by Hazel James
I couldn’t blame her, though. He was my favorite too.
“Jack will be by tonight to check on you and feed you, okay?” She flicked her tail, probably because she couldn’t lift her middle finger. So dramatic, that one.
Since I had a few minutes before Blaine would be here, I fished my phone out of my purse and texted Jack.
Me: Getting ready to leave. I’m so sorry I won’t be there.
Jack: Stop apologizing. You’re hereby forbidden from saying the word sorry.
Me: Fine. I feel awful that I won’t be there.
Jack: NO SYNONYMS EITHER.
I sent a laughing emoji and a saluting gif.
Jack: Smartass.
Me: On a serious note, you practiced your butt off and I know you’re gonna kill it when you get up there. You could probably recite your speech backward in your sleep by now.
Jack: I’m just glad it’ll all be over after tonight. I’ll leave the public speaking to you.
Me: I’ll let you know when we get to Mountainside. It should be about 2-3 hours depending on traffic.
Jack: Be careful. I love you.
Me: I will and I love you too.
I’d never get tired of hearing those three little words from him. I was still smiling when I hopped into the front seat of the Channel 3 SUV Blaine was driving. “Ready?” he asked as I buckled my seatbelt.
Inside, I was spazzing out like a teenager at a BTS concert because holy crap! I was in the car with Blaine Stavros and we were on our way to an actual out-of-town assignment! “Absolutely. I’m so excited that I had a hard time falling asleep last night. Thanks again for letting me tag along.” Ha! Three whole sentences of normal speech. Selena would be proud.
“You’ll be doing a lot more than tagging along, I can promise that.” A few weeks ago, he hinted at me doing my own standup with Remi DeCastro’s coach, Josh Hennesy. I had folders upon folders of research on my laptop—articles on Josh’s coaching style, interviews from when he and Remi first joined forces, even a few clips from his own competitive snowboarding days. I wanted to be prepared from all angles so I could show Blaine and the rest of the news staff that I had what it takes.
So tell me more about yourself,” Blaine said, turning down the volume on the radio. “Where are you from?”
“Right here in Newcastle. I graduated from NHS four years after you did.” Crap! I shouldn’t have said that. Now he probably thought I was a stalker. He’d turn around at the next red light and take me home with strict orders to stay away from him or else.
“Cool! A fellow Knight.”
“Yep.” Mentally, I wiped my forehead and steered the conversation into safer territory, asking what advice he’d give to aspiring reporters. He had tons of insight, as expected, and I found it difficult not to pull my laptop out of my bag to take notes. Listening to him relaxed me a bit, and an hour or so into our drive, I got the courage to ask something I’d been wondering for a long time.
“Where’d you get that Idaho-shaped potato pin you like to wear?”
“I found it in a dresser I bought off Craigslist. There was a whole collection of them. The guy who sold the dresser said to keep them, so I did.”
“Really? That’s so… random.” Also, a little disappointing if I was honest. The sentimental story I’d imagined turned out to be a watered-down tale of an accidental discovery. “What about the scar on your cheek? Don’t tell me you got that from the dresser too.”
“Your boyfriend didn’t tell you?”
What the heck? “Jack? Why would he know about that?”
“Because he’s the one who put it there.”
I could’ve fit this entire SUV in my mouth for how much my jaw dropped. “He did?”
Blaine met my gaze and nodded somberly. “He beat me up a couple of times when we were in school. One night, he slammed my face into a screen door and the edge of it cut me. We were too poor to afford stitches, so my mom put a butterfly Band-Aid on it. I’ve had a scar ever since.”
He casually switched lanes to pass a semi-truck while my face transformed into an exact replica of Kristen Wiig’s Aunt Linda meme when she says, Whaaaat? I needed fresh air and space to process the bomb Blaine just dropped. Instead, I settled for shifting in my seat and fiddling with the vent on the passenger side until a weak stream of air blew in my direction.
“You okay?” he asked.
How was I supposed to formulate a response when none of this made sense? “I… don’t know. It’s a lot to process.” My voice sounded strange, like a woman trying to speak around a boulder in her chest. Probably because I currently had a boulder in my chest. I thought back to the times Jack mentioned being bullied in school and the anger I felt toward the kid who taunted him for his stutter. Was it possible that Jack was the perpetrator rather than the victim? It didn’t seem likely, but why would Blaine lie to me?
“Sorry for being the bearer of bad news.” Blaine shot a sad smile over the console. “That’s not even the worst of it though. I had to change my name because of him.”
“What do you mean?”
“My name used to be Richard Blaine Stavroulidakis. I went by Ricky. In middle school, Jack started calling me Dicky Stavroulidikis, and then he shortened it to Dicky Dick. He and his friends got quite a laugh at that, and since it was alliterative and crude, it caught on like wildfire, especially with the baseball team. It got so bad that I started going by my middle name in my junior year to try and take some control back. When I turned eighteen, I legally changed my last name to Stavros and went to college out of state just to get away from it all.”
