Page 57 of We Drank the Dawn

Did he want me to…keep cheating?

I twisted my lips, uncertain.

Then he plucked a black ink-point pen out of his pencil box and scratched something on the palm of his hand. Discreetly, he turned it toward me.

Show your work, sunshine girl.

My jaw went slack.

Sunshine girl? Did that mean he remembered me?

My eyes flicked up to his in search of the answer. But he jerked his head down at the page as if to say hurry up. So I tucked into my quiz, scribbling meaningless numbers and letters faster than I ever had in my entire life.

When I finished, Peter flipped his quiz—face down.

And so did I.

EIGHTEEN

Sarah

Ichoked back tears in the lunch line, sliding the yellowed tray down the metal bars toward the hot vats of mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Even though hunger gnawed at my midsection, I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat a thing. Thankfully, I’d found a stray hat at the bottom of my locker earlier, so I tipped the bill toward my tray, hiding my failure to keep a plethora of feelings stuffed inside my heart.

Kids filed into the line behind me, trays smacking onto the bars and plates clattering.

But a familiar voice cut through the cafeteria noise, “I’m gonna squeeze in right here.”

Peter.

Even though I didn’t lift my head, a smile—my first one all day—pulled at my cheeks. Light protests rose as Peter turned his shoulders sideways, nudging the kid behind me out of the way until there was enough room to put his tray directly next to mine. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing out loud. In our three years of friendship, I’d learned he had the craziest knack for turning my bad days around. And I adored him for it.

Skipping greetings and apologies, he said, “They made your favorite lunch today, Sunshine Girl.”

With the way I beamed, you’d think the stiff, flavorless, overcooked beef was truly delicious. But I couldn’t hear that nickname without practically melting into a puddle of happiness. After I cheated that day in seventh grade, he caught up with me in the hallway and we talked until the bell rang.

When I had stopped at my locker, he admitted he remembered that day on the playground. That one hallway talk gave birth to a friendship I craved more than air in my lungs. He offered to help me study for the next quiz, and the rest was history. In a matter of a few weeks, the Thompsons felt like a second family to me, and they welcomed me into their world.

“I would say nice to see you but I can’t lie. I’m a little miffed.” He tsked in mock disappointment. “You didn’t call me last night per our agreement.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “I meant to. We had family drama though, and I didn’t feel like talking afterward.”

“Uh oh. Again?”

“Yeah.”

A touch, featherlight on my lower back, made chills erupt over my skin. He leaned closer, his voice a whisper over my ear. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged like of course.

Over the years, Peter had learned a lot about my family. When I felt strong, I let him in a little at a time. But I’d never talked about my family like this—on the brink of falling apart with tears welling in my eyes. And even though I wanted to be honest with my friend, I didn’t want him to see me puffy-eyed and crying. I hoped he wouldn’t ask too many questions, but Peter never missed a beat and the likelihood of him not prying were slim to none. As soon as we made eye contact, it would be game over.

So I stared down at my tray, panicking over the moisture pooling in the corner of my eyes. I opened them as wide as I could, willing the tears to evaporate into the atmosphere, and ran through the lyrics of the Star Spangled Banner to keep my brain preoccupied.

Peter must’ve sensed my hesitancy to look at him because he leaned closer, his voice a rumble. “You are not okay.”

And that was Peter in a nutshell—still seeing me even when I denied him the opportunity.

“Why would you say that?” I huffed a hollow laugh. “I’m fine.”