One Week by Nikki Van De Car Page B

dine and ditch, were you?” I say, scandalized. “It’s not like you have anywhere to run!”
    “No, no,” Jess says hurriedly. “I…the truth is, I had a twenty in my bag. For emergencies,” he explains.
    I cross my arms over my chest. “You had a twenty in your bag. When you were screaming at me in the bus station in Santa Barbara, you had a twenty in your bag?”
    “Uh, yeah.” He looks really embarrassed now. “But it really was—is—for emergencies. I have hypoglycemia, so I have to eat something every few hours, like clockwork, or I get sick. Seriously. And it’s not like twenty dollars would really have been enough to cover all that time anyway, but it….did kind of make my argument seem weaker, so I decided not to mention it.”
    “Hypoglycemia,” I say skeptically.
    “Right. It’s why I got so drunk so fast that day,” he explains. “If I ate all these Skittles,” he looks down at his diminished pile. “Well, I’d probably be fine. But if I ate all your Skittles, an hour later I’d be shaky and disoriented. It’s not pretty.”
    I stare at him, shaking my head.
    “I’m sorry,” he says humbly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I just get freaked out about not having food. It can get pretty bad. Really.”
    “How have I not noticed anything about this, if it’s so terrible?”
    “I don’t know,” Jess shrugs. “I snack a lot. I have peanuts and dried fruit and whatever. And you’re usually sleeping,” he points out.
    I check the time on my cell phone. “It’s been three hours since dinner. Do you need a snack?”
    “What, now you’re my mother?” Jess cracks, and then looks away when I don’t smile. “Uh, yeah. I guess I do.”
    He fishes around in his duffel bag and pulls out a bag of peanuts. “Want some?”
    The bag is nearly empty. “No thanks. Do you have any more of those?”
    “I can get some more at the snack bar,” he says, and tosses back a handful.
    I eye him doubtfully—if it’s as serious as he says, this seems a little cavalier to me—but I guess he knows how to deal with it. Not my problem, anyway.
    “I can’t believe you lied to me about not having any money,” I complain.
    “I really am sorry,” he says contritely. “I was tired and hung over and I hadn’t eaten in hours so, you know, I was having an episode, but it was a total dick move. I suck.”
    “Yes,” I agree. “You do.” I nod at the cards. “Now deal. I’d best take all your Skittles so they don’t turn you into an asshole or something.”
    Jess grins and finishes dealing. It occurs to me that had this conversation occurred yesterday, or even a few hours ago, we would both have been screaming at each other and Jess would have stormed off back to his coach seat and I would have sat here playing solitaire for the rest of the trip. Even after last night, we got into a fight over nothing when Jess was on the phone this morning. But now, he actually admitted he was wrong. And apologized. And I didn’t overreact and yell at him and say something mean that I’d regret. I wonder what changed?
    I study him surreptitiously as we play. He’s not a bad guy, really, once you get to know him. Which is hard to do, since he’s got this electrified wall of Keep Away thing going on. But I guess if I’m honest, I have one of those too. They can be necessary, but they aren’t exactly easy to take down once you’re used to having them up.
    But now that Jess has loosened up some, I don’t know…he’s not that bad. He’s different from what I thought at first, at least. He may yell a lot, but I have to admit he’s been pretty patient with me. And he’s kind of sweet when he’s talking about his mom and his family and all. He’s straightforward, and he’s honest, and I can’t say that I know too many people like that. It makes for a pleasant change.
    I have to say, he’s also a lot cuter than I thought he was. I mean, the hair is terrible, there’s no getting around