A sickness in the pit of my stomach, embarrassment, a miserable weariness weighing heavily down upon my shoulders. Jeff walked into his room, his back straight and rigid, the same implicit disappointment in me that I remembered from our freshman year of high school. I went on my first date with him and two pretty girls, one of whom I had a terrible crush on, the other being so far out of my league that I could only look at her with indifference. They were also freshmen, and I’ve never felt entirely comfortable around girls my own age. I didn’t know what to say and deferred to Jeff to keep the conversation going, laughing a canned laughter at everything he said. We ended the night at his house. We always did. It was large, clean, inviting. His parents had modified the place by adding an indoor pool and Jacuzzi that we often used year round; they never minded when their son had others over. The girls went to the bathroom together the minute we walked through the door.

“Stratton, you have to get your shit together and talk to this girl. I’m running out of things to say, man,” he said once the door closed behind them. My face warmed and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t pull it together after that, feeling even more awkward than before because of the added pressure. Too much for my fourteen-year-old self to handle. That’s what I remembered as I watched him walk into his bedroom, and I again didn’t know what to say or do. He dropped his bag on his bedroom floor.

“He wasn’t happy.”

“Shit,” I said again, shaking my head. “Are things okay now?”

“It took a lot of calming him down to keep him from kicking your ass.”

I tensed and dropped my own bag on the floor, the madness of pride rushing to the surface. I’ve always hated that about myself, my tendency to flare up the second I feel threatened or disparaged.

“You think he can kick my ass?”

Jeff guffawed. “You’re not Mr. State Champion these days.”

“Oh, I imagine I have a bit left in the tank,” I said.

“Stratton, Christ, this isn’t a pissing contest,” he said. He clenched his jaw, pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes. Then, with his hand out in front of him for emphasis, he said, “If you want to stay here you can’t treat my friends that way. I don’t give a shit what you’ve been through. We’re not in high school anymore.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself, then counted backward from five. “I’m sorry. I can’t speak for what happened last night because I don’t remember it. I know that’s not really an excuse, but it’s the truth.”