I’d never heard Jack mention anyone named Dicky Dick. Now that I thought about it, he never said his bully’s name at all. I stared at the passing cars. So many people driving along, listening to their music without realizing the life of the lady in the SUV one lane over had just imploded. Why did I have to ask about that stupid potato pin?
“Anyway, that was a long time ago.” Blaine waved his hand like that would erase the words he’d dumped on me. “Jack has probably grown up some since then, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t give you the full picture in case he still has the same short temper. I’d hate for you to get hurt like I did.”
“It’s okay,” I heard myself say, because really, what the heck else was there to say?
“I feel like I should apologize though. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Blaine’s fingers settled over my arm and he brushed his thumb back and forth. From anyone else, the gesture would’ve been sweet. This just felt… uncomfortable. The exchange added another layer of uneasiness to the already swirling mess in my brain. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to talk to Jack and I couldn’t wait two hours to do it.
“Do you mind if we make a quick pit stop? I need to use the restroom.”
Jack picked up on the second ring. “Hey, babe. Is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I caught my reflection in the cloudy mirror above the sink as I paced the dingy tile in the single-toilet bathroom. My brows were bunched together and my mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Blaine said you beat him up in middle school. Is that true?”
Jack let out a long sigh. “Not exactly.”
“Can you please elaborate?”
He groaned, or maybe it was a growl, and said, “Fuck. Hang on.” I heard a door close and then my phone switched to an incoming video call. As soon as FaceTime connected, his eyes darted around the screen. “Where are you?”
“In a gas station bathroom somewhere on Highway 55. Blaine’s out in the car. I told him I needed a restroom break.”
“Whatever he told you is either a lie or a misrepresentation of the truth. All the stories I told you about my childhood bully? It was Blaine.” He propped the phone on his desk and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you don’t have a lot of time, so maybe the easiest way is to do this interview style. Ask me anything, and I swear on this library that I’ll answer honestly.”
I bit the inside of m
y cheek. I only had a few minutes before Blaine would come looking for me, so this seemed like the best option. “Okay. Interview style it is. What happened when you beat up Blaine?”
“I didn’t beat him up. I just punched him. The first time was my thirteenth birthday party because he deliberately embarrassed me in front of everyone. The second time was later that night when he said I hit like a girl.”
“Did you slam his face into a screen door?”
“No. That happened the second time I punched him. He tried to hit me back and the door hit his face instead. I didn’t touch the door.”
“Did you call him Dicky Dick?”
“Yes. I didn’t have any issues with saying my Ds, so it was an easy win.”
“Did you get the baseball team to call him that?”
“No. My only real friend on the team was Diego. Most of the other guys were in with Ricky. That’s why I quit the team. I was tired of them messing with me during practices and games.”
“Do you know why Blaine changed his name?”
“I vaguely remember him bragging about how he was going to be on television one day and he wanted something that was easier to say and spell.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“Because this is your shot at your dream job and I didn’t want to get in the way of that. Your career goals are far more important than a stupid childhood bully.”
The cogs in my head spun as I processed the results of our rapid-fire conversation, namely that Jack didn’t shy away from answering anything and maintained eye contact the entire time. And it was Jack. The guy who built an elaborate cat condo for Taylor and counted a co-worker in her sixties as one of his closest friends. It also explained what he meant about running into his bully during trunk-or-treating and all the times he looked angry for a split second when I mentioned Channel 3.
There was no way Blaine’s story could possibly be true.
“So why did he lie?”
“Because he’s an asshole and wants to break us up. He did that shit in school all the time. When I’d start dating a girl, he’d either tell her things about me that weren’t true or he’d tease me in front of her to embarrass us both. It didn’t always work, but he never stopped trying.”
“How incredibly petty.”
Jack shrugged. “That’s Dicky Dick for you. I’m honestly surprised he waited this long to start shit with us.”
This new information gave new context to Blaine’s creepy arm-rubbing moment in the car. I left that part out, though. Jack was under enough stress as it was. “So what am I supposed to do now? I have to spend the next three days with him when all I really want to do is punch him and go home.”
That made Jack laugh. “I appreciate the solidarity, but you’re going to do the same thing you planned on doing when you left your house—go out there and kick ass. Just focus on work and ignore everything else.”
Right. Easy peasy.
A cheerful bellman opened my door when we reached The Lodge, a plain name for the behemoth resort that rested at the foot of Copper Peak. “Is this your first visit to Mountainside?” he asked as I shouldered my purse and slid off my seat.
“It is. I’m excited to be here.” And I was, despite the road trip awkwardness. After I got back in the car, I followed Jack’s advice and spent the last half of our drive buried in my notes. It allowed me to ignore Blaine without appearing rude, a win-win I high fived myself for when he wasn’t looking.
The bellman wheeled his cart to the back of the car and started unloading our bags. “Be sure to check out our happy hour. I promise you’ve never seen anything like it.”
“No alcohol for me,” I said with a smile. “Work trip.”
The man laughed and shook his head. “It’s a hot chocolate bar. My favorite is the rocky road float.”
