“Weak-willed,” I say.
“I guess.”
“Hundred thousand?”
“Yep. Ransacked the administrative offices, broke shit, and destroyed their files.” He looks in his lap. “Pissed in Captain Douchebag’s coffeepot.”
“Gross.”
His eyes flick to mine. “You probably didn’t need to know that part.” I nod in agreement. “We were just angry,” he adds.
“I think I can relate to angry.”
He smiles. “I think you can, too.”
“You did sort of overreact, though,” I mention.
“This coming from the girl who used a pencil to stab someone.”
“I had a good reason!”
“I did too.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It seemed like a great idea at the time. If I could go back, maybe I’d have handled it differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have busted up the place. But I definitely would have still pissed in the coffeepot.”
“Oh my God.”
“Sorry.”
I lean back on my hands, lounging. “Where are your bad influences now?” I ask. “How come they aren’t at Brooks Academy?”
“They took off to California.”
My mouth opens. “Are the police after them?”
“No,” Cameron says. “I copped to it all, and my dad paid for the damages. He was embarrassed. Here he was, the school’s biggest benefactor, and his fuckup son ruined the place. Made for some tense family dinners.”
“I bet. Does he hate you now?”
“What? No, he’s my father.” His voice tells me he thinks it’s a crazy statement. Obviously he’s never met my father. And he never will.
“So tell me,” I ask, “have you always been a troublemaker?”
“Yep. Haven’t you heard? Money doesn’t buy happiness. Just really nice cars.”
“Ah. I may have heard that somewhere.”
Cameron sighs. “My father planned on me becoming a lawyer,” he says. “But that’s not me. I like doing what I want.” He grins. “You know, like meeting girls at 7-Eleven and buying them Blow Pops.”
“Lucky me.”
“So lucky,” he agrees.
“Why didn’t you go to California with your friends?” I ask, even though I’m glad he didn’t.
“My dad can be very persuasive.” He pauses. “Wait, you trying to get rid of me, Sutton?”
“No,” I say more seriously than I mean to.
“No?”
I need to straighten up, say something else to cover my admission of wanting him around, but I don’t move. Then Cameron lies back on his bed, casually folding his hands behind his head, practically inviting me to climb on top of him. He’s so damn smooth.
My fingers are trembling. We don’t say anything, but we’re staring at each other, maybe each of us wondering who’ll make the first move. I think about lying next to him, shoulder to shoulder.
“Want to stay for dinner?” Cameron offers. He says it so casually, like we’re regular people who spend entire days together all the time.
“I’ve got my own house,” I say. “And, you might not know this about me, but I’m a master chef.”
“Really?”
“You like mac ’n’ cheese?” I ask.
He bites back his smile. “Sort of.”
“Do you like hot dogs?”
He laughs. “No.”
“Too bad. My dogs ’n’ cheese are the best in town.”
“Wow,” he says, like he’s impressed. “That . . . well, that sounds goddamn disgusting. You should definitely stay. We could get a pizza. Plus . . . it would really help me out. My mom wants to believe I’m well adjusted.”
“Are you well adjusted?”
“No.” He laughs. “I hate school. And you’re my only friend there, so how about it? I’ll owe you a favor.”
Cameron’s friends have left town without him. He must be lonely to want to talk to me. I don’t want to go home yet . . . so I must be lonely too.
“Yeah, okay,” I tell him. “I’ll stay for dinner. Just don’t make it weird.”
He breaks into a huge smile and sits up, elbows on his knees. “You surprise me.”
“You’re making it weird.”
His eyes flash with attraction—that look of an impending kiss. But I’m quick to dissolve it.
“So, pizza?” I ask.
“Actually”—he scrunches his nose apologetically—“I lied about that. My father hates pizza, so we never have it.”
“He sounds like a monster.”
A door closes, and both of us look toward the hall. “Cameron?” a woman calls from beyond the room. Her heels click along the wood floor.
