I enter my living room and find my father in the easy chair, drinking a can of beer. His white tank top has grease smudges, and his jeans are frayed at the bottom near his boots. I keep the side of my face turned away, afraid he’ll notice the bruises.
“Who was that?” he asks, his voice rumbling and drunk. He must have been looking out the window.
“A friend,” I answer. “What are you doing home?”
“Is this what you do when I’m at work? Meet up with boys? Is that what you do in my house?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not.” My father acts like I do all sorts of inappropriate and terrible things when he’s not around. The alcohol has made him paranoid.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I ask again.
“Lost my job.”
I groan. “Seriously, Dad?” I look around the room, running my hand through my hair. I suddenly notice it’s gone. That bastard.
I spin toward him. “Where is it?” I yell. “Where’s the Xbox?”
My father’s eyes look past me, not seeing me. “Sold it.”
I gasp. “You . . . sold it? It wasn’t yours!”
“It wasn’t yours, either, Savannah. Or Retha’s. She called earlier and I asked her about it.”
My heart is thumping so hard I can barely breathe. “It was for Evan,” I say. I can only imagine how upset my brother will be when he gets home. He’ll melt down completely.
My father takes a long sip of his beer and glares at me. “So who did it belong to?” he asks.
“It belongs to my friend. Now get it back!”
“Who did it belong to?” He raises his voice, and after everything I’ve been through today, it scares me. “Answer me, damn it!”
“Cameron,” I say, holding up my hands. “My friend Cameron brought it for Evan, okay?”
“The one you were just in the car with?” He curses and stands up, moving toward me.
“You’re drunk,” I snap. I don’t hang around when he’s drunk—I’m not going to sit here and listen to him cry about my mother and how it’s our fault that she left. For him only to forget the hateful things he said in the morning.
I bolt out of the room, and on my way to the door, I grab my father’s wallet off the entry table. I pluck out a twenty-dollar bill and walk out, slamming the door behind me.
I cry my way down the street, and around Broadway I flag down a taxi. I give him Cameron’s address, and the driver looks at me, his eyes lingering on my jaw—probably noticing the bruises there. But he drives anyway.
Cameron’s car is in the driveway, and I’m both relieved and scared that he’s home. Why would I come here? It was impulsive and stupid to just show up, but I have no money left to get anywhere else.
I pay the taxi driver, and as he leaves, I stand in the driveway and survey the house. I can’t believe I ran to him again. Cameron can’t help me. He can’t make it all better. And yet . . . I walk up to his door, take a deep breath, and knock.
It’s quiet at first, and I worry that he’s not actually home. I’ll be stranded, maybe still waiting in the driveway when Cameron’s parents show up.
I knock again, but before I draw my hand back, the door opens.
“Savannah?” Cameron asks. He looks downright shocked to see me.
I want to apologize for bothering him. I want to leave. Instead I stand at his front door and shrug. I have nowhere else to go.
Cameron’s expression softens, and he steps aside. “Come on,” he says. I lower my head and walk past him.
My face is sore and my clothes feel dirty from being close to Patrick. Cameron closes the door and stands behind me.
“What else happened?” he asks.
“Where are your parents?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“They’re out. Savannah . . . are you okay?”
My lip quivers, and I’m happy he’s behind me so he can’t see my face. “My father pawned your Xbox.”
“What?” Cameron asks.
“I’d told him it was Retha’s, and when he found out it wasn’t, he took it and sold it.”
“But it was for Evan,” Cameron says angrily. “I gave it to him, not your asshole father.”
“I know,” I start to say, but I fall apart. Tears stream down my cheeks and I cover my face with my hands.
And he’s here. Again. Cameron wraps me up in his arms, his chin resting on my shoulder as he hugs me tight. It’s gentle but comforting. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a touch like this, something so free of intentions.
“How’d you get here?” he asks.
“What do you care?”
“Just being curious again.”
I laugh and step out of his arms, wiping the tears off my face before turning to him. His expression doesn’t show pity; he isn’t telling me how sorry he is that my life is a disaster. Because in the end, talk is just talk. I like that he knows that.
“I stole twenty bucks from my dad,” I say.
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then leans down to slip on his sneakers. I furrow my brow, wondering what he’s doing.
“Zip up your coat,” he says. My heart sinks. Is he taking me home?
“I thought—”
He sighs like I’m being difficult and steps closer, taking the bottom of my jacket to zip it up. He stops, his fingers lingering near my neck, and I lift my eyes to his. He smiles and my entire body warms.
“I’m taking you out for pizza,” he says.
* * *
On Friday nights, Vince’s Pizza has all-you-can-eat wings. When we arrive, the lot is full and we have to park at a convenience store down the block. It’s extra cold tonight, and I almost take Cameron’s arm to warm up. Instead I wrap my arms around myself, and we cross under the awning to the restaurant.
“I’ve never been here,” I say to Cameron. “Is it any good?”
Cameron scrunches his nose like he can’t decide and holds open the glass door for me to enter first. I’m intimidated. The place is busy—long picnic-style tables line the room with platters of wings in the center. It’s loud and rowdy in here, tons of people. I don’t recognize any of them, although they seem to be about my age. The smell of pizza and wing sauce clings to everything, and it makes my mouth water.
