I still have plenty of time to get home before Evan. I could walk out the door.
“Please?” Cameron says simply. And I can see that he truly wants me to, free of manipulation. It’s raw. It’s honest. So I decide to do him this favor. After all, he’ll owe me. And who knows, Retha and I might need a getaway car again soon.
“My brother gets home at six,” I say. “I have to be home before then.”
“Perfect,” Kendra says, clapping her hands together. “We like to eat early. We’re ordering Cantonese.”
“Savannah loves Cantonese,” Cameron says, smiling at me. He’s thrilled that I’m staying. It’s boyish and cute, maybe a little cocky.
“Great,” I say to Kendra, although I’ve never heard of Cantonese food.
“Would you mind helping me, Savannah?” Kendra asks, motioning toward the kitchen.
“Uh . . . okay,” I say. I’m not sure what she needs help with. I thought she was ordering in.
“Cameron,” she says, looking over her shoulder at him. “Call Daddy and see when he’ll be home.”
“Fun,” he answers.
As Cameron takes out his phone to call, Kendra leans her shoulder into mine. “It’s nice to see Cameron has friends again,” she whispers to me. “I’ve been worried about him.”
She leaves to head toward the kitchen, and I steal one more glance at Cameron. He’s talking to his dad, sounding annoyed, but he must sense me because he looks over. He starts to smile, and I feel it in my heart. Right where it hurts.
So I turn away and follow his mother into the kitchen.
CHAPTER NINE
The Cantonese food arrivesin fancy plastic serving trays instead of paper bags. And yet Cameron’s mother still has me help her put it in porcelain dishes before setting it on the table.
The dining room is really nice with a cabinet full of shiny glasses, tall-backed chairs, and a shimmery light fixture hanging above us. The table was already set when I walked in; they keep plates on it even when no one is home.
Cameron sits across from me at the table, which means I’ll have to look at him all through dinner. Cameron’s father got home around four, and now he and Kendra are at opposite heads of the table. It’s awkward, the way we sit like a family, as if we’re on a TV show.
Marcel, Cameron’s father, doesn’t look like a typical rich asshole. He’s big, like a football player, and his hair is dark, brushed back, and long. He’s handsome, but in a much harder way than Cameron. And he’s wearing a dark blue suit. Even at the dinner table, he’s wearing a suit. I guess that’s sort of assholish.
“So, Savannah,” Marcel asks in between bites. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
It’s a question I dread because I feel like people should know about Evan’s disability, but I hate defining him by it. He’s perfect the way he is. I don’t want people to feel sorry for him. He doesn’t need their pity.
“I have a brother,” I say, pushing the food around on my plate. Cameron’s in my class, so he’s already heard about Evan. But it doesn’t make it any easier to talk about him now.
“A brother,” Kendra says. “Is he younger?”
“Yeah. He’s seven.”
She makes a noise that can only be described as glee, and I want to leave. Tension squeezes my shoulders, and I wonder how I can escape this conversation.
“That’s sweet,” Kendra says. “I teach third grade at McKinley. What school does he go to?”
There’s a stinging in my eyes. People don’t ask me these sorts of questions anymore. I’ve forgotten how to answer them. “He goes to Tomlinson,” I say. The only “special” school in the area.
“That’s a nice school,” Cameron’s mother says gently.
Marcel picks up his wineglass and takes a sip, avoiding my eyes. Kendra looks like she wants to know more but knows it’s rude to ask.
“What’s his name?” Cameron asks, startling me.
“Evan.”