I gasp and take Cameron’s arm. He looks down to where I’m holding his biceps, and then he slowly raises his eyes until they meet mine. Our touch is fire, and I pull back my hand.
“I’m in here, Mom,” he calls, although he’s still looking at me.
“Is she going to freak?” I ask.
Cameron furrows his brow. “About what?”
“Me. Being in here alone with you.”
“I’m allowed to have friends in my room,” he says.
I feel stupid and lower my eyes. Friends. He didn’t plan to hook up with me—he told me as much earlier. I misunderstood this moment.
The door opens.
“Oh,” his mother says, looking between me and Cameron. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to kick me out. But she smiles warmly and it throws me off.
“I’m Kendra,” she says, sticking out her hand and walking toward me. I stand awkwardly, feeling guilty. I can’t imagine how much worse I’d feel if Cameron and I had been making out.
I shake her hand. “Savannah,” I say, but I whisper it. What the hell is up with my voice? I haven’t been doing anything wrong.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Kendra is pretty for someone’s mother. Her shoulder-length blond hair is brushed smooth with the ends flipped up, and she smells like flowers.
“Savannah’s in my class,” Cameron says from behind me. When he asked me to stay for dinner, I hadn’t considered this part. The part where his parents would find out I’m a delinquent too.
“Really?” Kendra puts her hands on her hips, like this is interesting trivia about me. “What did you do, honey?”
Cameron laughs. “She stabbed her ex-boyfriend.”
Kendra shakes her head. “Oh, stop,” she tells him, slapping his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”
I’m glad she doesn’t believe him, but I’m going to kill him later anyway. Kendra turns to me.
“Are you staying for dinner?” she asks.
“Oh, uh . . .” I plan to back out, but Cameron goes to stand next to his mother and smiles, like he knows I’m having second thoughts. Does he really want me to stay? To have dinner with his family? What kind of psychopath is he?
I still have plenty of time to get home before Evan. I could walk out the door.
“Please?” Cameron says simply. And I can see that he truly wants me to, free of manipulation. It’s raw. It’s honest. So I decide to do him this favor. After all, he’ll owe me. And who knows, Retha and I might need a getaway car again soon.
“My brother gets home at six,” I say. “I have to be home before then.”
“Perfect,” Kendra says, clapping her hands together. “We like to eat early. We’re ordering Cantonese.”
“Savannah loves Cantonese,” Cameron says, smiling at me. He’s thrilled that I’m staying. It’s boyish and cute, maybe a little cocky.
“Great,” I say to Kendra, although I’ve never heard of Cantonese food.
“Would you mind helping me, Savannah?” Kendra asks, motioning toward the kitchen.
“Uh . . . okay,” I say. I’m not sure what she needs help with. I thought she was ordering in.
“Cameron,” she says, looking over her shoulder at him. “Call D
addy and see when he’ll be home.”
“Fun,” he answers.
As Cameron takes out his phone to call, Kendra leans her shoulder into mine. “It’s nice to see Cameron has friends again,” she whispers to me. “I’ve been worried about him.”
She leaves to head toward the kitchen, and I steal one more glance at Cameron. He’s talking to his dad, sounding annoyed, but he must sense me because he looks over. He starts to smile, and I feel it in my heart. Right where it hurts.
So I turn away and follow his mother into the kitchen.
CHAPTER NINE
The Cantonese food arrives in fancy plastic serving trays instead of paper bags. And yet Cameron’s mother still has me help her put it in porcelain dishes before setting it on the table.
The dining room is really nice with a cabinet full of shiny glasses, tall-backed chairs, and a shimmery light fixture hanging above us. The table was already set when I walked in; they keep plates on it even when no one is home.
Cameron sits across from me at the table, which means I’ll have to look at him all through dinner. Cameron’s father got home around four, and now he and Kendra are at opposite heads of the table. It’s awkward, the way we sit like a family, as if we’re on a TV show.
