“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What’s happening?” This is bad—Retha doesn’t cry. Tear up, sure, but not sob cry. She’d rather punch something first.
“It’s Travis,” she says. “He’s relapsed.”
I let her words sink in, and my lips begin to tremble. I stagger back and bump against the living room wall. I knew it. I knew Travis was using again, but I didn’t stop him. I didn’t force him to talk about it. My face breaks, and I put my palm over my eyes. When we didn’t go out last night, I figured he and Retha were together. “What happened,” I murmur.
“After he dropped me off,” Retha says, “he got into a fight with his dad. Bastard nearly broke his arm again—I can’t believe he ever got paroled.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, hitching in a cry. “Who gave him the drugs?”
“He left his house and tracked down those assholes he used to hang out with—the ones from State Street. They got him a fix. He sat in their apartment and shot that shit into his arms.” She starts to break down but bites it back. “His brother thought he was dead when he found him on the lawn this morning. Those junkies dumped him instead of taking him to the hospital.” She pauses to breathe. “He OD’d this time, Savvy. His heart stopped.”
Physical pain shakes me, and my entire body goes rigid, ready to convulse with tears. “Tell me he’s okay,” I whisper. “Please tell me he’s okay, Retha.” Not Travis. Please, God, don’t take Travis from us.
Retha sniffles, as if my meltdown helped clear her head. “He’s alive, Savvy. We won’t know the extent of the damage for a while, but they got him to the hospital and were able to stabilize him. He’s got a hell of an infection in his arm.”
“Which hospital?” I dart my eyes around the house, thinking of how I can get to the hospital. I spy my father’s keys hanging near the door, and I start that way.
“He’s not there anymore,” Retha says. “They’ve sent him to a rehab center in Cleveland. He’s on lockdown in the infirmary—no visitors.”
I clutch my father’s keys in my hand, feeling the metal bite into my palm. “For how long?” I ask.
“He has to stay there a mandatory ninety days. And if he fucks up this time, he’s going to prison for parole violation. This is his last chance.” She pauses a long moment, her toughness fading with each jagged breath she pulls in. “He looked so bad at the hospital,” she whispers. “It was like it wasn’t him at all. I’ve never . . .” She breaks into a new cry. “I can’t live without him, Savvy.”
Soon her sobs are replaced with thuds, the sounds of her fist hitting things. The wall, maybe. The table.
“Stop,” I tell her, although I know she won’t listen. “I’m coming over. We can—”
“I’m leaving, Savvy,” Retha says. “I’m on my way out right now.”
My stomach drops, and I wipe hard at my cheeks. “What? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to my grandmother’s out in Cleveland to wait for him. The lawyer told me he should be able to have visitors in a few weeks. And I have to be there for him—Travis needs me.”
I drop my father’s keys and walk over to the wall and lean against it, slowly sliding down until I’m resting on the faded carpet. There are no words that can make this better. The drugs have beaten Travis again. He won’t graduate this year. Neither will Retha. And when Travis comes back, we’ll wait to see if he’ll relapse again. All we can do is wait. The drugs ruin all of us.
“I can’t come with you,” I say miserably. “I can’t leave Evan.”
“I know,” she says. “And Travis will understand. I’ll help him. I’ll get him better and bring him home. I promise.”
The word makes me cry. Travis promised too. Fear, dread, and loneliness all assault me at once, and I cover my face with my hand.
“When are you leaving?” I ask, sounding as controlled as I can manage.
“My uncle’s on his way to pick me up,” she says.
“What am I going to do without you guys?” I ask. Travis and Retha are all I have, other than Evan. I don’t know how to lose them.
“You’ll be okay,” Retha says. “You’re one tough bitch, Savvy.” She laughs. “You put a fucking pencil through a football player’s hand and punched out a girl in the cornfield. I don’t need to worry about you.”
I chuckle through my tears, knowing that I’m not nearly as tough as anyone thinks. Knowing that without Retha and Travis, I feel alone and vulnerable. “I’ll miss you,” I say. “I already miss you.”
“Stop,” she says, trying to sound light. “Three months. I’ll be back in three months.”
But three months is a long time. And I can’t even let myself consider that it might be longer. “Evan will be sad,” I say, looking toward my brother’s closed bedroom door. How am I going to explain this to him? He adores Retha.
“Tell him I said that when I get back, I’m going to beat his little ass if he doesn’t behave himself.”
“Retha,” I say.
“What?”
“Hurry up, okay?”
“I will.”
“And tell Travis I love him and to hurry up, too.”
“Definitely.”
We wait a moment longer, and then Retha says good-bye and hangs up. I stay on the floor, still shaking.
I knew. I hate myself because I knew something was wrong with Travis, and I didn’t stop this. Because he promised. He fucking promised me. And I was too worried about privacy to press for an honest answer. I might as well have put that needle in myself.
I begin to cry again, letting the knowledge slip over me. I. Am. Alone.
There’s a noise behind my father’s door, and I have to pull myself together before he gets up. I swipe under my eyes and slowly stand, hand on the wall.
