Marney in the Middle

Chapter 9: Getting to Know the Bad Boy

The boys' room consists of a twin and queen-sized bed situated against the left wall, a dresser at the foot of each, two desks on either side of a door to the right, mismatched bedside tables, two wall shelves and one standing shelf. Nearly every surface is cluttered with stuff. More toys, magazines, books and clothes. A dinosaur situated by a model airplane on a shelf beside the bed Reese is lying on is made to look as if it's tackling it.

Or humping it.

I roll my eyes and look away. Dinosaur figurines, cars and other models, space aliens and space men – this room looks like a toy store threw up in it.

"Do you share your room with Dewey," I ask after realizing I've been standing silently for more than a minute.

Creeper.

Reese doesn't look up from the action figure he's pulling the arms off, "I sleep here, and Malcolm and Dewey sleep there."

So, they share a bed? I'm not grossed out – I mean, they're brothers. I mostly just feel sorry for them. And happy that my parents can afford to buy my sister and I our own beds. Even if we are currently sharing a room.

"So," I start yet again before I'm ready with anything to say. Is this National Make-an-Ass-of-Yourself Day or something? Biting my lip, I push some of the clutter out of my path and go to the end of his bed. He moves his feet aside as I sit.

Setting my stuff down, I look at him. Still busy with action figure mutilation. My heart leaps into my throat as I reach forward and put my hands on top of his to lower the toy. Reese, not quite a glare on his face, looks at me.

"I'm not actually here to tutor you." Now he's confused. I let his hands go as he pushes himself up a little, tossing the action figure on the floor.

"You're not?"

I shake my head, "It's what I was trying to tell you earlier."

"Then why are you here?"

"Um." Wow, where do I begin? Toria never actually instructed me this far; just get the bad boy and . . . that's it. So maybe it's safe to assume I can be a little bit Marney right now.

"Well?"

"To hangout, remember?"

"But why?"

I squint at his beige quilt, frustration forcing my bottom lip to quiver. "Because, I don't know, I wanna get to know you."

Reese's brow furrows more, "You do?"

I nod and smile at him. His mouth twists to the left side as he appears to think this over.

"But my dad paid you?"

I can feel heat rise in my cheeks – and not the good kind. Snatching the two ten dollar bills from where I tucked them into Toria's math book, I lean forward and practically slap them onto his chest. He looks as startled as I feel. Sitting up more, he cups his hand around mine before I wrench it away.

"There! Now do you believe me?"

Reese inspects the money as if I somehow slipped him fakes. After a second, he doesn't look up at me when he asks, "But . . . why?"

Oh my freaking hell!

"Why not?" I put my hands up in front of me, my voice raising a few octaves. "Why is it so difficult to fathom that I" I gesture toward myself and then toward him "would like to get to know you?"

He shrugs, "Most girls at school won't even talk to me."

His confession lances through my frustration. My mind bolts back to his speech from last night about women's rights. Again I realize there's more to this bad boy than meets the eye. A realization that causes my shoulders to slump slightly with guilt.