I keep my head down, my hair falling forward to cover my face. I hope no one will recognize me—especially since the last image they have of me was when I was getting carried out of school, calling Patrick a son of a bitch with his blood on my shirt. This is a really bad place for me to be.
“Savannah Sutton?” someone calls. My heart nearly stops.
I look over slowly and find Spencer Harris. He’s a running back and a friend of Patrick’s. We’d gone to school together since kindergarten, but he looks at me now like I’m a piece of shit. I used to think he was a nice guy.
Retha stops, looking at him and then me. “You need help?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head no and wait as Spencer approaches. Retha takes a step back. I like that she doesn’t force the issue—she knows I can handle myself.
“Wow,” Spencer says, looking me over. “I thought you were in jail.”
“Nope.” Once upon a time, Spencer and I were friends. I’d been friends with a lot of people. But after I got arrested, they all forgot that. They all chose Patrick’s side, even though they knew he was an asshole. But it wasn’t like they were going to turn on one of their own.
Retha looks away, watching the party. Spencer moves closer to me and nods his chin toward her. “These the sort of people you hang out with now?”
I clench my jaw.
He laughs. “Real classy.”
“Fuck you, Spencer.”
He reaches out and clasps my shoulder, massaging it, but squeezing until it hurts. I begin to shrink back. “Be nice,” Spencer tells me through his professionally straightened smile. “I forgive you for screwing up my boy. And you know,” he adds, glancing down my shirt, “I still think you’re really hot. Even if you are psychotic.”
“Homicidal,” I growl. “Now let go.” His fingers are digging deep into my muscle, but I refuse to let him know how much he’s hurting me.
Spencer fake gasps as if I offended him. “That’s not very friendly, Savannah. How about . . .” He looks over his shoulder toward the high rows of corn. “How about we go out there, and you can make it up to me?”
Sickness swirls as I stare at him, wishing I had a pencil to drive through his face. I don’t, so I’ll have to settle for a knee to the sack.
“There she is,” Retha calls, walking over and grabbing me by the arm. She pulls me out of Spencer’s grasp and points toward the keg. I crack my neck, sliding my hand over hers where it rests on my arm, and we walk quickly. My fingers tremble.
“On the way out,” Retha says, fluffing her black curls for the benefit of people staring at us, “I’m ramming my fist through that asshole’s teeth for putting his filthy hands on you. And if I find a weapon . . .”
I smile, squeezing her hand. “He keeps a baseball bat in the back of his truck.”
“Done.”
I rub my shoulder, trying to loosen the muscle, and Retha points toward the keg again. It takes a second, but I find the girl with dumbass pink stripes in her hair. Casey is talking and laughing with some guy I recognize from my time at Kennedy. Her hair is teased, her lipstick is dark brown, and she wears ridiculously long fake eyelashes on her wide-set eyes. She might even be wearing glitter. She’s like a child who got into her trashy mom’s makeup.
Retha and I exchange a glance. “Ready?” she asks me.
My earlier moment with Spencer has thrown me off, but I say yes anyway. This is part of my gig as Retha’s best friend. Sometimes we have to argue, fight. That’s all there is to it. When people think you’re a delinquent, they treat you badly, they disrespect you (like Spencer). This is the only way to get that respect back. Even if that respect is motivated by their fear.
Casually, Retha and I make our way toward the keg. A couple of people call out to me, mostly saying what’s up or asking how I am. I guess not everyone hates me. But I don’t acknowledge them. I barely remember them.
When we stop at the metal keg, Casey doesn’t look up at us. She’s smoking a cigarette and laughing as she talks to the guy. Retha grabs a blue cup out of its plastic sleeve and begins filling it with beer from the keg, glaring at Casey. The girl doesn’t even notice. How can she not feel Retha’s stare? It’s like a million daggers tipped with poison.
As soon as the cup is full, Retha brings it to her lips and takes a long sip. Then she pulls back her arm and tosses the entire cup of beer at Casey’s face. There is a swoosh, followed by the clink of the plastic cup hitting the dirt, and a shrill scream. She sure felt that.
“What the hell?” Casey calls in a high dolphin pitch.
