Bad Will Hunting

by Heather Wardell

  “You’re not even eligible to win the money, are you? Seems like it’s just that girl MC or your ex,” Sally says, patting me on the shoulder. “Poor you.”

  I pull away, hating the feel of her hand on me. She’s right, but her sympathy is about as real as the plastic jewels on Kent’s cheesy throne at exile ceremonies, and even less attractive.

  Sally’s best buddy Charity, possibly the world’s most ironically named human, says, “Aw, leave her alone. She must be so devastated about not winning the money.”

  “No comment.”

  “But Sally’s right, it can’t be you,” she says, her voice oozing compassion like pus from a wound. “And it didn’t even look like you’d get back together with your ex. Cute guy like that? Of course you wanted him back. And then he’s all interested in Summer and you have nothing. No money, no man. It’s awful.”

  And talking about it isn’t making it any better. She’s wrong that I want Kent back, since the days we spent together on the island reminded me that while he was a nice guy we really didn’t have that much of a connection. But I did hate how much attention he paid to Summer. She’s one of those annoying people whose life just runs perfectly smoothly, and mine’s got more bumps than the beds in our island shelter.

  The money was supposed to take care of all those bumps. With a million dollars, even splitting it with Brett, I would finally have been able to create a good and happy life. The kind of life I’ve always wanted.

  None of that will happen now. Like Grandmother taught me, hoping just causes more pain. I should have known better than to try. But revenge... that’ll make me feel better. I know it. With Will’s help, I’ll--

  My phone, inside my locker, buzzes to signal an email, and I scramble to get at it. If Will’s emailed I’ll have something good to think about while I work.

  Nope. I’m like Charlie Brown, always trusting that life will actually hold the football for me instead of pulling it away and making me fall on my ass. I’m an idiot.

  Dear Ashley,

  I hope your transition back to your regular life is going well. Please do email or call me so we can arrange when we will talk, as we discussed in Vegas.

  Thanks, and have a great day.

  Ellen

  I won’t have a great day and I won’t contact Dory. Forget it. I delete the email, then empty my trash folder so I’m sure it’s gone and stuff my phone back into my locker.

  As I close the door again, an arm slaps around my shoulders with unnecessary force. I jump, then pull away when I realize it belongs to Marshall.

  “I’d go out with you,” he says, like he’s doing me a favor. “Even if you’re still broke like us. I’d want you to dress up a little, but otherwise--”

  “Otherwise, nothing. Not in a million years. Can we get to work already?”

  “Sure, fine,” he says, somehow managing to sound like I’ve offended him, and turns to head onto the factory floor.

  The others follow, most ignoring me as usual but Sally and Charity shooting me nearly matching looks of disgust, and I stand alone in the locker room for a moment wishing three things.

  That I could somehow never again have to set foot in this dingy factory or set eye on my decades-older-than-me-and horrible-reminder-of-where-my-life-will-end-up coworkers.

  That I could be Summer, just for one day, to know what it’s like to not be one of the people the universe uses as its toilet.

  And that this stupid factory had a bar.

  Chapter Five

  After three days of frustrating boredom at work and two nights of fierce revenge-planning against the show, I meet Will on Wednesday for dinner. It’s been an even worse day than usual, because today would have been Brett’s thirty-second birthday and I can’t stand that he’s gone, and the only thing that’s been keeping me from completely losing my mind is the idea of talking to Will and figuring out how to proceed with my case against the show’s producers.

  “You look different,” Will says, tipping his head to one side, when he walks up to me outside the restaurant. “What did you do?”

  I touch my hair, which I’ve got swept back into one of the fancy braids I saw in the airport, and he nods. “That’s it. You dyed it, right?”

  “Yup. I was bored with the blonde, but mostly I didn’t want to be recognized. It came out a bit more red than the brown I expected but it’s okay. And I also put my war paint on.”

  His eyes sweep over my face, landing on my heavily made-up eyes, blush-contoured cheeks, and red lipstick. I wore no makeup on the show, of course, so I figured wearing it now might throw people off. “You sure did. You know I can still see you under there, right?”

