Last Woman Standing. Amy Gentry
Jason wanted: because he wanted it.
I was supposed to set an alarm for one a.m. and sneak out of the house, and I went to sleep early but full of adrenaline, sure that I would roll out of bed at the first beep. Instead, I awoke to a desperate tapping on my window sometime in the early-morning hours, still dark but way past one. Lost in a thick waking haze, I couldn’t tell if I actually saw Jason standing outside my window in the bushes, pale and shivering, or just heard him furiously tapping. But whether awake or asleep, I knew that I would never crawl through that dog door and steal Mattie’s keys, much less follow Jason to a field three counties over and watch as he banged up Mattie’s truck so I could drive him home afterward. I told myself I wasn’t really awake, and the tapping sound followed me into my dreams.
I caught up to Jason the next day in the cafeteria. Standing in the nacho line, he couldn’t get away from me, but he wouldn’t look at me either.
“Okay, top ten reasons I didn’t do the plan last night,” I said. “Number ten: It was a stupid fucking plan.”
Wrong move. He stared resolutely at the floppy cardboard boats under the heat lamp, their tortilla chips stuck together with greasy cheese, then slid one onto his tray.
“Number nine: Dreamed I was helping; woke up in the bathroom trying to shift the toilet into third gear.”
Nothing. I swallowed.
“Number eight: I’m a rotten friend.” I touched his sleeve and, in a different tone, said, “Jason, I’m sorry. Really.”
As if he hadn’t heard me, couldn’t even feel my hand on his arm, he mechanically heaped sour cream and guacamole onto his nachos.
“Fine, skip to number one,” I said. “I chickened out, Jase. I didn’t want to tell you, but I was scared.”
Eyes still fixed on his tray, he slowly grinned, then chuckled. “You should have seen the look on your face when I was telling you about it.” He tossed the guacamole scooper into the hot-water tin with a splash. “It was like hurdle-jumping day in gym class all over again.”
I beamed, relieved. “In my defense, I still don’t think you should have to have a doctor’s note when you’re obviously a midget.”
By the end of the day, we were acting like it had never happened. Jason never brought up pranking Mattie again—although he took up smoking shortly afterward, which seemed related somehow—and when his girlfriend dumped him right before prom later that year, he gave her ticket to me. Standing next to him in a pile of silver balloons for the picture, my red column dress looking slightly silly next to his Texas tux, I felt thoroughly forgiven.
Deep down, though, I knew I had lied about the reason I’d stayed in bed that night. It was true I was scared of Mattie, but I wouldn’t have let that stop me from helping Jason out. The number-one reason I hadn’t helped Jason steal Mattie’s truck was that he couldn’t admit he was too scared to do it alone. We both pretended he’d have gone through with it if only he’d had the keys, but he wouldn’t have. And that was ultimately why I couldn’t join him in crossing the line. He needed me too much.
Trust me now? The question still hung unanswered in the little speech bubble on my screen.
Amanda had crossed the line without me, unhesitatingly, on my behalf.
I do, I typed into the text box, and pushed send.
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