pleasantly, “Mrs. Bourne.”
Mrs. Bourne jumps as if he’d pinched her, looking at him in surprise.
I look at him in surprise too. I didn’t even hear the bell tinkle when he came in the door. I blink at him, thinking, What is he doing here? He is standing beside me, his hands tucked in the pockets of the crimson windbreaker he’s wearing. He is smiling at Mrs. Bourne, and then he turns the smile to me.
“Hello,” he says to me, like we aren’t in the middle of a fight.
I frown at him thunderously, to remind him that we are in the middle of a fight.
“Were you heading home?” Ben continues innocently, ignoring my murderous look.
“Yes, I believe she was,” Mrs. Bourne answers for me.
My frown deepens. I direct it at the overstocked shelf so as not to offend Mrs. Bourne.
“It’s getting dark,” says Ben. “I’ll walk you.” Ben turns to Mrs. Bourne, still smiling in a friendly way. “We’ll be off, then. Nice to meet you.”
I don’t want to walk home with Ben, but I also don’t want to start a scene in front of Mrs. Bourne, so I just follow him out of the store.
As soon as we get out into the street, I demand, “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d check out this sewing in person.”
Again with the sewing! And nothing about the disagreement we had actually had! I am so exasperated by him. “That’s not your job, you know,” I tell him hotly.
“What’s not?”
“Following me around creepily, like a stalker.”
Ben stops walking, turning to me, his hands still in his pockets. I stop walking too, because this feels like an argument best had face-to-face. “I’m not stalking you. You told me where you worked, so I went to see you at work.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“You’ve been avoiding the Common. How else was I supposed to talk to you?”
“You weren’t . I’ve been avoiding you . You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I just wanted to make sure it was safe.” Ben sounds bewildered by my anger.
“That’s not your job!” I shout at him again.
“You’re upset because I want you to be safe?” he asks incredulously.
“ Yes! ” And I realize suddenly, in that moment, that is what I’m upset about. I’m so tired of being worried about, fretted over, of being on my guard against invisible threats. I’m tired of being wrapped up in so much protection. I want to go out and live my life and not worry , and instead, all the worry in my household is infectious, hanging over me like a cloud. I worry about everything . I worry about people knowing my parents. I worry about the little old lady I work for. I worry about going to Salem Willows with friends. I worry and worry and worry and I’m sick of it. And I know it all comes from the people around me, the people who love me, being so constantly worried about me. I feel if I don’t get out from under it, I’m going to scream.
“I am upset about that! I can take care of myself! I promise! I can even go out and get a job and walk to and from it every day without a babysitter showing up! It’s amazing and remarkable, but I can do it !”
Ben stares at me, looking absolutely floored. “But—”
“I can even go on a date! Yes! Alone and unsupervised! I can even survive that ! Like a normal person !”
Ben’s eyes narrow, and in other times I would have been pleased that he sounds miffed when he says, “What date?”
But I am too far gone in anger to care overly much how Ben feels right now. I turn on my heel to stalk away.
“Wait a second,” says Ben sounding confused, and lunges forward to grab at my arm before I can walk away. “A date with who?”
I glare daggers at him. I hope. “Why do you care who it’s with? Do you think you have any say in that at all? Do you think you have the right to order me around about that too? It isn’t a date with you , because you’ve never asked me, have you?”
Ben blinks. He looks a little bit dazed, and I wish I wasn’t so angry that I couldn’t
Mrs. Bourne jumps as if he’d pinched her, looking at him in surprise.
I look at him in surprise too. I didn’t even hear the bell tinkle when he came in the door. I blink at him, thinking, What is he doing here? He is standing beside me, his hands tucked in the pockets of the crimson windbreaker he’s wearing. He is smiling at Mrs. Bourne, and then he turns the smile to me.
“Hello,” he says to me, like we aren’t in the middle of a fight.
I frown at him thunderously, to remind him that we are in the middle of a fight.
“Were you heading home?” Ben continues innocently, ignoring my murderous look.
“Yes, I believe she was,” Mrs. Bourne answers for me.
My frown deepens. I direct it at the overstocked shelf so as not to offend Mrs. Bourne.
“It’s getting dark,” says Ben. “I’ll walk you.” Ben turns to Mrs. Bourne, still smiling in a friendly way. “We’ll be off, then. Nice to meet you.”
I don’t want to walk home with Ben, but I also don’t want to start a scene in front of Mrs. Bourne, so I just follow him out of the store.
As soon as we get out into the street, I demand, “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d check out this sewing in person.”
Again with the sewing! And nothing about the disagreement we had actually had! I am so exasperated by him. “That’s not your job, you know,” I tell him hotly.
“What’s not?”
“Following me around creepily, like a stalker.”
Ben stops walking, turning to me, his hands still in his pockets. I stop walking too, because this feels like an argument best had face-to-face. “I’m not stalking you. You told me where you worked, so I went to see you at work.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“You’ve been avoiding the Common. How else was I supposed to talk to you?”
“You weren’t . I’ve been avoiding you . You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I just wanted to make sure it was safe.” Ben sounds bewildered by my anger.
“That’s not your job!” I shout at him again.
“You’re upset because I want you to be safe?” he asks incredulously.
“ Yes! ” And I realize suddenly, in that moment, that is what I’m upset about. I’m so tired of being worried about, fretted over, of being on my guard against invisible threats. I’m tired of being wrapped up in so much protection. I want to go out and live my life and not worry , and instead, all the worry in my household is infectious, hanging over me like a cloud. I worry about everything . I worry about people knowing my parents. I worry about the little old lady I work for. I worry about going to Salem Willows with friends. I worry and worry and worry and I’m sick of it. And I know it all comes from the people around me, the people who love me, being so constantly worried about me. I feel if I don’t get out from under it, I’m going to scream.
“I am upset about that! I can take care of myself! I promise! I can even go out and get a job and walk to and from it every day without a babysitter showing up! It’s amazing and remarkable, but I can do it !”
Ben stares at me, looking absolutely floored. “But—”
“I can even go on a date! Yes! Alone and unsupervised! I can even survive that ! Like a normal person !”
Ben’s eyes narrow, and in other times I would have been pleased that he sounds miffed when he says, “What date?”
But I am too far gone in anger to care overly much how Ben feels right now. I turn on my heel to stalk away.
“Wait a second,” says Ben sounding confused, and lunges forward to grab at my arm before I can walk away. “A date with who?”
I glare daggers at him. I hope. “Why do you care who it’s with? Do you think you have any say in that at all? Do you think you have the right to order me around about that too? It isn’t a date with you , because you’ve never asked me, have you?”
Ben blinks. He looks a little bit dazed, and I wish I wasn’t so angry that I couldn’t
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