“What did you do?” he asks, softer.
“I stabbed someone with my pencil.” It sounds like a lie. I wish it were.
“Why?”
He doesn’t question it? Should I be offended? Do I look like someone who walks around stabbing people with pencils?
“He was a jock asshole,” I say.
“Why’d you stab him?”
“What’s with the twenty questions?” I ask, mocking his tone. I need to go. I shouldn’t just be sitting in his car like this. I hardly know him.
“Because you don’t seem the type that would go for jock assholes,” he says. “So why’d you do it?”
There’s a burn of shame in my chest, crawling its way up my throat. “Maybe I used to be,” I say. “Besides, I told you it was a long, tragic story. One I don’t feel like fucking reciting for you. How’s that for why?”
Cameron grins at me. “You know you have some anger management issues?”
He catches me off guard, and I fight back my smile. “I’ve heard that once or twice.”
“Me too,” he says, and looks down.
Really? That seems unlikely. He’s way too calm for that.
He turns to me. “Did you stab him because he was a jock asshole or was there a better reason?”
“Of course there was a better reason. He was my boyfriend.”
“Huh. Remind me never to ask you out, then.”
It’s getting late. My father will get home soon and I shouldn’t be out here with a boy when he does.
“Was that it?” Cameron asks. “Did he cheat on you or something?”
“No. That would have been easy.”
I close my eyes. It’s none of his business, but . . . I want to tell him. Goddamn it. I want him to know that I’m not just some delinquent. I had a reason. Nobody cared, but I had one.
“Well?” he asks.
I open my eyes and look at him. “He called my brother a retard,” I say, and it still hurts. It still digs into my soul. “In class, Patrick called Evan a retard, so I grabbed my pencil, and I rammed it through his hand. Thus, I was removed from the educational system.”
Cameron’s silent, and I immediately regret telling him. He thinks I’m a lunatic. I probably am.
“That’s pretty intense,” he says after a moment. I’m surprised by his reaction. He doesn’t look nearly as freaked out as I’d expect.
“I’m guessing you didn’t assault anyone?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“What did you do?”
Cameron watches me and then starts his car. He nods toward my house. “Didn’t you say you had to get home?”
Shut down. I feel betrayed, spilling my guts to him and not getting any guts in return. “You’re not going to tell me?” I ask.
“I’m trying to stay mysterious. How else am I going to coax you back into my car?”