Well, I’ll be darned. I could definitely get on board with that. I thanked him for the suggestion and followed Blaine inside the lobby to check in. The room featured two roaring fireplaces, one at either end, and décor that was equally inviting and functional. I’d seen pictures on the website when Blaine told me where we’d be staying, but still, it was a pleasant surprise to see they hadn’t been Photoshopped.
As I scanned the lobby, I spotted Remi and his coach huddled together on an ottoman, laughing at something they were watching on Remi’s phone. He looked like a normal sixteen-year-old from here, but I knew the second he strapped into his snowboard, he would transform into a gravity-defying phenom.
A new surge of excitement coursed through me. Or maybe it was the need to pee. I causally pressed my hand to my lower abdomen and confirmed it was the latter. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.” Blaine nodded and thankfully didn’t say anything about me having an overactive bladder.
In my defense, I never actually went during our pit stop.
By the time I made it back to the check in line, Blaine was already at the counter. I joined him as the clerk said, “…booked for two nights in our king deluxe room. How many hotel keys will you need?”
“Two, please.”
His words had the same effect that his fingers did earlier in the car. “Is that a backup key in case you lose the first one?” I asked, because surely this wasn’t what it looked like.
He turned toward me with a dumbfounded expression. “No, one’s for you.”
Greaaat. This was exactly what it looked like. I watched in horror as Blaine accepted the paper envelope containing the keys. “I thought you took care of the room arrangements for both of us,” I whispered hotly.
“I did.” He waved his finger between us and the clerk. “That’s what we’re doing right now.”
“We aren’t sharing a room.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’ll sleep on the couch if you’re that upset about it.”
I shot a glare at my creepy co-worker and turned to the desk clerk with a smile pasted on my face. “Hi,”—I glanced at her nametag—“Katie, we’re going to need two separate rooms. I’m totally fine if they’re on separate floors.”
Katie’s eyes went wide, and I swore I saw her take a small step back. “I’m sorry, we’re fully booked for the event. We don’t have any rooms available.”
My gaze sliced back to Blaine. “You. Lied. To. Me.” My voice was at whisper-level again, but there was no mistaking my rage.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I told you I had the reservation taken care of because I did. The room was booked eight months ago. By the time I asked if you wanted to go, the hotel was already full to capacity. I couldn’t have gotten your own room even if I tried.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘I have the reservations taken care of. All you need to worry about is doing research for the event.’ You implied I’d have my own room.”
“No, you assumed you’d have your own room and never clarified. First step of being a reporter—always ask questions, even the little ones.”
Blaine could take his reporter advice and stick it where the sun didn’t shine. I was about to tell him that when Katie cautiously interrupted. “Um, excuse me, are we finished? There’s a huge line behind you.”
“Sorry for the delay.” Blaine smiled at her like a dad who was dealing with a toddler’s tantrum. His expression was all, Kids these days, am I right? “Come on, Tuesday.” He reached for my shoulder to lead me away from the counter. I jerked back before he could touch me and clomped over to the cucumber-infused water station.
“Jack was right about you. You’re the bully, not him.”
The a-hole actually had the nerve to laugh. He was the poster child for the handsome evil villain. “Jack Price is a dipshit. If you’re too stupid to see that, well, I can’t help you.”
My hand was across his cheek in an instant. The din in the lobby was loud enough that only the people closest to us heard the slap. Now they were staring. My neck, my ears, my face—they were all burning red, just like my palm.
His
eyes narrowed to slits. “I hope you know that just cost you your job at Channel 3.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Too late, because I quit. Go fuck yourself, Dicky Dick.”
I flipped him the bird for good measure and made a beeline to the front door to find the bellman.
Jack
“Just because your speech is jacked up doesn’t mean you don’t still have a voice. If you don’t believe me, take a look at this guy.” I pushed play on a short video of Drew Lynch, a comedian who found success despite having a stutter. From my table off to the right, Mom gave me two thumbs up and mouthed, You’re doing great!
When Tuesday encouraged me to define my audience, I thought about the kind of advice that would’ve helped me when I was younger. I didn’t need a public service announcement about using reverse psychology tactics to stand up to a bully. That shit didn’t work for a kid whose vocal cords were more irregular than the geriatric population in Newcastle. What I needed was someone who’d walked in my shoes and came out the other side. I needed hope.
And tonight, in a ballroom at a hotel in Boise, I needed to deliver that advice in a way the kids in this audience would remember. So rather than being another talking head spouting off shit that had no real relevance to them, I’d added videos to make my point—including clips of me as a teenager. Mom was more than happy to cough up the footage she’d collected over the years. The first few were on the funny end, but the last one was me crying out of frustration for not being able to say the phrase “jump for joy.”
After the montage ended, I’d asked the kids in the audience if they’d ever had a moment like that—where they were so defeated by their stutter that all they could do was cry. Every single one of them raised their hand. “Well you’ll be happy to know that as a twenty-six-year-old man, I can jump for joy as much as I want.” They cheered, Mom started dabbing her eyes again, and I laughed because I was actually having fun.
