“Who was that?” he asks, his voice rumbling and drunk. He must have been looking out the window.
“A friend,” I answer. “What are you doing home?”
“Is this what you do when I’m at work? Meet up with boys? Is that what you do in my house?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not.” My father acts like I do all sorts of inappropriate and terrible things when he’s not around. The alcohol has made him paranoid.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I ask again.
“Lost my job.”
I groan. “Seriously, Dad?” I look around the room, running my hand through my hair. I suddenly notice it’s gone. That bastard.
I spin toward him. “Where is it?” I yell. “Where’s the Xbox?”
My father’s eyes look past me, not seeing me. “Sold it.”
I gasp. “You . . . sold it? It wasn’t yours!”
“It wasn’t yours, either, Savannah. Or Retha’s. She called earlier and I asked her about it.”
My heart is thumping so hard I can barely breathe. “It was for Evan,” I say. I can only imagine how upset my brother will be when he gets home. He’ll melt down completely.
My father takes a long sip of his beer and glares at me. “So who did it belong to?” he asks.
“It belongs to my friend. Now get it back!”
“Who did it belong to?” He raises his voice, and after everything I’ve been through today, it scares me. “Answer me, damn it!”
“Cameron,” I say, holding up my hands. “My friend Cameron brought it for Evan, okay?”
“The one you were just in the car with?” He curses and stands up, moving toward me.
“You’re drunk,” I snap. I don’t hang around when he’s drunk—I’m not going to sit here and listen to him cry about my mother and how it’s our fault that she left. For him only to forget the hateful things he said in the morning.
I bolt out of the room, and on my way to the door, I grab my father’s wallet off the entry table. I pluck out a twenty-dollar bill and walk out, slamming the door behind me.
I cry my way down the street, and around Broadway I flag down a taxi. I give him Cameron’s address, and the driver looks at me, his eyes lingering on my jaw—probably noticing the bruises there. But he drives anyway.
Cameron’s car is in the driveway, and I’m both relieved and scared that he’s home. Why would I come here? It was impulsive and stupid to just show up, but I have no money left to get anywhere else.
I pay the taxi driver, and as he leaves, I stand in the driveway and survey the house. I can’t believe I ran to him again. Cameron can’t help me. He can’t make it all better. And yet . . . I walk up to his door, take a deep breath, and knock.
It’s quiet at first, and I worry that he’s not actually home. I’ll be stranded, maybe still waiting in the driveway when Cameron’s parents show up.
I knock again, but before I draw my hand back, the door opens.
“Savannah?” Cameron asks. He looks downright shocked to see me.
I want to apologize for bothering him. I want to leave. Instead I stand at his front door and shrug. I have nowhere else to go.
Cameron’s expression softens, and he steps aside. “Come on,” he says. I lower my head and walk past him.
My face is sore and my clothes feel dirty from being close to Patrick. Cameron closes the door and stands behind me.
“What else happened?” he asks.
“Where are your parents?” I ask, ignoring his question.
