Текст книги "The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things"
Автор книги: Ann Aguirre
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
CHAPTER SIX
I don’t, of course.
This is still the JFK lunchroom, and I’m not that brave. In the end, I let him get away with not answering. It’s enough that he’s here with me and not hiding out with the burners. I finish my food, just shoveling it down, so I can say I did. I’m too nervous to enjoy the salad, especially with Shane studying me so intently. I’m suddenly worried I have lettuce in my teeth.
Afterward, Shane walks me to my next class, even though he’s not in it. Instead of saying good-bye, he brushes my hair away from my face and gives me a smile that makes me forget what subject I have this period. Then he lopes away, hopefully to make his next class before the bell. I melt into my seat before remembering where I am … and that Ryan is already sitting in the desk next to mine.
As I sit down, he glances over, but he doesn’t say anything. Around us, three girls are whispering behind cupped hands. It’s so weird to be the subject of gossip over a relationship that never existed except in other people’s minds. I heard the speculation before, but it’s different, knowing that Ryan encouraged it behind my back—that he was using the rumors. I mean, he knew his parents wouldn’t approve and that I’d be upset. Who wants to be the girl somebody pretends to date while secretly going after someone better? Yet he did it anyway. My anger kindles fresh, and I tamp it down. Rage tastes like burning in the back of my throat. Once I’m calm, I bend my head to my paper, taking copious notes that I’ll probably never look at again. Afterward, I linger over packing up my stuff to give him a chance to leave.
The day passes at the speed of snail.
Before last period, I leave a Post-it for a freshman kid the football goons are harassing today instead of Shane. They call him Alexa instead of Alex, and that has to suck. Since I don’t know him, I compliment his taste in sneakers, which are awesome old-school Chucks, just the right amount of grunge. Alex does a clumsy karate kick as I go by, showing off the shoes, and I laugh. The beautiful people think I’m an idiot, but their scorn is worth it for moments like this. It’s like everybody I tag could be a potential friend.
“Hey,” Alex calls. “I hear you’re on the market again.”
… Wait, what? He’s a freshman.
I stop. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Does a younger guy have a shot?” he asks, flashing me a grin.
He’s short and skinny, like Ryan used to be. Alex has a goofy sense of personal style, plus bad coordination and unpredictable skin. His hair looks like his mom cuts it by trimming around a bowl. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Only if said younger guy can pick me up in his G6.” I figure he’ll know that’s a joke since I don’t approve of fossil-fuel burning cars, let alone absurdly wasteful private planes.
He grins. “I’ll get right on that.”
By the time I get to the bike rack, the initial after-school scramble has passed. The buses are loaded and leaving the parking lot. Most people who drive take off as soon as they can, clogging the road leading away from JFK. Still, even now, there are a few stragglers in the parking lot. Two guys wearing knit hats practice skate tricks until Mr. Mackiewicz runs them off. It’s pretty funny how he makes time to be a buzzkill even on his way out to his car.
I have fifty minutes before I need to be at the Curly Q for my shift, so I’m in no real hurry. But I’m surprised when Lila hails me. She breaks away from a pack of mostly goth posers, who are piling into a gray van. Lila is tall, five ten or so, and she might look like a supermodel, if she wasn’t so into death fashion. Her long legs eat up the distance between us.
“Where you headed?” she asks me.
I can’t figure out what her deal is today. We never talk. “Work, eventually.”
“Want to get a frap?”
Oh. I think I know what this is about, so I mumble, “There’s no dirt. Nobody cheated.”
“I’m not interested in that anyway. I’m sure the story’s tedious.”
“Then what?” I don’t mean to be rude, but seriously, we barely live on the same planet.
She shakes back her super-vibrant dyed red hair. “Since you want me to lay it out, well, you’re way short on female friends. Most of mine’ve killed too many brain cells, so I’m in the market for someone with whom I can use polysyllabic words.”
“I’m flattered. I think. And, yeah, I have time for a frap.” The tiny café that serves as a substitute for Starbucks is two blocks from the salon.
“Sweet. Can I ride on the handlebars of your bike?”
“No. You can run along behind me like a spaniel.” See, I can be sarcastic, too.
Lila grins. “I could seriously get to like the new you.”