Travis’s life is hard. He has a dad who beats him and his mother is dead. It isn’t fair, the way some of us have gotten so screwed by life. It isn’t fair that someone as beautiful as Travis is haunted by addiction. That people always expect the worst of Retha, even though she’s the best friend I could ever have.
At least I have Evan. No matter how shitty I think my life is, I have my brother. I’ll always have him. And although he’s the hardest part of my life, he’s also the best. Because when Evan’s happy, I’m happy. If only I can figure out how to keep him that way forever. How can I possibly make him happy in the awful place where we live?
I stumble to my room and close my door. I lean against it, completely overwhelmed, and notice my bathing suit lying across my dresser.
Cameron’s pool party.
Retha wanted to go so badly; she even convinced me to go. It would have been the highlight of her week, checking out the hot rich boys, showing off in her bikini and making them drool.
But now, looking around at my shabby life, I know I’ve been delusional. This is what I have. All I have. And going to a stupid party isn’t going to change that.
I choke back a cry and stomp over to swipe everything off my dresser, sending my bathing suit and a frame Evan made me to the floor. And then I collapse on my bed and cry.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I don’t go to Cameron’s party.
At school on Monday I’m miserable without Retha and Travis. I managed to collect enough change around my house to take the bus to school, but I’ll have to find more if I hope to make it through the week. I sit in class, occasionally looking back at Travis’s desk, my heart breaking every time I find it empty. Retha made it to Cleveland and gave me her grandmother’s number. I wish I could talk to her now.
Cameron walks into class, and I’m not sure what I expected. I didn’t think he’d ignore me. He does. His hair hangs close to his face and his black T-shirt is dark and crisp against his jeans when he takes off his coat.
I wait as he sits down, but he still doesn’t say anything. He takes out his phone and begins texting, like I’m not three feet away, staring at him. My face stings a little, and I look down at my desk. Mr. Jimenez is late.
Five minut
es pass. The anxiety in my chest is making me crazy. Cameron hasn’t spoken to me. I stare at him again, practically begging him to notice me. I’m too emotionally raw for this shit. Finally I give in.
“I’m sorry I didn’t go to your party,” I say.
His thumbs stop on the phone, but he doesn’t look up. “You weren’t there?” he asks. “I didn’t notice.”
Ouch. “Was it fun?”
“Blast.”
I don’t know what else to say. He doesn’t seem mad mad, which is weird because I sort of want him to be. I want him to ask for an explanation. I want an excuse to tell him about Retha and Travis—even though I won’t tell him about Retha and Travis.
Cameron should be mad at me for making him have a party and then not showing up. But he just starts texting again.
Mr. Jimenez is now ten minutes late, which isn’t cool. Because of the school’s budget, we know subs are pretty much impossible. But . . . we count on him. Sure, we give our teacher a hard time, but we expect him to take it. We expect him to come back.
Gris and Lucinda stand up, exchanging a few words before leaving together. They’re obviously hooking up; I’m not the slightest bit surprised. Although to be honest, she could do better. I look back toward Retha’s desk to tell her, and when she’s not there, it’s a cold splash of reality.
I miss her—I miss Retha and Travis so much that it’s hard to think about them. I just want my friends back. But Travis needs help and he’ll get it. That’s what matters. That’s worth waiting for.
Their absence creates a fire, bravery in my chest. I have to be strong for them. I have to show them I’m all right. I look over at Cameron.
“Who do you text?” I ask him. It’s a bold question and I regret it the second I ask. He looks sideways at me but doesn’t answer.
He might be texting a girl—maybe one from his party. I bet she’s a blonde, a cute, perky blonde. Jealousy squeezes my heart.
“I don’t think we’re having class,” Cameron says. He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to take off.”
“Good for you,” I murmur. If my life hadn’t completely blown up, I might have gone to the party. And sure, I wish I had. But now he’s moved on. Didn’t take him long. Obviously I hadn’t been that interesting.
He stands, gathering his things before walking away. I feel rejected, but then halfway to the door, Cameron pauses to look back at me.
“You coming or not?” he asks.
I lift my eyes to his, startled. “What? Where?”
“I don’t know. But I’m sure it’ll be awesome. We can tell each other secrets and shit.”
He wants me to leave with him. He must not hate me after all. And I’m lonely, scared. I need a distraction to pass the time until Retha and Travis get back. Cameron can be that distraction.
“Okay,” I say. Cameron waits for me, and then together we walk out.
We don’t say much on the way to his car, and despite the fact that he invited me along, the tension is thick. So the minute we get inside, I turn to him.
“Is this you getting back at me?” I ask.
“For what?”
It occurs to me that I’m overthinking again. He really might not have even noticed that I wasn’t at his party. “Never mind,” I say.
“No, really, Sutton. What would I be getting back at you for?” Cameron asks. “The fact that my parents rented tables and chairs? Or that my mom had it catered because she thought you loved Cantonese food?” His face grows serious. “Or maybe the fact that I waited by the door, checking every few minutes, to see if you were just too chickenshit to come inside?”
“Yeah. Any of those.” Although I feel terrible, at the same time I’m glad he cares. I like how it makes me feel. “Did you really wait by the door for me?” I ask quietly.
“No.”
