—everything from my lack of hygiene to weird sexual fetishes. I know she heard about my little summer fling with Shane, because she made a point of practically mounting him in the hallway any time I happened to walk by. To my face, however, she pretended I didn’t exist, and I was more than fine with that.
But that day in the bathroom, with Becca by her side, Penelope made a point of turning to me with a sweet, vindictive smile. I just thought you should know, she started, and then went on to detail how embarrassed Shane was about slumming it with me for, like, a second, and how relieved he was that he hadn’t been stupid enough to sleep with the Polson Falls High whore—I was still a virgin, mind you—but that he’d gotten himself tested twice anyway just to be sure he hadn’t caught something from touching me.
I gritted my teeth and ducked into the stall to hide my tears as Becca stood by and Penelope cackled, wondering if any part of what she said about Shane’s regrets were true.
“I thought you and Becca might have ended up being friends. Don’t your moms work together?” Shane asks.
“Yeah, they do. But I’m pretty sure the Red Devil wouldn’t have approved of that.”
“The Red Devil?” Shane pauses in his work to flash an amused look my way.
“Don’t tell me I have to elaborate for you?”
“Nah. Just never heard that one before.” He chews his bottom lip in thought.
Is he offended? Does he think I’m being petty?
Do I care?
Nope. She was an awful person in every way.
“What about you?” I ask, because despite telling myself I don’t care, my curiosity has been sparked. “Still friends with Dean Fanshaw and Dipshit?”
Shane smirks. “Yeah, we keep in touch. Fanshaw’s still in town. Steve’s living in Philly now. He got married in June. I was a groomsman.”
“There’s a Mrs. Dipshit now?” What must she be like?
He chuckles. “There is.”
“Poor, foolish woman,” I say with mock concern. What kind of person would marry that moron?
“Can’t argue with you there, though he’s not so bad anymore. He’s working for an insurance company. I think they’re trying for a baby.”
I hope he’s changed, because the asshole I knew in high school shouldn’t be allowed to procreate. I hesitate. “What about Penelope? Still talk with her?” After the welcome back from Italy make-out session I witnessed that stabbed me through the chest, she and Shane ended up together for the entire senior year, earning prom king and queen crowns before riding off into the college scholarship sunset together.
But it’s been twelve years since high school ended and I don’t see a ring on his finger. I sure as hell didn’t see a redhead in his bed. So, when did the fairy tale end?
“She’s in Dover. We’re … civil. So, your boyfriend lives in Boston?”
I frown. “Who?”
“The guy who helped you move. Jim, was it?”
“Oh. Joe.” I study the various shades of blue that I’m considering for my bedroom. Right. That lie. “Yeah, Boston.”
“How long have you guys been together?”
“Three years?” That shouldn’t have come out sounding like a question.
Shane makes an odd sound.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just … three years together and you bought a house how many hours away from him? Is he planning on moving here?”
“We’ll see.” Can Shane tell I’m lying? I’ve always been a terrible liar. And what of his relationship status? A guy like him must be seeing a clueless sucker or three. But if I ask, it’ll sound like I’m interested in him and there’s no way in hell I’m ever going down that road again. “How’s that new pipe coming?” I had a whole day of errands I was planning on, and yet I can’t seem to peel myself away from the kitchen. Because I don’t trust Shane Beckett alone in my house, I tell myself.