  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to this, and he laughs. “Never mind. Ready for dinner?”

  Feeling off-balance, and not liking it, I follow him into the little Thai restaurant. Once we’re seated, I make a quick selection from the menu then pull out my papers.

  “Whatcha got there?” Will glances up from his menu then looks back down.

  “More stuff the show did to me.”

  After a second, his eyes rise again. “Really? Okay. Sure. Let me decide what I’m eating and I’ll check it out.”

  I sit, impatiently shuffling through the pages, while he studies the whole menu twice before saying, “Pad Thai. Good enough,” and waving over our waiter.

  When we’re alone again, I push the papers over to Will.

  “I’ve got clients in the office, real clients, who aren’t as pushy as you. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” I say, annoyed. “And I’m a real client too.”

  “Really? You’re paying me?” He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table atop my papers. “And exactly how are you doing that?”

  “Well, not now, obviously. I’m broke. But when I get compensation from the show I’ll give you a percentage. That’d work, right?”

  “Ah. Sure.”

  He leans back, looking disappointed, and I realize too late that he was flirting with me. I can’t remember the last time someone did, other than Aaron on the show but he flirts with everyone, so I didn’t recognize it. Trying to fight down the heat in my face, I say, “Or I could buy you dinner?” I don’t like spending money unnecessarily, but I do owe him for what he’s doing.

  He winks at me. “Deal. Okay, give me a second with this stuff.”

  He flips through my pages and I sit and watch his green eyes moving and wonder if I might get both a lawyer and a boyfriend out of this.

  Honestly, as long as I get the former I don’t really care about the latter. He is cute, and he made my plane trip back from Vegas way better than it would have been if I’d been alone to think about Brett, but I need him to get me my revenge before I can even think about getting together with him. I can’t move on until I deal with my past.

  He looks over my last page, then sets the paperwork down. “Wow. You’ve put a ton of time into this.”

  “Every night since I got home. Except tonight, of course. So? What happens now?”

  He drums his fingers atop the page. “Honestly?”

  A shiver of anger ripples through me, making me twitch. “Of course honestly. How else?”

  He holds up his hands as if begging me not to shoot. “You’re... intense, Ashley. Like, crazy intense.”

  Our food’s arrival prevents him from going on, but once the waiter’s left Will starts eating and doesn’t seem to be considering his response.

  “Will, come on. Answer me.”

  He raises his head, a half-smile growing. “I will. I swear. But let’s eat first, okay? Eat, and talk about other stuff. Nothing work-related. Tell me, how’s Silver doing?”

  I stare at him, shocked he remembers.

  His smile widens. “Silver? Your bird?”

  “I... yeah, she’s fine. My grandmother took care of her. My aunt was supposed to do it but she’s left town, since it’s too hard for her remembering Brett here.”

 
Even just saying his name makes me feel sick and hopeless and angry. So many horrible people live to be ancient and someone awesome like Brett dies in his thirties? Life truly isn’t fair.

  Will gives me a sympathetic smile and asks how long it took me to get home from the airport, and we talk throughout our meal but every time he stops even for a second my mind goes back to Brett and everything I’ve lost. A month ago I’d have been in awe at my luck in finding someone like Will, but now I’d give up everything to have Brett back.

  When we’re finished eating Will insists on paying even though I remind him I said I would. “I asked you out,” he says as he drops the gold credit card he showed me on the plane onto the bill, “so I pay. You’re going to pay me back by cooking for me some time.”

  I burst out laughing, while he stares at me with a blank expression. “Good luck with that. I can barely boil water. I fished on the island, but someone else had to cook it.”

  He takes a deep breath, then lets it out without speaking when the waiter arrives to run his credit card. Once that’s finished, Will picks up his leather jacket from the back of his chair and says, “Well, then, I guess you’ll just have to take me out next time.”

  “Okay,” I say, still amused, then realize we never got back to my paperwork. I pick it up and wave it at him. “What about this, though?”

  He gives my shoulder a squeeze and turns me toward the door. “Next time. I’ll think on it, you think on it, and we’ll get it worked out together. Okay?”