“I’m still me. Same princess. Same nice. Just…” Something has changed, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“With an angry breakup edge?” she offers.
“That works.” Anger is the wrong word, though, because I don’t permit that feeling anymore. The cost is too high when I unleash.
I wasn’t kidding when I said she could run after me. Conversation over, I swing onto my bike and head for the coffee shop, which is cunningly named Coffee Shop. There was a sign that said ANDREA’S above it at one point, but she sold the place, and the new owners took that part down. They just never mustered up the ambition to dub it anything clever. The pastries are pretty good, however, and the décor is cute, belying the uber-utilitarian name.
By the time Lila arrives, I’m already settled and sipping a latte. I smile at her as she pushes through the door, jingling the bell. She places her order, then joins me; the barista will bring her drink when it’s ready. There are a few other people in here, mostly artsy types. They like the ambiance better than the fried meat grease and dull roar over at DQ. A couple of them double-take at the sight of me hanging with Lila, as we’re not really from the same social strata.
“So why don’t you tell me what this is about,” I say, sipping my drink.
“I can’t put anything past you, huh?”
“Unlikely.” After I say it, I realize that’s Shane’s word, and a goofy-happy feeling sweeps over me. It’s absurd, but it makes me feel like he and I have a thing.
She cuts her eyes to both sides, as if there are spies from JFK nearby. “Sophomore year, I broke up with Dylan Smith.”
“Rings a bell.” Now that she’s mentioned it, I remember. “He’s such a tool. You were spirit squad, weren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
After the breakup, she hung a sharp left away from the beautiful people, swapping her dance routines and pom-poms for thick eyeliner, lots of black, and a bad attitude. Dylan went around with his crew talking about what a druggie whore she’d become without him. Personally, I thought she was better off, especially given the way he treated people he saw as lesser beings.
“At first, my old friends were all, ‘OMG, are you insane? He’s so hot, you two are the power couple.’” She shrugs. “They didn’t care that he was a controlling asshole. When I refused to ‘see reason,’ they just cut me off. I had like a month where I just didn’t talk to anyone.”
I wait, guessing there’s a reason she’s telling me this. The waitress brings Lila’s frozen mocha, which delays the story for a few seconds. Then she carries on as if there’d been no interruption.
“So in the middle of this, I get a Post-it on my locker. I don’t even remember what it said now.”
Oh. “I do. I said I loved your black corset top.” It wasn’t something I’d be brave enough to wear, but it looked stunning on Lila.
“Right.” She smiles at me, the look untouched by her usual cynicism. “I was trying to show Dylan what he was missing at that point. I really needed somebody to be nice to me. It helped that you were. So now that you’re basically in that same situation, I want to return the favor. I’m not the Post-it type, and that’s your thing anyway. So…”
“Hence, the fraps.” Although I’m not drinking one, she is.
“Exactly.”
I’m no longer worried about the potential pitfalls, but I mentally go back over something she said. “Same situation? You mean Ryan’s talking shit about me?”
If he is, I don’t even. Everything freezes inside me. How can he? I’m not the one who lied on so many levels. I was just there.
“Not that I’ve heard. I just meant … you can’t hang with your usual crowd anymore. I know how awkward that can be. And I really am in the market for a new best friend. My current crew keeps me from being forever alone, but they’re not…” She taps her temple and grimaces, conveying that they suffer from stoner brain.
I can’t believe she’s just telling me this. It seems so unlike Lila, but then I realize I really don’t know her. For the first two years, I saw the side she showed while running with the beautiful people, and then the new version she created to fit in with the goth crew. Maybe neither Lila was exactly the person she wants to be; that thought is kind of revelational. It’s probably true of me, as well.
“I’m definitely willing to hang. I might be quitting a number of my clubs.” That thought pains me, as I joined them for my college application, but I just can’t see working with Ryan at this juncture.
“What’s your cell number?”
I give her the number without my usual spiel it’s for emergencies only. When I check the time, I see I need to get moving. “Work beckons. Want to set something up for this weekend?”
“Do you ever go to the Barn?”
That sounds like it would be a club, but it’s actually a barn. Oh, the joys of rural living. There’s a kid who graduated last year, still famous for hosting parties. Which strikes me as a little sad. Why does he want to be the Man to a bunch of minors? I mean, maybe that’s all he has.