“Two, please,” Cameron tells the girl at the hostess stand, and turns to survey the room. The girl smiles widely and leans her boobs onto the stand.
“Cameron?” she says. “Holy shit—you haven’t been here in forever.”
He glances back at her, taking a minute to place her, and then nods. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “It’s been a long time.”
The girl’s eyes drift past him and quickly take stock of my appearance. Her mouth settles into a smile, and she grabs two menus. “Right this way,” she says, and leads us through the room to a small table that’s still being cleaned.
Cameron and I sit at the still-damp table, and the hostess hands us the menus and says our server will be right over.
“I used to come here a lot,” Cameron says when she’s gone. He runs his eyes over the menu, even though I don’t think he’s actually reading it.
“Guessed as much. She seemed to miss you.”
He smiles and looks up, as if flattered that I’m jealous. I’m not. I mean, not really. “She was probably hoping I was here with Marcus,” he says. “You’re the only one trying to pick me up, Sutton.”
I laugh. “You’re a terrible person,” I say.
A server appears at the end of the table, a guy with buzzed black hair and sauce stains on his apron. He pulls out a notepad. “What can I get you?” he asks impatiently. He notices Cameron and holds out his hand. “Oh, shit. What’s up, man?”
Cameron slaps his hand, and the two of them laugh. I keep my head down, assuming Cameron is embarrassed to be seen with me, but instead he calls my name. Terrified, I slowly look up.
“Savannah,” he says, hiking his thumb at the server. “This is Reggie. We went to
school together.”
“Yeah, until this fucker got his ticket out,” Reggie says, smiling. “Hate you, man. Captain Douchebag has been unbearable since you left. Heard they’re renaming the library.”
“Good,” Cameron says.
Reggie says it’s nice to meet me—he even sounds like he means it. As he and Cameron catch up, I glance around the room again. I watch these people and try to imagine Cameron here with them, eating pizza and wings. Playing darts. I can’t help but think he doesn’t fit, though. Maybe he used to.
“All right,” Reggie says. “I’ll be back with some wings for you guys.” He slaps Cameron’s hand again and leaves. When he’s gone, I check out Cameron.
“Why’d you bring me here?” I ask.
“For pizza.”
“You wanted to prove your friends aren’t assholes,” I say.
“Not true. I didn’t know any of my friends would be here tonight. I haven’t been back since I left school.”
“Kicked out,” I correct.
“Hey! What happened to you being nice to me?” he asks.
“I said that maybe I’d start being nice to you.”
“That’s right.”
Reggie drops off two sodas, and as I dip my straw in and take a sip, Cameron leans his elbows on the table. He moves in closer and studies my face. “Would your friends like it here?”
The mention of my friends hits me hard in the chest. I’m not quite sure how to exist without them—don’t know how to keep it together until they get back. But I have to. It’s not like I have another choice.
“Yeah,” I say to Cameron. “They probably would. Although Retha would get in a fight.”
Cameron continues watching me. “I can get Evan another Xbox if you want,” he says casually, as if I won’t notice his charity. I bet he’s been waiting to ask this since I got to his house.
“No,” I tell him. “Besides, my dad will just sell it again.”
Cameron clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t push the issue. I can’t let him get us another video game system, not even for my brother.
“Does your dad . . .” He pauses. “He doesn’t hit you or anything, right?”
I hold his eyes. He’s so concerned for me. Only Retha and Travis love me like this. Why does he?
“No.” I shake my head. “I’d stab him if he did.”
Cameron smiles softly. “I guess you would.”
“My dad is tired,” I say. “He’s tired of life. He’s tired of Evan. He’s tired of me. He thinks that if Evan weren’t born, my mom wouldn’t have left.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t really blame him,” Cameron says.
“No,” I say. “He does. And when I get home tonight, he’ll still be drunk.”
“Then you shouldn’t go home,” Cameron says.
“Cool idea, but I’m not really into sleeping on park benches.”
Reggie arrives at our table with a silver tray stacked high with wings. He sets it down, a few wings falling off the pile and onto the checkered plastic tablecloth. The hot sauce burns the inside of my nose in the best way and I can’t stop smiling as he gives us napkins and tells us to enjoy. I can’t remember the last time I had chicken wings.
Cameron’s the first to grab a wing, and just as he bites down, I notice the door of the restaurant open. My smile falters and I gasp in a breath. Cameron lowers his food.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, wiping his mouth.
I don’t answer at first. Because Patrick is in the doorway with three of his blockhead friends, joking with the hostess. The bruises on my face begin to ache, and fear ices my skin. I saw the hatred in his eyes earlier. I can’t let him hurt me again.
“We have to go,” I whisper to Cameron.
“What? But the food just—”
“Please,” I say, ducking down. I hate how scared I am. And I hate that Cameron will want to know why.
He stares me down, but then he nods. “Yeah, all right,” he says, taking out his wallet and tossing down some cash. “But we’re stopping for ice cream.”