  Not really, but his tone doesn’t make it seem like he’s willing to sit back down and talk to me. “Will...”

  He wraps his arm around my waist and draws me in. “Let’s grab a picture. I haven’t got one of you yet.”

  He has his phone out in a second, and I smile automatically as he snaps a quick shot of the two of us together, then he releases me and starts walking so I have to follow. “I promise, Ashley. We’ll deal with all this stuff. Next time, for sure.”

  I have so many questions but he’s not giving me any room to ask them, so I go with the most important one. “And when’ll that be?”

  He doesn’t respond until we get outside, at which point he takes hold of my shoulders and gives me a quick kiss before I realize it’s about to happen. “Soon,” he says, smiling at me. “Very soon. I’ll email you.”

  “You’d better,” I say, confused about how we got to the kiss stage already but also liking the way my lips feel. I haven’t been kissed in so long.

  “Guaranteed.” He winks at me. “How about a good night kiss, though?”

  Wasn’t that what we just did?

  Apparently not. Before I can speak, he leans in and kisses me again. This time his mouth lingers on mine and the kiss gets hungrier as my long-held-back body heats up, and when I give a little whimper he pulls back and kisses me on the nose. “You’re still pretty, but I prefer the blonde hair. Have a great night and I’ll email you soon.”

  “Bye,” I mumble, and as he walks away, without looking back, I hope he’s half as good at coming up with a plan to get me revenge as he is at getting me to kiss him.

  Chapter Six

  “So two medium pizzas, right?”

  Becky agrees, and I take a breath but Shannon jumps in before I can speak. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get salad too. I remember.”

  “Actually,” I say, annoyed by her snarky tone, “I was going to tell you not to bother.”

  She fakes enormous shock while Becky, whose shock seems real, says, “How come?”

  I shrug. “I was training for the show. That’s over. Why keep it up?”

  “Um...” Becky gestures from my head to my feet. “Because you look awesome?”

  “It’s way more trouble than it’s worth. All that exercise and deprivation? Screw it.” In fact, every time I see my extra-thin body in the mirror I get angry again about how hard Brett and I worked and how pointless it all wound up being. I’m half looking forward to being fat again so I won’t have that constant reminder of what was supposed to happen.

  “Attagirl,” Shannon says, poking Becky in her admittedly rather flabby arm. “She’s one of us again, Becks. Now, lava cakes or garlic bread?”

  “Or?”

  “As you command, princess,” Shannon says, laughing and moving away because she knows I’m going to try to slap her, which I do. “And after the week I’ve had, you’re definitely right. We’ll get both. You and I both deserve all the carbs on the planet. And Becky can have some too.”

  Shannon returns to punching in the order, and Becky says to me, “So is it going okay, getting back to the real world? I wish we could have seen you earlier. I’ve missed you.”

  I’m surprised at this, and a bit touched, but as I try to find a reply Shannon sets aside her laptop and says, “That’s only because you couldn’t see me either, Becky. You have no life outside us.” She sighs, then squeals when Becky slaps her. “Don’t! I’ve had enough torture to last me a lifetime. God, this week! If I ever have to make that stupid voice again it’ll be too soon.”

  “I’m Raccy-Rac the raccoon!” Becky and I say together in our best imitations of the voice Shannon invented for her animated-movie role.

  Shannon swats us both at once. “Jerks. But it’s all wrapped up now. Not that I got anywhere close to the credit I should have. Katie the cutie,” she says, rolling her eyes at her own mention of her tiny pretty blonde enemy at the studio, “just talks like herself and everyone raves over her stupid opossum, but I come up with something totally different and nobody even notices never mind gives me a compliment. They act like Katie’s the queen of the world and totally ignore me.”

  Since Shannon, by her own admission, behaves like a diva at work, showing up late and insisting on long breaks when her throat might be so much as considering getting sore, I think she’s probably lucky that they’re just ignoring her rather than cutting her down to size, but Will’s been ignoring me the last few days and my frustration at that makes me say, “Then make them stop.”