“I didn’t last year.” But maybe it’s time to change it up.
“There’s a bash on Saturday. You want to check it out?”
“Sure.” Then I realize that transportation will prove a problem. “Can you text me the address? I’ll meet you there.”
Parties are always hosted at night, so I’ll need to ride out to the farm, which could take a while. It also means I’ll be gross and sweaty when I arrive. I’ll also be covered in reflectors. I close my eyes and sigh. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
“I can give you a ride,” she says.
I shake my head. “It’s not that. I have a thing about cars.”
“Are you scared of them?” She sounds worried, like if this is true, I’m 100 percent weirder than she banked on, and I’ve already lost her.
Fortunately, I have a valid reason to cover the deeper motivation behind my dogged avoidance. “No, I just don’t ride in them. They’re killing the world.”
“Oh, it’s like a protest?”
“Pretty much. I know it’s not getting media coverage or anything, but I care. I’d know if I broke down just because it’s easier.”
“That’s cool,” she says, visibly relieved. Then I see an idea register. “My dad restores golf carts as a hobby. Don’t ask. If I picked you up in one of those, would you go?”
“Totally.” I can’t believe she’d do that for me. It’s so dorky and she hardly knows me. “But is that even legal?”
“They’re allowed on back roads, as long as I yield to faster moving traffic. It’ll be faster than a tractor at least.”
I laugh, but she has a point. Country roads are often clogged by farm machinery this time of year. So I offer a quick nod. “Then I’m in. I really appreciate it.”
“Where do you live?”
I scribble my address on a Coffee Shop napkin, then groan at the time. “Now I really have to jet. Mildred will eat my face if I’m late.”
That’s the owner of the Curly Q. She’s a hundred years old with thinning, dyed-orange hair. From the look of her, you’d be scared to let any of her employees work on you, but the stylists are great. They like practicing on me when it’s slow. Usually, I don’t let them do anything permanent, but tonight, I’m feeling reckless. It’s just hair, right? Since I’m going to a party at the Barn with Lila Tremaine in a golf cart it seems like I need to update my look.
I have forty seconds to spare when I burst through the doors. Mildred gives me the side-eye, but since I’m not technically late, she just says, “Get your smock on, girl. There’s cleaning to be done.”
Though it’s not strictly legal or sanitary, I’m pretty sure they save the hair for hours. The stylists just sweep it away from the chairs and pile it out of the way. So by the time I arrive, there’s a small Sasquatch on the floor. It takes me an hour to get the shop pristine. Customers come and go, mostly walk-in haircuts. Around six, it slows down, and Grace beckons me to the chair.
“When are you gonna let me give you some highlights?” She asks this often.
This time, however, I say, “Tonight, if you have time.”
Grace gets excited. “Mildred, get the camera. I’ll do it free if you let me take a picture for the before-and-after wall.”
I eye the wall, not sure I want to be immortalized up there, along with all the eighties hair and prom refugees, but eventually I shrug. “Why not?”
My hair is a dark blond, mousy and forgettable. I mean, it’s decent hair, neither straight, nor curly. Left to its own devices, it falls in messy waves. That’s why I wear a lot of ponytails and braids. Aunt Gabby has similar problems, only she gets it lightened and highlighted so it looks bright and flirty, and she spends forty-five minutes a day straightening hers, so it’s sleek and smooth by the time she goes to the shop. UPS Joe seems to like the results anyway.
Grace fastens me into the plastic smock, then snaps a Polaroid. I still don’t care that much how I look; I mean, it’s so superficial, but a small part of me would like to be prettier, at least maximize what I’m working with. I tell myself this is more of a social experiment, and I can evaluate how people react to the new me. But that’s not it.
I’m totally doing this to see if Shane notices. Sometimes I hate being a girl.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It’s dumb to be so nervous.
This is a Tuesday. Nothing earth shattering ever happens on a Tuesday. It doesn’t even have a catchy nickname, unlike Wednesday, aka Hump Day. Still, I can’t shake the butterflies in my stomach. Instead of my usual leggings and skirt, I’m wearing jeans, an old pair that miraculously still fits; and I try not to think about how much of my butt they reveal. I didn’t discard my sweater shrug for unavoidable reasons, but instead of wearing an ordinary cotton tank, I borrowed a lace-trimmed cami from Aunt Gabby. Why all the effort? I want to be worthy of my new hair.
