I feel bad because I know that Cameron thought I’d go out with him tonight, that we’d shared something and now we can be together. But there isn’t enough time for him. Not when Evan is asleep in his room, needing me.
“You know I can’t pay you back or anything,” I say. Of course, he already knows this. I’m just stalling so I don’t have to go inside.
“Your overwhelming gratitude is enough thanks for me,” he says.
“Maybe I’ll be nice to you now or something,” I say offhandedly.
“Maybe you will.”
“I can try,” I murmur. I lean over, fully intending to put my mouth on his. But at the last second, I kiss his cheek instead. I close my eyes, pausing. His hand touches softly at my lower back, keeping me close. When I pull back, I keep my eyes down.
“Good night, Cameron,” I whisper.
I climb out, shut the door, and begin walking to my house with the canvas bag over my shoulder.
Cameron starts the car, but before he drives away, he calls, “One of these days you’ll say yes, Savannah.”
“I hope so,” I say to myself, and walk around to the back of my house.
***
Evan becomes completely obsessed with the video games. I try to hide the system from my father, putting it away before he gets home and telling Evan to keep it a secret. It’s nearly impossible though—Evan can’t lie. He also can’t stop thinking about the game.
On Thursday night I’m about to fall asleep when I hear my father’s booming voice in the living room. I curse and throw back my covers. He’s probably wasted—even though he knows better than to do this when Evan’s home.
“I said, where did you get it?” he shouts.
My heart seizes in my chest, and I trip over my shoes as I race out of my room. When I get out into the hallway, the house is dim except for a low light in the living room that I recognize is the TV. I can hear Evan whimpering, and I fly into a rage before I even ask what’s going on.
Dad stands in front of the television, lit by the blue screen, and Evan is cowering near his feet. That fucking bastard.
“Get away from him!” I scream, ramming both of my palms into my father’s chest and knocking him back a few steps. I quickly gather Evan in my arms.
“I didn’t touch him,” my father says with a sneer. I can smell the alcohol on him.
“But you yell at him? He’s seven!” I cradle Evan in my arms, his tired tears soaking into the sleeve of my shirt.
In the light of the TV, I watch my father’s eyes flick to my brother—a moment of regret, before he turns away. “Put him to bed,” he says gruffly. “And then come back so I can talk to you.”
“No,” I say. “I have school tomorrow. I don’t have time for your—”
“Put him to fucking bed, Savannah!” he yells. I recoil and tighten my arms around my brother.
I do what he asks, tucking Evan into bed and kissing his head.
“Daddy’s mad at me,” he whimpers. I have to bury my anger to keep him calm.
“He’s not mad at you,” I say. “He’s mad at me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I sneaked out to play games. I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s not your fault,” I whisper. “Now go to sleep. You have school in the morning, and then you’re going to Aunt Kathy’s this weekend. Don’t . . . don’t tell her about this, okay?”
“Okay,” he answers, and rolls over, tucking his little hand under his cheek. He’s up way past his bedtime; tomorrow will be a nightmare for all of us.
My heart is pounding as I leave his room, closing the door, and return to where my father has calmed down. He sits on the couch, the light from the kitchen now on.
“I swear, if you ever—”
