IF BECCA DUNKS THAT FRY in the blob of ketchup one more time, she is going to get it shoved up her nose. Luckily for Becca, she doesn’t.
“What is your problem?” Becca asks after chomping down her fry. She picks up another and begins her ketchup-dipping ritual again.
If Ruby’s weren’t half full and if Kennedy weren’t seated two booths down, she would walk out. When did Becca become so annoying?
“And I’m not annoying.” Becca paints ketchup around her plate. “You’re just tense.”
Glory’s mouth drops. Did she say that out loud? No way. No way did she say that out loud, which means she must be telegraphing her annoyance. Becca is right. She is tense. But why wouldn’t she be? There is Matt’s squeeze. Ex. Maybe.
If she had any kind of aim, she would load a fry with ketchup, throw it, and hit Kennedy right between her professionally plucked eyebrows.
She shifts her gaze back to Becca, shrugs. “You are a little annoying.”
Becca harrumphs, pushes her almost empty plate across the table. Glory helps herself to a fry, keeps it far away from the ketchup. She likes gravy.
“Well, what is it?” Becca asks. She is a pitbull. Once she has something on her mind, she keeps at it. If Glory doesn’t answer now, she will answer in half an hour, because Becca won’t let it go. It will be ripped, shredded, bloodied, but Becca will have her answer.
She closes her eyes, stalls for time, gets lost in the cacophony of sounds, the smorgasbord of smells. They don’t come to Ruby’s often. It is the hangout for kids on the other side of town. But Dad slipped her a ten today, and she had the urge to come here. Becca wanted to invite Ben and Matt, but the boys couldn’t make it. They needed to cut some old lady’s lawn, Becca said. But Glory still flashed on Matt with Kennedy. Which was foolish, because where would Ben be? And Ben wouldn’t lie.
And here is Kennedy at Ruby’s, too. Looking cool and pretty. And probably thinking about Matt. Probably thinking about the last time she had sex with Matt.
Glory huffs. How stupid could she be to picture herself here, Matt sitting next to her?
“What?” Becca asks, her voice urgent.
“Kennedy is over there,” she says. Becca twists around. “Don’t look!”
“Oops!” Becca turns back quickly. She shoves down the bench, presses her back against the window, inches over slightly to see Kennedy.
Glory pushes into the corner of the booth, too.
“I bet Kennedy comes here a lot,” Becca says.
“I guess.”
“What’s the big deal anyway?” Becca asks. “He didn’t go with her after the movie. He came with us.”
Glory flinches, feels naked. Becca can read her so easily. But does Becca know that she doesn’t want to be an “us?” At least not an “us” that includes Becca and Ben. The few french fries she helped herself to sit heavy in her stomach. She is jealous. There sits the girl Matt does it with, and she is jealous.
“He likes spending time with you, Glory,” Becca says.
“And he likes spending time with Kennedy, too.”
“Oh.” Becca squirms in her seat and her cheeks turn red. “Is that what you want?”
“No!” No, that is not what she wants — but to hold hands and to have him kiss her? She would die for that. “I don’t understand why he was with her so much.” Except Kennedy is pretty and older and rich.
“Lyne says it’s what all guys want. And he’s a guy, Glory, and Lyne says Kennedy does it with any guy, so why wouldn’t Matt do it with her?” Becca pulls in the plate, starts dipping a cold fry in ketchup. “That’s what Lyne says.”
“When did Lyne say that?”
“All the time. She says guys only want one thing.” Becca drops her fry, pushes the plate away again.
“I don’t think that’s true,” she says.
“You think Matt’s in love with Kennedy?” Becca whispers.
“No! Not that. I think it is all about, you know, sex with them. I think Lyne’s right. Sort of. Guys will take it if it’s offered. But I don’t think it has to be all about that with every girl. I think a guy can like a girl and it’s not about, you know.” Now she whispers, “I don’t want him to be with her.”
And as if cued, Kennedy is right there. But even with her entourage of three, she looks uneasy. She is being protected, not leading a small army.
“Glory.”
“Kennedy.”
Kennedy plays with the strap of her Swatch. “I don’t usually see you here,” she says.
“We don’t come much.”
Kennedy eyes the nearly empty plate. “They have good fries here. Good onion rings, too.”
“Yeah, yeah they do.” Glory congratulates herself for not visibly shaking like the small earthquake she has become. Why is Kennedy speaking to her? The other girl always ignored her at school.
Kennedy licks her Dragon Red lips. “Did you like The Force Awakens?”
“It was good.”
“Yeah, the sequel should be good, too,” Kennedy says.
Becca slides to the end of the booth. “We should get going, Glory. Ben said they’d be home by three and it’s just about three.”
Kennedy looks sharply at Becca. She steps back from the table. Her eyes narrow and Glory can read her. She is putting it together. She knows that Ben is never far from Matt. Her smile falters and then it disappears.
Glory wants to gloat. But Kennedy looks devastated and even if Matt only wants one thing from her — and please, God, let it be only about that — Kennedy cares about Matt. Maybe she has even fallen in love with him. But that doesn’t matter. It means nothing. Because she will be with Matt this afternoon. Kennedy is history. Isn’t she?