This morning, when she saw the highlights, my aunt insisted I let her use the straightener on me. It only took fifteen minutes, but I admit it was worth it. My hair’s never looked this sleek and glossy, and the delicate golden streaks brighten the darker part until it’s positively pretty. I don’t know that I’ve ever thought that about myself before. It’s kinda nice.
Lila waves as I come down the hall toward her. “Wow. You look fab.”
“Thanks. I let one of the stylists work on me last night.” I dial my combo and pop open my locker, getting the stuff I’ll need for first period.
“Trying to show him what he’s missing? Good plan.” She cuts her eyes toward Ryan, who is standing with one hand on his locker. He can’t seem to look away.
This time last year, I would’ve given a kidney to see him look at me like that, but he was oblivious. And no wonder, I think with a touch of bitterness. He was sleeping with somebody else. At this point, however, that’s not why I changed things up. My reason isn’t here yet.
“I’ve got to admit,” Lila says, still studying Ry. “I’m surprised. I would’ve thought he was fundamentally decent. He seems like a good guy.”
Crap, I don’t want her to think he’s a cheater. Technically we weren’t together, so the mess with Cassie isn’t that. “He is. He just … made a mistake. Lied to me. And I can’t handle it.”
“Oh. So we don’t hate him?”
I shake my head. “Mostly, I’m sad. I wish he hadn’t done it, but some lies change everything.”
“Absolutely, they do.” From the ferocity of her tone, I’m guessing Lila has some personal experience with this, but I don’t pry.
Privately I wonder if Dylan lied, and that’s why they broke up. Once we get to know each other better, maybe she’ll tell me. It’s pretty cool to have somebody who wants to hang out with me, not because of Ryan or because we’re in the same club. Just … because. Since moving here, I’ve avoided that kind of closeness, mostly because the more friends you have, the harder it is to keep secrets. More people mean more questions. And I wasn’t ready. My first year here, I was barely functional, so it’s no surprise I imprinted on Ryan and let him drive my social life.
“I have to get to class,” I say then.
“Sucks we don’t have any together. See you at lunch, though?” It’s a question, not an assumption.
“I brought mine, so I’ll get a table.”
Lila acknowledges the plan with a jerk of her chin, then she dives into the stream of students, letting them carry her toward her class on the opposite side of school. I haven’t seen Shane this morning, but maybe he’s running late. I wander through my morning classes hoping for a glimpse of him, but still, nothing. Geometry confirms it; he’s not in today. The desk diagonal, one up from mine, seems more than usually empty; I’m so disappointed, and I hate that I am. To put the cherry on the crap cake, I get my quiz back. As expected, it’s another circled red F. That clinches it—I have to tell Aunt Gabby. It’s not that she’ll be mad at me; I can’t stand her disappointed look. Maybe the news that I have a tutor lined up will help. Kind of, I see there’s a problem and I’m working to solve it.
“Miss Czinski, I need to see you after class.” Mackiewicz levels a serious business stare on me while the rest of the class goes “ooooooooooooh” in that super-annoying way.
“Yes, sir.”
As anticipated, he lectures me on how poorly I’m doing and tells me how he expects better from someone of my academic stature. Seriously, that’s verbatim. I listen meekly until he’s finished, and then offer, “I’m definitely struggling, but I’m taking steps and getting help. My performance will improve.”
Mackiewicz seems mollified. “Good. I know you can do better.”
Glad somebody’s sure of that.
On impulse, as soon as I escape from his class, I head to admin. Ms. Smith is the only one around at this time. She looks young, to the point that I suspect she was my age when she had Dylan. I imagine her wanting to be a dancer or something; I doubt her dreams included working in the school office.
“I was wondering if you could get me a copy of Shane Cavendish’s schedule. He’s out sick today, and I’m taking his homework to him.” My voice doesn’t reveal that I happen to know a juicy secret about her.
“Not a problem. That’s sweet of you.”
“Y’know,” I mumble, when this is actually kind of stalkerish.
