I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.

3 - Life's not a Garden...

“Fine.” I mumbled.

Her expression nuanced to annoyance and her eyebrow quirked. “Right,”

I blinked at her, feeling a little more than agitated. Where did she get off with the attitude? “Exactly.” I quipped back. The paper towel was flaking because it was so drenched and I’d been scrubbing so hard. I kept going though.

Scarlett’s jaw clenched. “Clarisse, just get off your pedestal for awhile and talk to me would you?” Her tone had been sharp, and had artfully pierced me.

Damn. I was pissed now. I whipped the paper towel into the sink. Telling me to get off my pedestal was a metaphor for ‘stop being a superior bitch and actually let out your feelings you asswipe’. It stung more because I knew it was true too, that I was just avoiding talking about it too anyone else. Ooo man, Scarlett was inches away from being told off, but a second before I stopped myself. She’s just being a friend, Clarisse. Probably your only one, so you might as well keep her. I thought. And yes, the damn Inner Voice was right.

Damn logical consciences.

To keep myself from telling her to get out, I angrily said the first question that came to mind. “Why the hell were you named Scarlett?”

Scarlett blinked at me and seemed to relax, but still confused. She must’ve been readying herself for the nuclear explosion that usually happens when I’m pissed and I open my mouth. “Huh?” was her response.

I exhaled through my nose and closed my eyes. “Why were you named Scarlett, Scarlett?” I paused but spoke before she could. “It doesn’t match you at all. People think ‘Scarlett’ and they think some sexy, vivacious redhead with a clever mind and temper. Not small, sweet, calm and too god damned smart for their own good.”

She was quiet for a while, and I eventually looked over. I’ve always wondered this but never asked, and thought it was a cover for my raging anger, I’m glad I asked. I’m curious.

“My dad’s favorite color,” She said, and I opened my eyes to stare at her. She was staring off into space with this little smile on her face.

I couldn’t hold off my snort. “Your dad’s favorite color? That’s…yeah I don’t even know what to say to that.”

She just smiled a little wider. “My older sisters’ names are Rose and Ruby. He liked anything red, and wanted all the kids to have red names. My mom agreed. Then came Poppy, and then Marigold. And then, when we finally got Crimson, and at first mom was gonna name him James after dad, but she said it didn’t feel right. Crimson James Bilger. My poor little brother.”

I could only stare at Scarlett in shock. I didn’t even know what to feel, but the shame I felt for throwing that diss about the names almost made me sick to my stomach. Her father was dead. I’d never known that. Five kids left alone. Granted, the two oldest were out of the house and Scarlett would soon be, but the youngest, three…

Swallowing, I said to Scarlett, “So, um, when…?” I’m very obviously not good at the whole sentimental thing.

She just smiled, understanding. “Four years ago. A couple months before Crimson.”

Four years. She’d have been an eighth grader. Oh God, I feel so horrible, but what the hell can I say? I utterly suck at apologies and understanding and crap. “Um, how come…?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Scarlett glanced down at first but then look up and straight into my eyes as she answered. “Pancreatic cancer. He’d been fighting it for a few years.”

I could feel the awkwardness settle like a very heavy rock on my shoulders and back. I’m seriously not good at these situations. Like, if someone cries, I will leave, because it only makes me feel uncomfortable and stupid and useless. I reached out and barely patted her shoulder. “Sorry.” I muttered.