I force a smile, hoping we’ll make it out before Patrick notices me. Cameron looks longingly at the wings, and then pushes back in his chair. But before he can stand, Patrick looks around from the front of the room, possibly searching for someone he knows, and his eyes come to pause on me.
The air in the room is sucked out, and I quickly lower my head.
“Is that . . . ?” I hear Patrick call loudly. He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know he’s talking about me. I harden myself against him, tightening my jaw and clenching my fists below the table.
Cameron stands, but I don’t move, scared to draw any more attention. I wouldn’t have gotten past him anyway. Patrick walks down the aisle, glaring at me.
“Look what we’ve got here,” he says, sounding amused. “Slutton’s on a date.”
Cameron spins quickly to look at him, and then turns back to me, a question on his face. I want to apologize, even though I know it’s not my fault. But first we have to get out of here. I start to get up, but suddenly Patrick’s at the end of the table, blocking my escape.
His expression darkens. “I told you we weren’t done.”
“You definitely are,” Cameron says, pushing past him to take my hand, pulling me out of my seat. Although Patrick is taller, Cameron’s build is enough to at least give him pause. But then Patrick laughs.
“Good luck with that,” Patrick says to him. “Slutton—”
But he doesn’t get to finish his insult because Cameron pushes him hard enough to knock him back into the table. The edge tilts, sending chicken wings and sodas to the floor. There’s a smash as the cups hit, silverware clinking.
Cameron reaches down to grab Patrick up off the floor, but Reggie comes running over and takes Cameron by the shirt.
“Ease up, man,” Reggie says, holding him back. He locks his arms across Cameron’s chest from behind. Another worker comes over and helps Patrick up on the other side of the table. Reggie leans in near Cameron’s ear.
“Better get out of here before one of these assholes calls the police. You know how they are.”
Cameron’s eyes are wild, like he’s ready to fight anyway, but Reggie whispers something about parole. Cameron curses, and then as if he just remembered I’m here, he glances over. He doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed that he was about to fight. Instead he laughs and holds out his hand to me.
Reggie lets him go. I take Cameron’s hand and quickly lead us toward the door before Patrick and his friends regroup. I don’t want to get jumped, and I certainly don’t want Cameron to.
We get outside into the cold night and head toward his car. I check back to make sure no one is following us. Adrenaline races through my veins.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say to Cameron when we get to the car. “We could have just left.”
“That’s the asshole from the truck, right?” Cameron asks. “Seems walking away wasn’t enough to deter him then.” He stops, and I realize that he’s been holding back the true depth of his anger. “He did that to your face, didn’t he?” he asks.
Shame, bright and painful, blooms across my chest. “Doesn’t matter,” I say, pulling up the handle of the passenger door to get in. It’s locked.
“Was it him?” Cameron asks.
“Open the door.”
“Just tell me.”
I scoff. “Why? So you can kick his ass and go to jail? No thanks, Cameron. I don’t need your fists to do the talking for me.”
“They can talk for both of us,” he offers.
I stare at him, and then I have to smile a little. “You’re so fucking weak-willed,” I tell him. “You shouldn’t give in to your violent impulses.”
“And he shouldn’t put his hands on you.” He says it seriously, deeply, like it hurts him. Yeah, well, it hurts me, too. I blink back the tears that sting my eyes.
“Technically, I stabbed him first,” I say.
“He deserved it.”
r /> I wipe my nose before it starts to run, and turn away. “Didn’t you promise ice cream?” I say, unable to look at him.
Cameron clicks the locks on his car, but neither of us gets in. I can feel him waiting for me, and I glance up.
“My house?” he asks. “We’ve got ice cream there. Even the kind with all sorts of weird shit in it, like gummy worms.”
“I hate gummy worms.”
“We also have chocolate.”
I bite on my lip, trying to keep from smiling. I don’t have to go with him. I could have him take me home.
But I don’t want to be there right now. I’m still pissed at my father.
“I’ll eat the weird shit,” I say to Cameron, and open his car door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cameron’s parents aren’t home yet, so we sit at the kitchen table with a container of ice cream between us. We don’t bother with the bowls.
“I meant what I said earlier,” I tell him, gliding the cold spoon over my tongue. “I don’t want you fighting for me. You have enough trouble.”
“Fine,” he says.
I stare at him. “Just ‘fine’? You’re not going to argue? You always argue.”
He groans. “You either want me to fight or you don’t.” He takes a big scoop of ice cream and puts it in his mouth.
“From now on,” I say, “we don’t punch through our problems. Deal?”
His dark brown eyes settle on mine, and there’s a hint of worry there. Stubbornness. But he lifts his spoon out like he’s waiting for us to cheers on it. I clank my spoon against his, and we continue eating.
Cameron pauses, looking me over. “You should definitely stay here tonight,” he says again.
“I can’t stay here.”
“Why not? It’s not a park bench.”
“What about your parents?” I ask.
“They’d be cool with it. It’s not like we’re getting it on or anything. We’re friends. Friends can have sleepovers.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You want to stay here, don’t you?”
“No.” But I sort of do. Even if I slept on the rug in his living room, it’d be better than going back to my house.
“If my mom asks you to stay, will you say yes?” Cameron asks.