I’ve never been so interested in a guy before, certainly not to the point that I’d go out of my way to learn his class schedule. When she takes a page from the file and trots off to copy his classes, I take it a step further. Rocking up on my toes, I peer at the folder she left on the counter. His address is in the upper-right-hand corner of the form he filled out during registration. Upside-down reading is one of my weirder skills, so I can see the address. I memorize the house number and turn away, like I haven’t just crossed a line.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m crazy.
“Here you are, hon.”
“Thanks.” I take the paper and figure I might as well visit Shane’s classes now. Teachers who aren’t stuck on monitoring duty will be in their rooms, working on stuff for the afternoon or writing a novel, or in Mr. Johannes’s case, possibly cooking meth, whatever floats their boats.
In short order I get five of his seven assignments. Not bad for a spur-of-the-moment plan. By the time I get to the lunchroom, Lila has already made it through the line and is obviously looking for me. Her face lightens with relief when she realizes I didn’t ditch her. As if I would. Making an executive decision, I head over to the sophomore table where Shane and I sat yesterday. There’s only four of them, so there’s room. This time, I wave. To my surprise, they wave back, looking pretty happy to see me. Hm. When Lila joins me, they’re surprised, but they say “hey” to both of us as we sit down.
“Who’re your friends?” she asks.
I glance over at the four: three girls, one guy. “I have no idea.”
A red-haired girl smiles. “Kimmy, Mel, Shanna, and Theo.” As she performs the introductions, I memorize their names and faces. If we’re sharing their table from now on, we should be social.
Mel is a freckled, athletic blonde while Theo is small, brown-skinned, and fond of sweater vests. Kimmy is a pale redhead with an infectious smile whereas Shanna has long black hair caught up in Lolita pigtails, and her makeup enhances almond eyes. She seems like the rebel of the group.
“Sage and Lila,” I say.
“We know.” Theo stresses the last word in a weird way.
I exchange a look with Lila, who shrugs. “Should I be afraid to ask?”
“Maybe,” she says.
Mel offers, “We think it’s really cool of you two. Brave.”
“What?”
“You know. Being out.”
What the … “Let me get this straight … People think Lila and I are dating?”
“Dylan Smith says that’s why Lila broke up with him. Cuz she’s a big dy—”
Kimmy claps a hand over Theo’s mouth before he completes the word. I’m glad; otherwise, I’d have to smack him. “First, that’s crap. But if it were true, Lila’s out of my league.”
She laughs, cocking her head. “I dunno. You’re looking pretty cute today.”
Theo looks like this is a dream come true while the girls stare, wide-eyed.
I sigh. “Don’t encourage him.”
“True. But this is exactly why I broke up with Dylan. I mean, he told everyone I slept with him when I did not. Then when I got fed up and dumped him, he said I was a lesbian. Because, obviously, only a chick who’s into girls would let go of a prize like him.”
“What a douche,” Mel says.
“That explains the looks I’ve been getting all day, though,” Lila adds. “I’m sorry, Sage. I should’ve guessed Dylan would invent some shit about your breakup the minute we started hanging out.”
I shrug. “I don’t care what people say about me. To be honest, it’s kind of novel for it not to be related to the Post-it notes.”
“I think that’s pretty cool,” Shanna volunteers.
I smile. I’m a little surprised, however. Of this crew, she dresses the darkest, but I should know not to judge a book by its cover. I look squeaky clean, innocent even. What I don’t tell her is that I’m beyond doing stuff because someone else thinks it’s a good idea. These days I do things to fill craters inside, filling up the bad echoes with goodness. God knows I need it.
“Do us a favor, though,” I say to Mel, who seems the most sensible of the four. “Spread the word that it’s just gossip, okay?”
“Not a problem,” Kimmy says, already texting.
We make general conversation after this, and midway through lunch, I look up to see Tara and Kenny standing by the table. They both look awkward, so I try to make whatever it is easier with a smile and a friendly “hey, guys.”
“Is it true?” Kenny asks. As usual, he has on his cherished Mario hat. Kenny is really good at two things: math and video games. He’ll probably make a million dollars before he’s thirty.
“What?”
Tara bites her lip. “That you dumped Ryan to be with Lila.”
