“That’s—” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe it.”
“I know a kid. He was in my class this year. Spent all of last summer living in a tent in those woods, out behind James Watkins?” He gestured in the general direction of the school, then dunked a fry in ketchup, gobbled it down and ate two more. “Him and his whole family, too. Said it wasn’t so bad, except for it being hot. And the mosquitos. Now they live near my house, in an apartment building. It was better than being split up. Least that’s what he said.”
Ideas were swirling: how maybe she could start a collection for Tamika’s family, possibly enough for first month’s rent on a house. But then what? She didn’t know Tamika’s mom in the least. What if the woman was a loafer, who drifted by with no desire to work? All that money would go down the drain. Or—what if she found the woman a job? A good job, where she could earn enough to support herself and her kids?
“You wanna fix it, don’t you,” Devon said, gazed at her, a ketchup-coated fry in his hand. “That’s why you got so quiet.”
Rebecca blushed. Devon was proving to be a surprisingly good mind-reader. “Probably.” She switched gears. “You seem to know a lot of people, hear a lot of stories.”
“I like people.” He slurped at his milkshake, ate the fry.
“Why?” She didn’t dislike people. It was more that she appreciated her privacy, her solitude. She imagined Devon was the kind of person who couldn’t stand in line at the grocery store without chatting with the person behind him. She preferred to study the magazines and rows of candy and gum than make small talk with a stranger she’d never meet again.
“Dunno. It’s not their fault they got handed a whole bunch of trash. They’re dealing with it best they know how. That’s what Mama always said, anyway.”
“Your Mama was a wise woman.”
“I know.” He looked down then, and for the first time since she’d met him, she wondered if he was about to start crying. His brows pressed in tight, and she could see him swallow thickly.
Louanne’s words came to mind, about keeping the stories going once school started again. They were still a couple weeks off from that, but she wondered how they could pull it off, decided to mention it. Maybe it would keep his mind off his sadness to talk.
“Say, what Louanne said about continuing the stories into the school year, what do you think about that?”She took a bite of burger, tried to act casual.
He took a breath and then another bite of his own burger, chewed thoughtfully.
“I think it could work. I know the kids like sharing their stories.”
She cocked her head. “Can you help me? I don’t think I can do it without you.”
He cut his eyes at her. “You can too.”
“Well, maybe I could, but not as good as with your help. I mean it—can you help me? Can I count on you?”
She could tell he knew what she was doing, but he smiled anyway, nodded.
“You can count on me, Miss Becca.”
She giggled, held out a hand. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
As they clasped hands, his thin jacket scrunched up a little, and she glanced down at his wrist, saw a deep plummy-black splotch on the underside. She held onto his hand a moment, peered at it. She saw his face change, shut down, the smile gone.
“Devon, did you get hurt or something?”
“No,” he said too quickly. He pulled his hand back, tucked it between his legs beneath the table. “I mean, it’s nothing.”
Well, that was a strange reaction. She peered at him, remembered the bruises on his torso.
“It doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’”
“It’s fine, Miss Becca, really.” He gave a little laugh, started to shrug on his backpack. “Slammed it in the locker at school. Seriously—no big deal. It hurt a day or so but it’s fine now, I promise.”
“Can I see it?”
“Nah, come on. Let’s go—I have some homework to finish tonight.”
“They give homework?”
