Marney in the Middle

Chapter 6: Night at the Billboard

The remainder of Tuesday through Friday was equal parts sluggish and a blur. Mr. Herkabe continued his fight against our happiness, no shocker there, while Malcolm and I started to talk a bit more. I know I should avoid him, but being friends seems smarter than ignoring him since I'm going out with his brother tomorrow.

I slide further down into my bubble bath until only my nose up is above water. Just thinking about tomorrow makes my insides flip-flop. I've only seen Reese a handful of times since we rescheduled and it was always in passing. We haven't decided what we'll be doing, when we'll meet and . . . if it's a date.

Thanks to Toria, I realized on Wednesday I never clarified.

'Was I supposed to,' I had asked, looking up from my psychology textbook. My mind wasn't invested in the lecture when I realized Malcolm was in that class, too. Like holy crap. Is he everywhere?

'Yes,' she said with a dubious expression. Her face softened after a few seconds. 'I didn't say anything, huh?'

Nope, you didn't, I think now as I wiggle my fingers through the thick layer of bubbles. Some fly up into my face and a sputter out a few coughs before scooting back up.

It's not entirely her fault. Guidelines told me to be direct and take charge. Clearly stating it was a date should have been obvious. Should have been, but wasn't. To me.

Because you're oblivious.

A series of loud knocks on the bathroom door cause my heart to jump into my throat. "Marn, get out here. You have to see this."

"Right now?"

"Yes," Toria says simply.

I sigh and stand up. Not like this helped anyway. Unplugging the drain, I turn on the shower and quickly rinse off the soap. Dried and in my lilac colored robe with a matching towel holding my hair on the top of my head, I open the door to our bedroom and peak out. Toria is seated on the edge of my bed. She has her knees pulled up to her chest so she can paint her nails. Her golden-brown eyes dart to my face and she points to her desk.

"Unmute it."

Our shared 27-inch TV, which rests on the light brown wood desk she never uses, is angled to face her. I obey and pull up my desk chair to sit by the foot of my bed. The news is on. A woman in a red ski jacket with a familiar looking face is perched on the stairs.

"We're here now with the mother of these three brave boys," the reporter says. "Can you tell us how you're feeling?"

The woman, who looks like an actual deer in headlights for .5 seconds, shoots the reporter and her camera a glare. "No comment," she says as she gets up and pushes through the crowd.

Her voice is unforgettable. Lois. Reese and Malcolm's mom.

"What's going in," I ask Toria.

"Reese, your bad boy, is up on that billboard above Payson Outlet Story - you know, the one with the stripper - protesting women's rights."

My mouth drops open. Really? That's . . . unexpected. From the few times we did see each other this past week, he didn't appear passionate about anything but beating kids up and playing pranks. But women's rights? My stomach does a flip-flop. Maybe he's more than just good looks and a perfect candidate to complete assignment one.

"Flies," Toria mumbles. I quickly close my mouth. "Wait, you don't actually buy this, do you?"

I force my gaze from a shot of Reese, Malcolm and a younger boy standing in front of the billboard with the hands linked and held above their heads. "Huh?"