“You did, didn’t you?” I ask.
“For like a second.” Cameron waves his hand as if I’m making a big deal out of nothing. “And to answer your question, no. I’m not getting back at you. I just . . . can we hang out?”
“I don’t really like Cantonese food,” I say. “So maybe it’s good that I didn’t let your mom down.”
He laughs. “Maybe.”
I’ll let him down too. It’s a sobering thought, and I lower my head.
I feel Cameron watching me. “Why didn’t you come to my party?” he asks. His voice is hesitant, like he’s worried about my answer.
“It’s—” I’m about to tell him it’s none of his business, but instead, my eyes well up, heartache stings in my chest. I don’t have anyone else to tell. Nobody else cares.
“Savannah?” Cameron says, and lightly touches my arm.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep my composure. “Travis, Retha’s boyfriend, OD’d. He was sent away to recover. Retha’s with him.” I say it all simply, trying to take the emotion out of it, but when I look at Cameron again, a tear falls on my cheek. I quickly brush it away. “He almost died,” I add.
“Shit,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” I nod and thank him. I appreciate that his sympathy doesn’t feel like pity.
“Can I take you somewhere?” he asks. He wants to help me—I know that. But I also know that he can’t solve my problems.
“We can go to my house?” he offers. “We can talk there.”
“I shouldn’t,” I say.
“Then do you want to invite me to yours?”
“Definitely not,” I say, widening my eyes.
“Uh . . . then all signs are pointing to McDonald’s. Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
Cameron exhales. “You’re making this really hard.”
“And what is this?” I look over at him. “Because in case you didn’t notice, my life sucks right now.” It’s so confusing, liking him but knowing I can’t tell him. Knowing that even if he does like me back, we can’t be together. How can I have a boyfriend when I have to take care of Evan? My brother is my first priority. Not some guy. Not even Cameron.
“Yeah, I did notice,” Cameron says, putting his hands in the air. “But I still want to be your friend. Why are you making it so difficult?”
“You want to be my friend?” I mean it to sound bitchy, but it doesn’t come out that way. It sounds hopeful.
“Sort of. If you stop being so mean to me.”
I watch him a moment, and despite my reluctance, I laugh. “That will be difficult,” I say.
“I believe in you,” he says. “So what do you think? Could you use a new friend?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Okay, maybe a little,” I say.
He smiles to himself and turns to look out the windshield. “So my house, then?”
“Yeah.” And that’s it. I suddenly have a friend, one with a fresh slate. I like it. I like the possibility. And I like him.
* * *
“I have to be home by three,” I say as we walk in his front door. I slip off my shoes, proud that my socks actually match today.
“Why by three?” Cameron asks.
“Because that’s when my brother’s bus gets there. I can’t be late.” I peek around the house, half-expecting to see some remnants of a party.
“Can I meet him?” Cameron asks.
“Who?” I swing to face him. “My brother?” Evan isn’t some pet that I take out for people to play with.
Cameron looks confused. “Yeah . . . I don’t know. I want to meet him. Is that bad?”
“You can’t meet him,” I murmur, turning away. I shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have told him about Travis, because now he thinks we can share things like this. But we can’t. Look what Patrick said about my brother. I can’t handle that happening with Cameron.
“Hey,” Cameron says, touching my shoulder. I jump, and he quickly steps back and apologizes.
This isn’t going well. I know I’m being difficult, but I’m not sure how to be any other way. I watch him, unable to explain that.
I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want him to disappoint me.
“Breakfast?” he asks, like he’s trying to change the subject.
“No thanks.”
“But it’s Lucky Charms.” He still looks uncomfortable, as if my not letting him meet my brother has screwed him up. “Who doesn’t like Lucky Charms?”
“I don’t,” I say. “But knock yourself out.”
“And what? You’re just going to sit there?”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. “I want nothing more than to just sit there and watch.”
“Wow, Savannah,” he says, pushing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “That sounds kind of pervy.”
“Oh my God. Shut up.”
“What else do you like to watch?”
“I hope you drop dead.” I’m laughing, embarrassed, but also enjoying his sense of humor. He doesn’t let me take myself too seriously.
“Well, then let me go put on a show for you,” Cameron says, motioning toward the kitchen. I slap his shoulder and follow behind him.
* * *
We end up having Lucky Charms because he’s right, who passes on Lucky Charms? Cameron eats two bowls, and we sit across the table from each other, not talking. When he finishes, he pushes his bowl away and leans back in his chair, looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you want to talk more about Retha and Travis?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I can’t,” I say, and immediately pause. It’s too new. It hurts too much. I’ll save the pain for later. Otherwise I’ll fall apart right here.
“Okay,” Cameron says. “What about your family? What are they like?”
“Jesus, Cameron. You ask a lot of questions.”
“That’s because you don’t volunteer information,” he says.
“Maybe you should take the hint.”
He smiles, sweeping his eyes over my face. “What’s your family like?” he asks again.
And for some unknown reason, I actually consider telling him. But I don’t. “They’re awesome.”
“That’s cool. Is your mom pretty?”
“What the fuck sort of question is that?”
He raises his hands in apology. “I’m just curious.”