  Shannon rolls her eyes again. “Great idea, Einstein. How, exactly?”

  “Work harder, maybe? Or longer hours?”

  “I work way too hard as it is,” Shannon snaps at Becky. “Nearly ten-hour days every day this week. And yesterday, and you know I like my Saturdays to myself so I can relax and make sure my voice heals and I don’t get sick.”

  Becky says, “Just a suggestion,” but I talk over her and say, “Sick. That’s it. Know anyone with a cold right now? Get ‘em to lick a microphone to germ it up and then make sure Katie uses it.”

  “Ew, seriously?”

  I’m getting into my plan now and Becky’s response doesn’t slow me down. “But that might not be enough so mess up a cup or something too. Then she’ll have to be off work while she gets better and you can volunteer to take over her part. Is there a cup she always uses?”

  “There is,” Shannon says slowly. “She’s got this mug she claims makes her tea taste better.” Her eyes light up. “And actually my disgusting brother is sick at the moment, and he hates Katie because he asked her out and she laughed at him.” For a moment she looks torn; she and Randy have never gotten along so on one level she’s probably glad he got rejected but at the same time he’s her brother and nobody’s supposed to hurt him but her. She resolves her dilemma by saying, “Might as well make some use of him instead of just listening to him hack and sneeze. I could sneak her mug and mic out tomorrow. And I can already do her opossum voice well enough, so that part would work too.” Then she shakes her head, giving me a sideways look. “Wow, even for you, that’s bitchy.”

  “Even for... what’s that supposed to mean?”

  She laughs, and Becky says, “You are kind of into revenge.”

  “What? I am not,” I say, although my voice lacks conviction because I know they know better.

  Sure enough, Becky giggles and says, “What about the principal’s home phone number on that billboard outside the school on our last day? Or in grade ten when you took
all of Miss Sweeney’s teddy bears that she was nuts about and made it look like one of them had gone on a rampage and killed the others?”

  “Or when you stole all the cheerleaders’ uniforms,” Shannon says, laughing so hard she can hardly speak, “and washed them on hot then put them back and they were all freaking out because they’d gained weight?”

  I have to laugh too. “That one was fun,” I admit. “That Julie bitch was gonna take a whole box of laxatives before the coach caught on.”

  Becky wipes her eyes. “They deserved it, I guess. They were so mean to everyone else.”

  “For sure they did,” Shannon says, “and Katie does too. You’re a vengeful monster, Ashley, but you’re good at it.”

  I hope so. I need to be, to get the producers back.

  We settle in to watch some TV before the pizza’s arrival. Shannon starts up Friday’s episode of “Celebrity Lifestyles” and soon we’re lost in our favorite pastime: being judgmental about how famous people spend their money and live their lives.

  “Look at that,” Becky says, shaking her head, as Angel Dove the mediocre singer/actress prances around showing off her three walk-in closets. “Between us, we don’t have that many clothes.”

  “And one of her things is worth all of ours,” I agree, more aggravated than usual at how such a vacant person has everything and I have nothing.

  “Which is funny, since there’s basically nothing to them,” Shannon puts in, pointing at the skimpy white dress Angel wears.

  We mutter darkly about ridiculous expense and excess while Angel tours her purse room, but when she pulls open another door and says, “And here are my shoes,” I catch sight of a gorgeous pair of silver heels near the doorway and a little sigh escapes me.

  “What is it with you and silver shoes? Every time we see a pair, you go loopy. You’re like Becky with lava cakes.”

  The pizza arrives then, cutting off the discussion, and by the time we’re back at the couch with full plates Shannon seems to have forgotten her question.

  I haven’t, though. I last saw my parents when I was six, when they were dropping me off with Grandmother and Grandfather so they could tour the world with the circus troupe they’d joined. The world’s biggest cliché, a couple of twenty-somethings running away with the circus, but I’d lived it. I can’t picture either of them very well any more, not that I ever try, but the shimmery silver heels my mother was wearing when they left represented freedom to me back then, and passion, and the ability to go after whatever you wanted no matter what happened.