"Logan is sorry."

He flinches at the sound of my name.

"What the hell's he sorry about?"

"I don't know," I tell him.

"But you were really pissed off that night,

so I figured I should apologize."

Mickey puts his head in his hands

when he hears my answer.

"I didn't mean to yell at him."

"You always yelled at me."

I pause to let Krista translate.

"Why would you stop when I died?"

"I did not always yell at him!"

Krista raises her hand.

"You're yelling at him right now."

"Well-he-"

Mickey chokes out six

or seven

incoherent syllables

before lurching to his feet.

He stomps away,

down the boardwalk.

Fast enough for drama

but slow enough to follow.

"Sorry."

I hunch my shoulders

as Krista stands, sighing.

"Stop saying 'sorry.'

Mickey should be saying that."

"He won't."

I get up to join her.

"He's a douche."

"Your turn to talk,"

Krista tells me