All the Glory

  My phone rang again and made me jump, cutting off my train of thought. I picked it up without looking at the screen.

  “Bobby, I told you, I’m done crying, I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  “Talk about who?” said the voice on the other end.

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and saw a name there that made me cringe.

  Chuck Bradley.

  “Mister Bradley?” I asked, hoping against all hope it actually was him and not the person I suspected.

  “No, this is Jason.”

  Heart … sinking. Embarrassment. Pain. Ugh, I so wanted to hang up, but I didn’t.

  He sighed. “Listen … Bobby called me and told me everything. I’m really sorry. Can you come over?”

  I immediately hung up the phone and threw it onto my bed. Freaking out is probably the best way to describe what I was doing right then. It was like the phone was a snake all of a sudden, and I sure as hell didn’t want to get bitten.

  Reflecting back on what I’d said on the phone with him just now, I cringed all over. Had I just admitted to Jason that I’d been crying over him for, like, days on end? Ergggh!! I hate myself!

  The phone rang again.

  I threw three pillows on top of it and ran into the bathroom. No way in freaking hell was I going to have that conversation. I could just imagine it now:

  “I heard you were all broken-hearted about losing me.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t cry at all.”

  “Then why is it all over the news that your eyes are puffy and you haven’t eaten in four days?”

  No. Way. No. Thank. You.

  I plugged my flatiron in, deciding that putting a few hundred twists into my hair would be the perfect way to burn an hour of time and forget how much I missed being with Jason.

  I was halfway done with the medusa-like mess when a knock came at my door.

  “What?” I yelled, figuring it was my mother with another plate of food, trying to tempt me to eat.

  “Honey, it’s me,” she said through the door.

  Go away.

  “I’m doing my hair. Come back later, okay?”

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  I sighed with annoyance. Sometimes my BFF’s love could be suffocating. “Tell Bobby he’s supposed to call first before he comes over. I’m not in the mood.”

  I could only imagine how put-out he’d be over that statement, but oh well. I was done with tears and done with crying over Jason. Game over. Be a winner, not a loser, Katy.

  The door opened and then shut, which pissed me off. I waited for Bobby’s singsong voice to come around the corner as he pretended to not care that he’d totally just begged me for a fight.

  “Bobby, if you so much as show your face in here, I swear to God I will straight-iron and back-comb your hair until you look like the nineteen eighties Tina Turner.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  I fumbled the flat iron in my surprise, and it burned my neck on the way down to the floor.

  “Mother fudger!” I yelled as sweat popped out under my armpits.

  The room went silent.

  “Jason?” I prayed for an answer I knew I wasn’t going to get.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Don’t be mad. And please don’t turn me into Tina Turner.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  MY EYES WERE BUGGING OUT of my head. I had no makeup on, half my head was in curls and the other half was up in a clip, I hadn’t brushed my teeth since what felt like a million hours ago before school this morning, and I was wearing my pajamas; they weren’t even my nice ones.

  I gritted my teeth together as I contemplated my image in the mirror. Conflicting emotions raged through me. He’ll think I’m ugly. He’ll laugh. He’ll judge me. And then reality came back and saved my sorry butt. Who the fuck cares what I look like? Jason doesn’t. He doesn’t even want to be my frigging friend.

  I stuck my head around the corner of the door. “What are you doing here?” I was pretending I was as cool as a chilly cucumber hanging out in the fridge. No … the freezer. I was a frozen cucumber of a bitch. He couldn’t hurt me anymore.

  “I came over to apologize.”

  I pulled my head back into the bathroom so he couldn’t see how freaked out that made me. He braved all those reporters to come over here and apologize to me? The frozen cucumber that was me started to thaw just the tiniest bit. Not a lot, but a little. I was a chilly cucumber now.

  “Fine,” I said, “apologize and go.” I wasn’t ready to make my heart so available anymore. It was way too easy for him to crack it wide open.

  “And beg.”

  “Beg?” I looked out again, eyebrow raised in doubt. “You? Beg?”

  “Yes.” He looked very sorry. “For your forgiveness.”

  I snorted and pulled my head back into the bathroom. Chilly cucumber, my ass. I was a pitiful mess. But honestly, how could any girl stay cold to that? I was puddle of cucumber goo hating myself for being so easy, so weak, but it wasn’t to be helped. I am only human.

  I didn’t know what to say to him, and I knew if I listened to my heart I’d probably be making out with him in my bed in about three seconds. No way was my brain going to let that happen, no matter how cute those stupid patented puppy dog eyes looked. I still had my pride, at least.

  “I’m really, really sorry,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I wish you’d … come back. Come back and work out with me and have picnics with me.”

  “Why? Because you’re bored?” I was a tad bitter, and when I’m bitter, I’m really not very attractive. It’s a fact I’ve come to accept about myself.

  It crossed my mind for a couple seconds after I responded with my bitchy attitude that heart attacks must be seriously painful, because I wasn’t having one of those and yet my chest was positively aching. Since when was friendship so painful? Bobby and I had never come to tears over anything between us.

  “Yes and no,” he said.

