“Maybe he likesyou,” I tell her. “You’re the one always asking him to buy shit.”
She laughs. “Don’t be bitter. Oh, wait,” she says, “I know what it is.”
I look sideways at her. “What?”
“The Shirt.”
We stare at each other for a second, and then we both break out laughing. She’s totally right. That damn shirt. It has to be more than a coincidence.
Just then a car pulls into the parking lot. It takes me a second, since I’m still smiling, thinking aboutThe Shirt. Then I hear, “There they are!”
“Oh my God,” I say, grabbing Retha. I’m about to run when the door opens and Cameron comes out of the store, holding a bag while balancing two sodas against his chest. He looks at us.
“You could have stayed to help me carry stuff,” he says.
“Get in,” I yell to both him and Retha.
Retha opens the back door and dives in, while I quickly round the car and get in the passenger seat. Cameron follows but pauses outside his door, unable to open it with his full hands.
I lean over and pull the handle, stretching across the seats to push it open for him. He catches it with his elbow, and I straighten to see the Honda full of bitches racing through the parking lot toward us.
“Move your ass, Cameron!” I shout, reaching to grab the bag from his hand and shoving it on the floor at my feet. He laughs, climbing in, and looks at me like I’m insane.
But I’m actually kind of scared. “Please,” I tell him, trying to sound calmer. “I’m about to get jumped.”
His face falls, and without asking for further explanation, he sets the sodas in the cup holders and slams the door. He starts his car and slips his arm behind my seat, turning to back us up.
The girls stop their car on the side of the convenience store and get out, running toward us and shouting. Only now they have two more girls.
“Run them over,” Retha says, leaning up between the seats.
Cameron stifles a laugh and turns the wheel sharply, heading in the other direction.
Chasing after us, Casey stops to take off her boot. She chucks it at the car, bouncing it off the hood. But Cameron drives fast, and soon they’re just standing behind us in the parking lot, flipping us off.
“She threw her fucking boot?” Retha says, grabbing a soda and sitting back in the seat like this is a normal car ride. “She’s pathetic.”
Cameron is pressing his lips together so hard I think he might hurt himself.
“Something funny?” I ask him, just realizing that I’m riding shotgun and wishing I had dived into the back with Retha.
“Not at all,” Cameron says seriously. “I’m used to people throwing their shoes at my car.” He looks at me, and I smile. Okay, I can see how that might be a little humorous to him.
He nods down at the cup holder. “Got you a Dr Pepper,” he says as if I’d asked for it specifically. I look down at the drink, and then turn toward the window, my face warm. His kindness is too easy. I worry about the strings that are attaching to me.
“Cameron,” Retha says between slurps from her straw, “you should have seen Savvy tonight. She knocked a bitch out.”
He turns, seeming surprised. “Really?” he asks me.
“No. She wasn’t knocked out,” I murmur. I don’t want to brag about fighting. It isn’t something I’m proud of—yeah, there’s a rush at first. But that’s always followed by guilt. Even when the person deserves it.
I glance sideways at Cameron and find him looking at my hand; my knuckles are red, soon to be a pretty shade of purple.
“She may not have been unconscious,” Retha says, “but did you see her swollen eye in the parking lot? Shoot. She’d better invest in some dark sunglasses.”
“Shut up, Retha.” I rest my elbow on the window and lean my head into my palm. To be honest, my hand hurts, and my throat burns from running. But I still don’t want to take that soda.
“Wow,” Cameron says. “Sounds like a fun Friday night. Remind me not to take you to any parties unless I have a getaway car waiting.”