Ha-ha, OMG. I feel a burning desire to put my head down on the scarred table and laugh. This has been a busy week, what with the fake boyfriend and the fake girlfriend, when I’ve never had a real date. Somehow, I restrain the mild hysteria. I hope people aren’t as mean to us as they were Jon Summers. But maybe it’s only horrible to be gay in this town if you’re a guy. Two girls together, on the other hand, might be considered hot. I hate that double standard so much.
“Nope. Don’t tell me you bought into the rumor mill.” I cock a brow at them.
“I knew it was crap,” Tara says.
“So … we were wondering,” Kenny adds.
“Yes?” Lila looks tremendously amused.
“Can we sit with you, every other lunch period?” Tara asks in a rush.
“Not every day?” I wonder aloud.
Kenny grins. “Nah. Even if he’s been a grumpy ass lately, we’re not ditching Ryan. We thought you guys could share custody.”
“This is so adorable, I could barf.” Lila is choking on her fries.
“It’s cool with me if Mel, Kimmy, Theo, and Shanna don’t mind.” I cast an inquiring look at the sophomores who have first claim on the table.
“Not a problem,” Mel decides.
Lila sighs. “This is starting to feel like a babysitting job.”
“You can walk away anytime. My broken heart will mend.” I grin at her, seeing the ridiculous in our situation.
She laughs.
“It’s not that I mind people thinking we’re together,” I say later, walking with Lila back to our lockers. “On principle. But you might like someone, and if they think you’re taken…”
That’s exactly what Ryan did to me.
“They won’t ask me out,” she finishes. “There is someone, but he’s emotionally unavailable at the moment. So, not a big deal.”
“This crap is so complicated,” I mumble.
She grins. “Should I put my arm around you to fuel the rumors?”
“Only if you want them never to die.”
In a school this size, she and I will be lesbians forever to some people, even now, just from a mean joke Dylan Smith made to some football buddies. Man, what is wrong with people? If Lila and I were really struggling, the looks, snickers, and whispered jokes would be unbearable. High school really is hell. I think of Jon Summers and I want to get back at the ones who drove him to it. I know how. It’s hard not to imagine all the ways I could make them sorry.
But I’m not like that anymore. I don’t do bad things.
They can hurt me only if I let them, right? And I’m used to people laughing at me. If I didn’t have a certain level of fortitude, I’d have given up on the Post-its long ago.
I head to chem, leaving an encouraging note on a locker along the way. Ryan’s already there with the day’s project ready to go. He looks tired, eyes red behind his glasses, like he’s not sleeping well. Because I’m mad at him, I don’t want to feel a pang of remorse. If I forgive him now, I can stop flailing around looking for a new life. But looking at him hurts. I’m not ready to spend Friday nights watching movies, pretending nothing’s changed. When everything has.
“You look beautiful,” he says, as I sit down.
I push out a pained breath. “Thanks. Can we focus on the work, please?”
“I miss you.” He ignores my request, like I don’t know what I need. It’s only been since Friday, one weekend, two school days. Only in his mind is this a long time.
“Ryan, don’t make me ask for a new partner.” I totally will; it’s not a bluff.
“Right. Sorry.” His face shuts down, and this time, I participate fully in the experiment.
I can’t sit and watch because that’s not okay anymore; since I’m not giving him the support I used to, I can’t coast on his work. Probably, I shouldn’t have done that before. I’ve let Ryan handle too many things for me in the past few years. I told myself it was fine because we were like two sides of a coin or something, but it was really just me letting go of the reins.
After school, I hit Shane’s two last classes, and then I have a full list of his assignments, plus his address. Are you really gonna just show up at his house? It’s so unlike me. I don’t know what I’ll say, how I’ll explain it so I don’t come off like a total headcase, but I don’t even care. Hopefully he’ll be glad to see me, or happy not to fall behind on his homework. He said he couldn’t afford more trouble and bad grades qualify for most people, though it’s not the kind that gets you sent to juvie.
Lila’s not at her locker when I get to mine after making my rounds. She probably got a ride home in the gray van today. Just as well. I’d hate to explain why I look like I’m about to vomit all over my shoes. Shouldering my backpack, I head out to the bike rack, where mine is the last one still chained up. Feeling like a spy, I ride over to the library to check the directions. I have his address, and I know it’s out in the country, but I’m not sure how far.
Five minutes later, Google gives me an answer.
Holy crap. Five miles. Do I want to see him that bad?