Marcel, Cameron’s father, doesn’t look like a typical rich asshole. He’s big, like a football player, and his hair is dark, brushed back, and long. He’s handsome, but in a much harder way than Cameron. And he’s wearing a dark blue suit. Even at the dinner table, he’s wearing a suit. I guess that’s sort of assholish.
“So, Savannah,” Marcel asks in between bites. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
It’s a question I dread because I feel like people should know about Evan’s disability, but I hate defining him by it. He’s perfect the way he is. I don’t want people to feel sorry for him. He doesn’t need their pity.
“I have a brother,” I say, pushing the food around on my plate. Cameron’s in my class, so he’s already heard about Evan. But it doesn’t make it any easier to talk about him now.
“A brother,” Kendra says. “Is he younger?”
“Yeah. He’s seven.”
She makes a noise that can only be described as glee, and I want to leave. Tension squeezes my shoulders, and I wonder how I can escape this conversation.
“That’s sweet,” Kendra says. “I teach third grade at McKinley. What school does he go to?”
There’s a stinging in my eyes. People don’t ask me these sorts of questions anymore. I’ve forgotten how to answer them. “He goes to Tomlinson,” I say. The only “special” school in the area.
“That’s a nice school,” Cameron’s mother says gently.
Marcel picks up his wineglass and takes a sip, avoiding my eyes. Kendra looks like she wants to know more but knows it’s rude to ask.
“What’s his name?” Cameron asks, startling me.
“Evan.”
“That’s adorable,” Kendra says.
I watch Cameron, comforted by him—comforted that he asked for my brother’s name. It feels like he’s the only person in the world who understands, but really, I know he doesn’t. How could he?
I drop my eyes to my plate, suddenly missing Evan, and feeling guilty for eating this nice food without him. “He’s with our aunt Kathy,” I say, although no one asked. “She takes him a few days a week.”
The room is quiet and heavy. I’m no longer hungry. I want Kathy to bring Evan home so that I can hug him. He’s a tough responsibility, but he’s mine. I’m empty without him.
Suddenly, Cameron laughs like he just thought of something. I look up at him, and when I do, he grins and turns to his mother.
“Savannah was wondering about our pool,” he says. “And we decided that I should have a pool party.”
My mouth drops open, but Kendra chuckles as if she knows Cameron is (mostly) joking.
“Really?” Marcel asks. “Then I should thank you, Savannah. Cameron hasn’t used the pool in months. It’s a great idea.”
My eyes are wide. “But I didn’t—”
“I’ll have one on Saturday,” Cameron interrupts. “Soon enough?” He’s trying to be cute, which he is, but right now it’s not enough. Talking about Evan has reminded me of my life. My limitations.
I don’t respond, looking down at my noodles instead. There’s no way I can come to Cameron’s party. I don’t know what sort of people will be there, or what they’ll think of me. Especially if some of them are from Langston Prep. I’ll just be another “scholarship kid” to them.
“I’ll order the food,” Kendra says happily. She and Marcel begin to make plans, talking about a caterer.
Cameron’s foot bumps mine under the table and subtly rests there. I look up at him just as he puts a forkful of rice in his mouth. Neither of us acknowledges that we’re touching. My heart beats a little faster, and I go back to eating my food.
* * *
After dinner I see that it’s nearly six and ask Cameron to drive me home. I say good-bye to his parents, thanking them again for dinner. Kendra seems sad to see me go. Cameron grabs my shoes for me, and I still can’t believe how comfortable he is with me around his family. Other than Retha’s, I’ve never really gotten along with parents.
It’s not raining, so Cameron gets the full view of my neighborhood. I twist my hands around the strap of my backpack resting at my feet. I’m embarrassed, especially after seeing where he lives. Right now my ramshackle white house looks more like an abandoned building. I hate going home.
My father’s car is in the driveway, and I glance at the clock, worried that Evan got home before me. But it’s not quite six.
