Silently, she holds out a handful of napkins, one eyebrow raised. Beth just sighs and hugs Summer a little closer. The redhead’s sobs are starting to slow, and she smears at her face, rubbing away tearstreaks. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” she mumbles again.
Zenobia shakes her head. “You didn’t. He’s an egotistical jerk, Summer; we’ve been saying that for weeks. He’s going to do anything he can to get to you, and apparently that includes attacking peple you’re with now. Let’s just,” she sighs, “go and get that ice cream, and we’ll go home and watch Fellowship of the Ring. It’ll make you feel better.”
Summer casts a still-tearful glance at Stiles. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t know this would happen, I promise.” Beth lets her go and stands up, brushing at her jeans, and Summer turns to face Stiles a bit more directly. She reaches out, brushing her fingers against his hand, and takes some of the pain away. “I guess you should probably go get that checked out … I’m /so/ sorry. Should I, um, I could explain to your dad about what happened, that it wasn’t your fault, it was me … “
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Stiles says to Summer, his expression a little lopsided and distorted due to the swelling in his nose, but still making a gamey attempt at a smile. “I’ve had worse, honestly. Kind of shocked this is the first time anyone’s broken my nose. It wasn’t your fault, that was all on that douchebag.”
He blinks down a little at her fingers when they touch his hands, not pulling away but narrowing his gaze just a little bit like he’s looking for some kind of evidence in her skin of something, like maybe he’s noticed his pain has lessened somehow. He doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he coughs a laugh, and then winces as he regrets it. “Nah, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll drive myself to the ER, Scott’s mom is probably on duty tonight anyway, she’ll look at it for me. Dad’s…not gonna exactly be shocked. I’ll tell him Jesse started it and—hey. What’s his last name? I can at least give him that, Dad’ll feel better about that, I didn’t let him do anything the last time someone beat the crap out of me.”
“Meath,” Beth supplies, “Huntington-Meath. Summer, come on. I don’t want to be here when they throw him out too.”
Summer looks vaguely mutinous, but unfolds herself from the curb. “If it’s a problem, anything, you call me, okay,” she stresses, very worried. It’s easier to not get caught in her own stupid spirals if there’s someone else to worry about. “You shouldn’t get in trouble for something that’s my fault. I just … I’m really sorry. Will you just — text me, let me know everything’s okay? Please?”
Please don’t go away because I’m such an idiot, please, I don’t want to lose you so soon …