  That was enough of an honest answer to have me peeking my head out again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He sat down in my desk chair backwards, facing the back of it and me at the bathroom door. “I am bored, but that doesn’t mean that’s the only reason I want to hang out with you.”

  I picked my iron up off the floor and started another curl. “I’m listening.” I was, too, with every ounce of my eardrums’ power, I was listening, a beggar starving for friendship from this boy. That was the pitiful truth of my life.

  I pulled my hair extra hard, possibly trying to punish myself for being so stupid.

  “I’ve had a hundred friends in my life before. People come and go, you know?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “And you were only really in it for like, a couple weeks or whatever … but when you’re gone it feels like you should be there. Like there’s something essential missing.”

  “That’s because I was your only visitor.”

  “No, that’s not why. And I’ve had other visitors.”

  I couldn’t not look then. “Who?”

  He shrugged, resting his chin on the top of my chair. “Lawyers. Tutors. Reporters. Crazy people.”

  “Crazy people? Am I in that group?” Thinking he was going to say yes made me queasy.

  “No. You’re like the only sane person in my life right now.”

  That warmed my heart a little. Just a little, though.

  “What crazy people?”

  He looked embarrassed. “You’re going to laugh.”

  “No, I’m not. I promise.” I put the iron down on the counter and came out of the bathroom a little, leaning on the door frame. “Who? Tiffany?”

  I’d picked the least likely most pitiful person I could think of. Imagine my surprise when he answered, “She’s one.”

  “No!” I gasped. “I would have seen that on the news!” Oh, the scandal! I lowered my voice. “Does Brittney know?” Bobby would totally pee his pants
if he heard this. Keeping it a secret was going to be tough.

  “No, she came dressed up like a tutor, business suit and big glasses and a hat. I didn’t even recognize her when she came to the door.”

  I couldn’t keep my jaw shut; it just hung there open while I was stunned into silence. It’s crazy, but I was jealous. Jealous! How ridiculous is that? I instantly wondered if he’d been happy to see her, hugged her, kissed her, even. I wanted to punch her right in the boob. It was tempting to imagine printing fliers detailing her indiscretions and posting them all over the school. What a fake, back-stabbing, b-word she was. Good thing I wasn’t a vindictive, flier-printing psycho or she’d be in big trouble with her friends at school, Brittney especially.

  “A couple other women read about me and came over. Thrill seekers or something.”

  “What did they want?” I asked, coming into the room and slowly lowering myself to my bed.

  He looked over at me with a sardonic lift to his brow. “Guess.”

  I couldn’t help but look disgusted. “Ew! What’s wrong with those women?”

  He laughed. First it was just a little and then it was a lot.

  “What?” I asked. “What’d I say?”

  He got up from the chair and sat down next to me on the bed. Throwing his arms around me, he trapped me in a hug before I even know what was coming.

  “Man, I missed you,” he said, burying his face in my neck.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I REACHED AROUND WITH ONE hand and patted him on the shoulder. It was all I could do in this awkward position, not that I would have hugged him back anyway. He had a lot more begging to do.

  “Okaaaaay…. I’m still not sure what was so funny.”

  He let go and sat back a little so we could look at each other. “You basically said they’re totally deviant because they want to be with me.”

  I thought about it for a second and then realized I kind of had. “I didn’t exactly mean it like that.”

  “Nah, you’re right. You’re just being honest. I need honesty in my life right now.”

  “No, no, no,” I grabbed his arm and squeezed it, “I meant that people who would just come to you now when you’re a murderer, who are attracted to you because you murdered someone … that’s deviant. It’s not you … it’s them.”

  He stopped laughing and lost his smile. “I went online while you were gone. That’s what some people are saying about you. I saw it.”

  I lost my smile too. “Yeah, well … fuck them.”

  He reached up and brushed some of the hair that had fallen from my clip towards my ear. “I’m sorry about that. I never wanted anyone to say anything bad about you. You’re a good person. You don’t deserve it.”

  I straightened up and shook my head a little to clear the sadness. “I can handle it.”

  He reached up and squeezed my bicep. “You’re looking stronger already.”

  I flinched.

  “Did that hurt?” he asked.

  I sniffed. “If you must know … I am still experiencing a little muscle pain from our workout.”

  “That was days ago. Did you stretch after? Eat a banana?”

  I looked sideways at him. “No, was I supposed to?”

  He leaned back and looked me up and down. “You’ve lost weight. Are you eating?”

  I pushed him away and stood. “Go away. I have hair to curl.”

  “That’s a good look for you,” he said as I walked back to the bathroom.

  My heart was soaring into the clouds. Jason was here and he wanted to be my friend again! The question was, did I still want to be his? And he likes my hair, too.

  “Kind of reminds me of Medusa, though.”

  I rolled my eyes at my reflection in the mirror. As if wanting to be his friend was even a valid debate. I hadn’t stopped crying except to sleep since I’d been away from him. Of course I wanted to be friends.

  “What makes you think I still want to be friends with you?” I asked. Just because I was ready to forgive, it didn’t mean I was above a little torture to appease my cracked heart.

