My heart is thundering so hard in my chest that it feels like I’m going to be sick.
“Please, Lia. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. I shouldhave put a stop to it.” I lean against the side of her shingled house. “Please. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Nothing,” she hisses. “Go away.”
I shake my head. I just can’t leave like this, knowing she has a very real reason to despise me now. I need to figure something out. I can’t lose her.
“Lia,” I groan. “Insult me. Call me all the names you like. Tell me you hate my guts. Just don’t make me go.”
“I already call you names,” she snaps. “I don’t need your fucking permission. Now get the hell away from here, or I’m waking my dad.”
I shake my head again. I would gladly face her dad or anyone else. But I just can’t walk away now.
“Tell me what I need to do,” I beg her. “Tell me what needs to happen so you can forgive me. Please.”
“Nothing. Not a fucking thing, Logan. There’s nothing you can do that—”
She stops talking abruptly, and I look up hopefully.
“Tell me, Lia.”
“You can let me punch you.”
Oh.
The thought of letting her do that feels pretty intolerable. But far less intolerable than the idea that she could shut me out completely, and permanently.
“Okay, Lia,” I say at last, trying to keep the sadness out of my voice. “You can punch me. I guess I need to come up for that?” I add hopefully.
“No, I’m coming down. Wait for me. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
She doesn’t need to tell me to wait for her. I’d wait forever.
It doesn’t take quite that long, but it definitely takes more than just a few minutes for her to appear at the back door.
When she does, I barely recognize her. One of her usualrevealing tops is tucked into a skintight short leather skirt, and she’s got on fishnet stockings and boots. Her pale freckled face is coated in several layers of foundation, her eyes are fringed with heavy mascara, and she’s wearing bright red lipstick. Plus blue sparkling eyeshadow.
“What the hell?” I stammer.
“Don’t you like it?” she questions, her lips twisting into a condescending smile.
“I… it’s… it’s alot, Lia. Are you going somewhere?”
“None of your business. You going to let me punch you or what?”
“Uhm…” I shrug helplessly. “Okay. Go for it.”
“Alright.” She walks out into her small yard toward me. But then she stops, biting her lower lip, shuffling from side to side as she looks at me uncertainly. I suddenly realize that for all her harsh ways, she doesn’t know how to throw a punch.
I’m pretty sure she’s the only person in Oakley, girl or boy, who doesn’t know how to do that.
The thought makes my heart feel a little lighter. “Want me to teach you?”
“Huh?”
“How to punch someone.”
She scowls at me. “Iknowhow to do that. Idiot.”