“Thanks for the all-day feasting,” I say, looking over at Cameron.
“No problem,” he says. “Thanks for letting me pretend I have friends.”
“Yeah, about that. Do you really not have friends?”
He furrows his brow. “Do you think I don’t have any friends?”
“I don’t know. I mean . . . just answer the question. Do you?”
“Of course I do. I’m not a fucking loser. I just don’t have any friends at Brooks. At least until now.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t have had a problem finding more.” I don’t like that idea, but I know it’s true—with his looks, his money, Cameron could be with anybody.
“I doubt they’d be as interesting as you,” he says.
“You’re sort of interesting too,” I murmur. “For a troublemaker.”
He smiles and rests his head back on his seat. “You sure you have to go in?” he asks. “We can just sit here for a while. Talk.”
My body tingles for his quiet voice in my ear. If things were different, if I were different, I’d stay with him. Even leave with him. But I can’t. “Thanks, again,” I say, and pull on the door handle.
His hand grazes mine on the seat as I get out, maybe reaching for me, maybe accidentally. But I slam the door and jog up the driveway, trying to catch my breath.
On my way to the house, I hear his window roll down.
“Hey,” Cameron calls. “If you’re interested, I know about a kickass pool party this weekend.”
I turn, walking backward so I can face him. “I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Have a good night, Sutton.”
“You too.”
When I get inside my house, I lean back against the door and close my eyes. Sure, Cameron called me interesting, but he doesn’t know me or my life. He’s never seen Evan melt down or my father scream. And I won’t let him. I’ll never let him see that part of me. I bring my hand to my chest, remembering what it felt like when he touched me. And wishing I stayed in his car just a little longer.
“Where were you?” The sound of my father’s voice startles me, and I look over to find him in the living room, the curtains drawn and glow of the TV painting his silhouette. I know Evan’s not home because he would have run to me the minute the door opened.
“I was out,” I say, and quickly s
traighten my back, ready to ignore him.
“Savannah,” he says, but this time there’s a question in his voice, like he wants to talk to me. Panic immediately begins to crawl up my throat.
“What?” I ask, stopping at the entrance of the room. “It’s none of your business where I was.”
“I’m your father.”
“Sure, whatever that means.”
The image on the TV switches, bathing him in a blue light. He doesn’t look well. I have a pang of sympathy before I remind myself of what a shitty human being he is.
“I spoke to a lawyer today,” he says quietly. My heart dips, and I clutch onto the wall where I’m leaning. “Kathy paid for a family attorney. They have a good case for custody.”
It shocks me, the fact that my aunt would go that far. “But you told them no, right?” I ask.
“I told them I needed to think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?” I walk into the room and stop in front of him. “You don’t just give away your children.”
“You know it’s not that simple.”
“It can be,” I say. I stare him down, wishing I was the one with a lawyer, wishing I could be the one fighting to keep Evan to myself. I’m the person who loves him most. I’d do anything for him. Our father can’t say the same thing.
“You tell them no, Dad,” I say, turning my back on him and starting toward my room. “You fight for your son or I swear to God”—I pause at my bedroom door—“I’ll never forgive you.”
And with that I walk into my room, my fear suffocating me. A lawyer. Kathy has crossed the line this time. I was stupid to let her have an extra day with Evan. Now I know better.
I pause against my door, looking around my room. My mind turns back to Cameron—how normal I felt today with him, even if it was totally weird. And in a way, I want to go to his stupid party this weekend. I’ve never been in an indoor pool before.
Desperate for a distraction, I rush over to my dresser and search for my bathing suit. When I find it, I hold it up, trying to decide if it will even fit anymore. But as I examine the faded red fabric, the fantasy comes to a screeching halt. I toss my bathing suit on top of my dresser and swing around to look at my bedroom with its old furniture and worn sheets. I sit on my bed and look down at my mismatched socks, scared to imagine that things can get better.
All in Pieces Page 9
