This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,103
tries again. I can almost see the years of friendship weighing the conversation down, making every word, every inflection mean more than I can comprehend. “Don’t put yourself down like that.”
If anything, it makes Jocelyn angrier. “Oh, so now you’re my life coach again? Is the Great Priya Venkatram going to tell me how to dig out of my shithole of a life?” She turns on me. “Is that why you’re here, Will? To get some free therapy?”
She’s needling me, but she should know better than that. No one’s going to hurt me anymore by suggesting I need counseling. “Nah, Priya invited me here because that’s where all her editing software is.…”
Jocelyn turns back to Priya, a look of disbelief on her face.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me. You used your line?”
Priya blushes. “I told you, it’s not a line,” she protests. “It’s totally legit.… My laptop is, like, so slow when it runs those programs.”
Jocelyn rolls her eyes. “So you put on some makeup, bring your prey into a room with mood lighting.…” She gestures to the dark wood paneling and low-watt lamps, and then her expression contorts. “Well, if that’s the best game you’ve got, I guess I shouldn’t get too worried. It’s not like it’s ever worked before.”
The shot’s not directed at me, but I feel the hit anyway. Jocelyn’s always been sarcastic, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen her be truly cruel. I don’t expect it to be so devastating being on the opposite side of the court from Jocelyn, staring down her serve.
I so do not want to play this tournament, and I signal this by making a feeble attempt at the universal stop sign. “Hey, guys, I think everyone should just take a step back and calm down.” I turn to Jocelyn. “I get that you’re upset that we didn’t tell you we were meeting, but…” I can think of all the different ways to phrase what comes next: You’re overreacting. You shouldn’t make a mountain out of a molehill. We meant well.
Everything that first comes to mind makes her seem like the unreasonable one (But she is, an unhelpful voice in my head supplies), and even I’m not such a kamikaze conversationalist that I keep flying in that direction.
Jocelyn, on the other hand.
“What, Will?” she challenges. “But what?”
Since I started working at A-Plus, and, obviously, since we kissed, Jocelyn and I have shared a lot of glances. Every one of them has been almost as good as a touch—okay, maybe not quite as good—in the way they set my nerves tingling with amusement, or warmth, or just plain joy. The way she’s looking at me now, though… If she were a bird, she’d be the kind that ate her own eggs.
I move to rub my wrist and realize that my palms are clammy with sweat. My watch buzzes again, and I swipe it silent without looking.
“You look nervous, Will,” Jocelyn says, piercing me with those cannibalistic bird eyes. “Do you have something to be anxious about?”
I’m trapped. If I tell Jocelyn what I really think, she’ll go off the handle. But if I hedge she’ll think I’m hiding something. I swallow once, twice, three times and lick my lips, hoping that if I do, the words will come.
Finally, Priya takes pity on me and jumps in. “Jos, why are you being so mean?”
Something feral blazes in Jocelyn’s eyes, and she turns on Priya. “Just use the word you want to use. Just say it. Ask me why I’m being such a bitch.”
“Okay, you asked for it.” Priya’s voice gets shriller. “Stop being such a bitch. Will was just trying to make a good video for your restaurant.”
“And of course you had to be all altruistic and help, right? The perfect excuse to move in on my boyfriend…”
What? No. That couldn’t be. I swivel my head to Priya, and she looks pissed.
My watch buzzes again, twice, and I barely register it. I’m too busy thinking back to how I was surprised that she was wearing makeup on a Tuesday night, when I’d never noticed it on her before. Then there was how she pulled my chair so closely next to hers that I had to adjust them so we were farther apart.
How could I be so stupid? Is this all my fault?
My breath is coming in short gasps. I try to count, but my lungs won’t pull air. One, two, three, and I’m suddenly wheezing, choking on acid.