Razor: All the same. You say the word, I’ll use the knife. Or say the word, we leave now and I’ll give you that ride we keep talking about.
I never know if he’s joking. Me: Let’s stick to the plan.
Razor: You’re no fun. All work and no play...
I smile, and when I peek at him, his eyes are still glued to the screen, but he’s grinning, too. Digging deep for courage, I choose the side of the diner Kyle and his friends are at, select a booth by myself and study the menu. There’s no way I could eat anything without regurgitating.
“Hey.” Kyle slithers into my booth. Per part of the plan, I texted Kyle last night and asked if we could meet to discuss his paper, and like Razor thought he would, Kyle suggested the diner. It’s scary how everything Razor said would happen is coming to fruition.
“Hi.” I make a point of looking over my shoulder at Razor. “I didn’t know Thomas would be here.”
Razor’s real name feels weird on my tongue.
“He’s been coming here for a few weeks. Waitress says he comes for the Wi-Fi, which makes sense. I heard he lives in a box of a place in the middle of nowhere.”
Reception is sketchy for everyone in town, which is why Kyle doesn’t question a thing—whenever any of us comes into the diner, we switch to the Wi-Fi because it’s reliable.
I fiddle with the napkin. Razor said to act as if I’m terrified of him and I thought it would be hard to do. But it turns out it’s easy to act afraid, because I am—of Kyle.
“Are you sure we should be in the same place as him?” Razor’s suggestion for me to say. Reverse psychology.
“It’s good for him to know he’s not in control. Besides, I thought you two were best friends.” Kyle extends his arm along the back of the seat.
“He’s too intense, plus he’s mad at me.” I glance over my shoulder again like I’m worried.
“Are you okay?” His question is part concern, part confusion. Like he actually cares about my well-being.
Please buy my lie. “If I tell you, you’re going to tell everyone at school, then it’ll be on Bragger, and then he’ll really be mad.”
Kyle’s eyes dart over my face. Get him to trust you, Razor had said. I read an article that said people bond quickly over two things: gossip and joint misery. If it’s true, then gossiping about how Razor’s bothering me ought to be a friendship gold mine.
Kyle plops his arms on the table, encompassing too much space. “I won’t tell anyone.”
I roll my eyes and I don’t have to pretend for that. “Sure.”
“No. I mean it.” He scratches behind his ear. “Look, between me and you, Razor’s been scaring the hell out of me. There’s something not right about that guy and I don’t like the idea of you being wrapped up in him. You’re too nice of a girl for a psychopath.”
I attempt to squash the anger flaring within me. Razor’s not the crazy one, it’s him, but Kyle needs to believe we’re bonding. I clear my throat and use the hurt from Kyle to convince him my emotions are about Razor. “What happened at Shamrock’s was a mistake.”
A mistake that Kyle created by snapping a photo of me in a private moment.
“You’re too good for him, Bre. I hope you can see that. I don’t want to put that picture up any more than you want it live, but if you think that picture would shatter your life, it would be nothing compared to if you did get involved with him. The guy is a nut job.”
I hate that he uses my nickname. I hate how he thinks he knows Razor because he’s listened to rumors. “You’re right about Razor.” He’s wrong. “Working with him in AP physics has scared me and he’s mad I’m trying to switch partners.”
Kyle swears like he cares and has the nerve to reach over like he intends to touch my hand. I withdraw it as if I didn’t notice his kind gesture and twist my fingers in my hair.
“It’s okay,” Kyle says. “You’re in public around him. Nothing will happen.”
“So this is what I was thinking.” I’m so ready for this charade to be over. “I want to work with you, not against you. If you say the picture won’t go up, then I believe you.”
“Now you’re talking.” If he had given me that smile last year, I would have been happy. “Tell me what you want for writing my papers and I’ll make sure it’s yours.”
For you to be castrated. “There is one thing you can do.”
He stretches out his arms like he’s willing to give me a hug. “Anything.”
“Send me a copy of the pictures. All of them.”
His forehead furrows. “Why?”
“I want them as a reminder,” I say. “Of how stupid I can be and how I made a wrong choice.” Like believing the rumors involving Razor.
“You shouldn’t be hard on yourself,” he says. “He’s conned a lot of girls, not just you.”
The empty aching at the thought of how many girls Razor has possibly been with overwhelms me. I could try to convince myself that his female companionship issues are a lie, but even I’ve seen him in action. Each time, he was getting biblical with them, but not in the godly fashion.
“Will you send them to me?” I prod.
I sag with relief when Kyle produces his phone and swipes here and there in order to send me the photos. My heart picks up speed as my cell pings with his message and then as I ask if he still has the email from his English teacher that describes what he needs to do with the paper. With each second he’s on the Wi-Fi, I experience a high and a panic.