He sucks in his lower lip, and when he releases it slowly, I feel the flutters of attraction. Is he purposely trying to sidetrack me?
“Nice try,” I say. “Now tell me.”
He shakes his head like he’s embarrassed he got caught trying to charm himself out of this conversation. “Okay,” he says. “I flooded part of the building, broke some computers. A few windows. Some appliances.” He scratches his head. “Maybe the trophy case.”
“That’s pretty badass,” I say. “Did you get arrested?”
“Yep. You?”
“Yep.”
“Bet our parents are proud,” he says.
I laugh and pick up my last chicken nugget. I take a bite, and Cameron looks between me and my empty tray.
“Do you want more to eat?” he asks.
“No.” I’m still hungry. I’m always hungry.
Cameron nods and wipes his hands on his napkin. I finish chewing, letting the silence fall over us. It isn’t uncomfortable. I’m glad he’s not the kind of person who feels he has to fill the silence. They were like that at my old school—afraid of being boring, and instead they became boring by talking all the time.
I play with the straw in my drink, moving around the ice cubes. “Why’d you do it?” I ask, truly curious. It seems so out of character—well, out of what little character I know of him. “Were you failing or something?”
He winces. “Why? Do I look dumb?”
“Sort of.” But I know he’s not. He may not participate in class, but I’ve seen him whip through his quizzes. I’ve seen the As.
“Oh, thanks.” Cameron settles back in his seat. We’re both done eating, but I don’t want to leave yet. I don’t want to go home.
“What was it, then?” I ask.
“Apparently I have bad friends.”
“That’s not a good enough excuse,” I tell him. “Because I had ‘good’ friends and I still put a sharpened number two through Patrick’s hand.”
Cameron presses his lips together, looking at the table. “What can I say, Sutton? I’m weak-willed?”
I smile. “Counselor diagnosis?”
“Yep. And the judge.”
“Nice.”
“And you? Anger management?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can see that,” he says. “Although I think you’ve been managing pretty well since I’ve known you. I mean, other than that time you punched a girl in a cornfield. But I’m sure you had a reason.”
The fact that Retha and I went there to fight probably negates any reason I had to punch Casey, but I don’t tell Cameron that part. “Technically,” I say, twirling my straw, “you still don’t know me.”
“Right.” Cameron nods. “We should change that.”
He quickly looks away, the dine-and-dash of flirting. He seems well versed, and I have the sudden awful feeling that I’m being played.
“So, do you take all of your girlfriends to McDonald’s for lunch?” I ask.
“Girlfriends?” He grins. “Plural, even.”