  “Bobby says you’ve been crying every day.”

  I growled. “I’m going to kill that pansy when I finish with my hair.”

  I was pulling another curl down when Jason appeared behind me in my bathroom.

  “I’ve never watched a girl do her hair before,” he said after a few seconds.

  I played his confession off, pretending like it didn’t sound tender and regretful. “That’s weird.”

  “Why is that weird?” His eyes tracked my movements over and over. I took my time to make this particular curl perfect. It sprang up into a coil when the iron fell away at the bottom.

  “Because. You’ve had about a thousand girlfriends and they’re all high-maintenance types. Surely you would have seen them in action.”

  “Are you crazy? They never let me see them with their hair not perfect. And I don’t have any sisters, and my mom was gone when I was really young, so ...” He shrugged.

  I didn’t reply to that. I was too focused on the fact that he’d pretty much just told me that most girls didn’t let guys see them in the bathroom like this. Would there be no end to my social awkwardness?

  “I’ll bet I could do that,” he said, watching my iron again.

  “Do what?” I put the flatiron down and stroked the next bunch of hair with my brush to get the tangles out.

  “Curl your hair. Let me try.” He reached for the iron.

  I regarded him suspiciously. Was he serous? “I don’t want to get burned.”

  “Please. They call me velvet hands on the field, you know.”

  “On the field.” I snorted like a pig. “Yeeeeeahh, right.”

  “Come on, let me try.” He held his hand out for the brush.

  I watched with trepidation as he took the flatiron and the hunk of hair I’d been holding and proceeded to set up the next curl.

  “Start at the roots. Not too close! You’ll burn my scalp. And twist the iron around the hair. And go slow!” I cringed, waiting for the pain.

  He started following my directions. He was surprisingly gentle.

  “Not too slow, or you’ll burn my hair!”

  “Okay, okay, just relax,” he said, watching with full attention as the iron ran through my hair. He looked like a little kid, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

  It was pretty ridiculous, me standing there in my Hot Buns boxer shorts and his giant fingers holding what looked like a black chopstick in comparison next to my head.

  “You have no idea how gay you look right now,” I said, giggling.

  “Bobby would be all over my ass, I know.” He caught my eye in the mirror and smiled.

  It made me happy, nervous, and sad all at the same time to share that moment with him. As soon as he was done with his big curling maneuver, I took the iron away from him. “Okay, thank you, good job, now go away.”

  He pointed at my head. “Hey look! I did one!”

  “Yeah. Good for you. Now go.” I started setting up my next curl.

  He disappeared and then shortly thereafter returned, this time carrying my desk chair.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my hand poised above my head.

  “Sit on this. I’ll finish this for you.” He put the chair down behind me.

  “Are you insane?” I put the iron down and stared at his reflection.

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  We looked at each other in the mirror.

  “Please?” he asked.

  He looked so vulnerable, I didn’t have the heart to give him any more crap. “Fine. But if you burn my hair, I’m going to be seriously pissed.”

  “I won’t, I promise. Just sit there and let me be nice to you for a little while.”

  I slowly took a seat, wondering what this was all about. I stared at him in the mirror and narrowed my eyes at his reflection. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jason Bradley?”

/>   He just snorted, smiled, and took some hair, brushing it out. His movements were awkward at first, but became more assured. He finished six more curls before he spoke again.

  “You have soft hair,” he said. “It smells nice, too.”

  “Shampoo and conditioner. Available in all your local drug and grocery stores.”

  “Smartass.” He grinned, pulling the iron through my hair. It tickled, sending shivers up my spine.

  To distract myself, as more curls were developed and more shivers ensued, I played with a rubber band. “You have a special knack for this,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, “maybe I can be the prison beautician.”

  I lowered my hands and flicked him on the leg with the rubber band.

  “Ow!” he said, jumping to the side and taking my hair with him.

  “OW!” I yelled, leaning my head over to lessen the pain.

  “Oh, shit, sorry.” He came back to stand behind me. “Keep your hands to yourself, lady. I have work to do here.”

  “Stop joking about your situation like that. It makes me sad.”

  He stopped and lowered the iron to the counter. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

  My eyes filled with tears. It was all too overwhelming, to be sitting here with Jason Bradley curling my hair, telling me he didn’t want me to be sad when he was about to be sent to prison or be put to death.

  Our circles had mixed. A cataclysmic event in his life had caused the unthinkable to happen — circles mixing so much they fell apart and ceased to exist. Everything we thought was true about the world was revealed as a lie. Nothing that had felt important really was, and things we took for granted like friendship, real friendship, had become everything. And I’d blown Bobby off for no good reason, like, five times in the last two weeks.

  “Oh, shit, you’re crying.”

  “Of course I’m crying, you idiot!” I buried my face in my hands. “You’re going to prison! You’re going to miss out on everything! Your life is over!”

  He leaned down and put his arms around me, hugging me into the chair. “Shhh, please don’t cry. I won’t joke about it anymore. I was just letting off some steam, but I won’t anymore, I promise.”