The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,4

are blazin’ and bangin’.”

“What?” I ask.

Fred ushers us outside silently, never interrupting Val. He learned quickly to cede the spotlight to her.

“I just realized it last period. I’m all about blazers. You’ve got those sassy new bangs. I’m blazin’. You’re bangin’. We’re blazin’ and bangin’.”

“I like it.”

“Ashland High, watch out! Val and Becca are blazin’ and bangin’ our way out of here.”

“We’re leaving in a blazin’ and bangin’ of glory.”

“Yes! I love it so hard.”

“You two are going out guns blazin’ and bangin’,” Fred says before scooping up my hand again.

“Exactly.” Val nods at Fred’s effort, even though his suggestion was so much better than mine. He basically won lunch period.

“Where’s your posse?” Val asks.

“Being studious. So it’ll just be the three of us.”

Val’s face tenses up, just slightly. It’s something only a BFF could detect. Just the three of us. This is the first time Fred’s friends haven’t joined us. We don’t usually hang out as a trio, because the single girl out always becomes the third wheel, and I won’t do that to my friend.

“How about Giovanni’s?” Fred asks. Fast food and pizza are our only options. We only have thirty-six minutes left for lunch. With such a time crunch, deliberating over where to eat is futile. Tomorrow is another lunch day.

“Sure,” I say. I look to Val, and she nods her approval.

“We can split a pepperoni calzone,” he says to me while nudging my shoulder.

“Sure.” I uncup my hand from his.

But he grabs my hand again halfway to his car. I glance behind me, and Val checks her phone. Classic “I’m uncomfortable” move. I take my hand back from Fred and hang back with Val. I refuse to be the girl who ditches her friends. Val is not a third wheel. We are a tricycle, so all wheels are necessary.

“Did you sneak candy hearts into my locker?” I whisper to Val.

Val shakes her head no, which I figured would happen. She would not leave open candy in my stale locker. Not even if she had the combination.

Fred’s Honda Civic has only two doors and one CD player. Lame. But since it came from Arizona, it has tinted back windows, which gives it infinity cool points.

He cups my hand in his again. When we get to Fred’s car, I slide into the backseat with Val. Weird looks abound.

“Becca, what are you doing?”

“Am I your chauffeur today?” Fred asks. For a split second, I picture him wearing one of those hats, and he looks adorable in it.

Val shifts away from me. I make myself at home in the backseat, stretching my feet to rest under the front seat. I can be fun Becca who values her friends. The relationship vortex hasn’t sucked me in yet.

“I want to hang with you!” I try to reach Val-esque levels of perkiness, but instead I sound like a preschool teacher on helium. “Blazin’ and bangin’.”

“You can be blazin’ and bangin’ in the front seat,” she says.

“I don’t want to ride shotgun. That puts me in charge of music selection. It’s too stressful.”

“We don’t have to listen to music,” Fred says.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say to him.

He turns around and hugs the headrest. “I don’t want to sit up here alone. That’s weird.” His playful tone is eroding. He actually seems kind of offended. I glance at Val, but her reaction is no better.

“C’mon.” Fred nudges his chin to shotgun. “We only have thirty-one minutes.”

I throw out a halfhearted laugh to ease the tension packing the car. Tension caused by me.

Val unclicks my seat belt. “I’ll be fine,” she says with an eye roll.

I look back at the school, where right now underclassmen are enjoying their cafeteria food. That was me once. Now I have a boyfriend, a series of lasts, and everything is a choice between front seats and backseats.

I rejoin my boyfriend up front.

“Ready?” Fred’s eyebrows shoot up to the sky. Awkward city. And I just got elected mayor.

“Pizza, here we come!!!” I scream out the window at the top of my lungs. If I’m going to be Mayor Awkward, I may as well embrace my position.

***

Giovanni’s Pizza proves the theorem that the more Italian-sounding the name, the better the pizza. It’s one of the rare restaurants in my town that’s been in operation since my parents were in high school. It hasn’t succumbed to the Sbarro’s across the street. You have to pity the poor souls who would eat chain store pizza over Giovanni’s.

The three of us share a