“I’ve got just the right bikini for this,” Retha continues. “Those prep boys won’t even know what to do with themselves.”
I smile. “I think we both know what they’ll be doing with themselves.” We both crack up. “Besides,” I say, “I’m not sure I should go. I don’t belong there.”
“Oh, no,” she says. “You’re going to that party. You deserve to be happy, Savvy. Stop trying to mess it up.”
“You just want to show off in your bathing suit.”
“Hell yes, I do. So don’t ruin this for me.” But I know she’s mostly kidding. She wants what’s best for me. It helps when it’s fun for her, too.
We’re all a little surprised when Mr. Jimenez walks in with his leather bag and sets it on his desk. We were kind of hoping to have a substitute or even another shortened class.
“Hey, Mr. Jimenez,” Gris calls out. “How’d jury duty go? Did you get the gig?”
“Sorry, no,” he answers, taking off his glasses to clean them.
We groan our disappointment. Jury duty is almost like being famous. At least around here.
“Why not, man?” Gris asks. “You’d be perfect for it. Hell, you work here.”
Mr. Jimenez puts his glasses back on, his expression serious. “Exactly the problem,” he says. “I knew the defendant.”
We all go quiet, and I silently take stock of the classmates who left at the beginning of the year. Their faces blur together and it’s a reality check. It doesn’t matter who it was because it could be any of us.
Retha goes to her seat, and a second later Cameron walks in the door, and my heartbeat skips. He murmurs hello to me, simple, like I didn’t just have dinner with his family last night. I’m not sure what I expect him to say.
Mr. Jimenez looks at Cameron, and then at the rest of us. He slaps his hands together. “There is some good news, though,” our teacher says. “Field trip time.”
Several people cheer, but Mr. Jimenez is quick to squash our dreams. “Don’t get too excited,” he says. “We’re just going to the computer lab.”
I groan. The computer lab sucks. The Internet connection is on the school server, which blocks anything good. The only time we use it is when there’s a major assignment or dreaded test prep.
We end up having to split into two groups, and of course, I’m in the one with Gris and not Retha, Travis, or Cameron. The day is long, and I begin clicking random bubbles to get through the test faster. I’ll take my time on theactualGED.
We’re all tired at the end of the day, and when I return to class, Cameron is already gone. I’m a little disappointed. What if he changed his mind about the party? What if he changed his mind about me?
Retha and Travis waited for me, and the three of us head out. Travis says that he’ll drive us to the party on Saturday; he doesn’t ask for an invite, even though I’m sure Cameron would have no problem with him being there. It’s Travis—he doesn’t want to be around people. I wonder how much worse he will get once his father is home.
“I’ll bring the groceries by later,” Retha says to me as I climb out of the car.
“Sounds good. Thank you.” They leave, and I go to the curb to wait for Evan’s bus.
***
Evan doesn’t have any homework, so I let him color while I go to the kitchen to make dinner. Although the food I bought was for him, I couldn’t get nearly as much as I’d hoped. Retha will drop off the bag of groceries her mom grabbed for me, one filled with cereal and canned goods. But for now I open a can of chicken noodle soup—extra noodles—and heat it up in a pan.
I take out Evan’s favorite blue bowl from the cabinet and the chipped one for myself, and fill them. I grab both before heading into the living room. I set them on the coffee table and gather up Evan’s crayons to put them back in their box. He scrunches his nose and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks just like me when he does.
He’s upset, but I don’t want to indulge him and make it worse. I ignore the start of his tantrum and sit on the floor in front of the couch. The soup is still hot, so I tell Evan to be careful, and blow on my spoonful before taking a sip.
“I don’t want to eat this,” Evan whines from behind me. “I want dogs ’n’ cheese.”
“I didn’t have enough for hot dogs,” I tell him. “This is what we have for now.”
“Savannah.” Evan’s voice rises. “I want dogs ’n’ cheese.”
“Stop it,” I say, sliding his bowl in front of him. “I told you I don’t have any damn hot dogs. What do you want me to do?”
“Dogs ’n’ cheese!” Evan shouts, kicking the coffee table with his new sneakers.
