“Go to hell,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry, Cameron,” Retha says, biting her straw. “I’m sure Savvy would be a perfect angel with you.”
I spin to look at her but she just winks. She’s dead to me.
“Oh,” Retha says to Cameron, finding his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Can you drop me off first? I need to tell Travis his girl got beat down.”
She’s leaving me alone with Cameron now? Not just dead to me—dead. I’m going to murder her later. I lean my head back against the seat.
Cameron listens as Retha gives him directions, and when we pull up in front of Travis’s house, I begin to shake my leg with nervousness. I don’t even know what to talk to Cameron about. I already told him about my expulsion. I don’t want to give him any more details.
“Thanks,” Retha calls to him. “You really saved our asses back there.”
Cameron nods and waves to her.
“Call me,” Retha sings at me as she climbs out. The door closes and I can feel Cameron watching me. I don’t look at him.
“You know,” I say, my head lowered, “I’m only a few blocks away. I can just get out here.”
“And end my night?” he asks. “Thought we were having fun.” I turn to him, and he smiles, highlighting how miserable I seem. In truth, I’m not. “You can get out,” he says, “but I’d like to take you home.”
My breath catches, and I have no idea what to say.
“You know,” he goes on, “in case anyone else plans to hit you with their shoe.”
I laugh, and although it’s awkward, I nod and tell him that it’s probably safer that way. He shifts into gear, and even though I didn’t ask him for the soda, I quietly take it and sip from it anyway.
“Thank you,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond, which makes me feel less like a beggar.
Cameron stops in front of my house; I’m surprised he remembers which one it is. But then again, he’s probably never been to a neighborhood like mine. I’m sure most of the people he knows live where houses have lawns.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, grabbing the handle of the car door.
“Thanks for the excitement.”
I laugh, and he looks over at me like he knows me. And for a moment I wonder if he does. If somehow he knows that I’m not as fine as I seem. I wait a moment longer than I should, holding his gaze. And then, as if it’s the only response, I lean over and kiss his cheek.
Before I can think about how unbelievably stupid I am, I get out and jog toward the house, my face on fire. That was so dumb.
I push heavily on my front door, and before I slam it shut, I hear, “You looked nice tonight, Sutton. We should go out more often.”
DamnThe Shirt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Travis picks meup on Monday morning, he looks terrible. The rings under his eyes are dark and his hair is uncombed. Retha stares out the passenger window, actively ignoring him. The entire weekend has gone this way, and at first I thought it was about Casey. But now I’m not so sure. This seems more serious.
“Hey, Savvy,” Travis mumbles.
“Hey.” I look cautiously between the two of them. The car smells like beer and I crinkle my nose. “Damn, Travis,” I say, sitting back. “It reeks in here. You’d better hope the cops don’t pull you over.”
“He’d better hope his parole officer doesn’t find out how much he’s been getting wasted,” Retha hisses, not looking at us.
I meet Travis’s eyes in the mirror, expecting him to give me a “she’s exaggerating” look. But instead he turns away.
He’s hungover. Again. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My father’s an alcoholic too, but I refuse to sympathize with him since it comes at the expense of me and my brother. But Travis . . . He grew up with a dad who beat him up, one who dislocated his shoulder when he was five. One who still beats the fuck out of him every time he gets paroled. I know why Travis drinks. And I know why he shoots drugs in his arm.
I just wish I knew how to help him stop. But I’m not a counselor. Travis will stop when he wants to, and nothing Retha or I can do will change that. No matter how much we want to.