I laugh. She looks ridiculous. Her mascara is running down her cheeks, and Retha’s beer soaked only half of her head. The other side of her hair is still perfectly styled.
“You call Travis?” Retha asks. She sounds calm. Eerie, scary calm.
The guy next to Casey is staring between her and Retha, holding back a laugh. I can tell he’s hoping for a girl fight, as if it would have anything to do with him. Creep.
Casey’s face tightens as she realizes just who Retha is. She must recall that Retha is not only Travis’s girlfriend; she’s also the girl who punched Mrs. Crowe in the face. Casey narrows her eyes.
“It’s none of your business,” she tells Retha, tossing her wet cigarette in the dirt at Retha’s feet. The guy next to Casey takes a step back, his lips forming a perfect O.
“Just tell me,” Retha says. “Did you call Travis?” Again with the eerie calm.
“Yes,” Casey replies. “I did.”
“What did you say to him?”
Casey laughs. I can’t believe she’s challenging Retha. “I told you it’s none of your business,” Casey says, waving her head from side to side. Her mascara is nearly to her chin before she swipes her cheeks to clear it. Then she flicks the wetness off her fingers.
“What did you say to him?”
This is about to get ugly. I glance around the party. This isn’t our typical crowd—these kids tell the cops everything. I notice several people watching, but we’re not a spectacle yet. We’ll have time to run. The 7-Eleven is only a few blocks, and we can call Travis for a ride from there.
Casey smirks and sets her beer cup on the side of the keg. “Fine,” she says. “You really want to know? I asked Travis if he was done slumming with his Mexican whore.”
My mouth falls open, and behind Casey, the guy laughs.
“Excuse me?” Retha asks, and her accent seems to thicken. “I’m from Puerto Rico, bitch!”
Casey has obviously lost her mind, talking to Retha like that. But then I see her side glance, and I follow her gaze. Damn.
Casey’s looking at a couple of girls, big ones, who are on their way over to jump us from behind. One of them has a large stick in her hand.
I exhale and roll my shoulders. Guess she’s not as stupid as she looks. She’s a fighter too. Well, here we go.
Without a word, I swing out my arm and punch Casey right in the eye. She flies back off her feet and I feel an immediate vibration shoot up my arm. I hit her pretty damn hard. She’s on her ass, screaming.
“Run!” I yell to Retha, and grab her hand. We start for the field, and I glance back and see the two big girls take off after us. We might get our asses beat tonight after all.
“You knocked that bitch out,” Retha says with a loud laugh as we push our way through the corn, people yelling behind us.
“She had backup,” I say between gasps. “We were about to get jumped.”
Stalks of corn whip my arms, and I know I’ll be covered in scratches, but my adrenaline keeps me numb and pain free. I had no choice. If I hadn’t hit Casey, her friends would have beat us down right there. At least the hit was a distraction to get us out of there. But hell, my knuckles hurt.
“They’re getting closer,” Retha says.
“Take a left,” I tell her, and cut that way, knowing the street is just beyond the rows.
“They’re heading for the road,” one of the girls behind us calls out.
&nb
sp; They’re going to catch us. I curse and run faster.
Retha is at my heels as we break through the rows and onto a deserted road. Getting beat down on concrete is no fun—I’ve been there before with Retha. Not too long ago either. In fact, I have a scar on my chin.
Heaving in breaths, Retha points to the other side of the street. “7-Eleven?” she asks, half bent over.
“Never make it,” I say back. My lungs burn, like they might explode.
“Never say never,” Retha calls, and bolts.
I groan and run after her. Soon the voices behind us start to drift away. They might have gotten turned around in the corn, or they might just not have the stamina to chase us this far. Rich girls aren’t used to running for their lives. We are.
By the time we get to the 7-Eleven parking lot, I need to die. But I need a drink more.
“Let’s see if they’ll give us water,” I gasp, leaning over to rest my palms on my knees. I wait a moment, and then straighten. As we walk through the sliding door into the shop, the bright lights amplify every scrape and scratch. Stupid corn.
The woman behind the register eyes us suspiciously as we stagger in, probably looking like a couple of drunks as we head for the soda fountain.
“Can we have water?” I ask the cashier, taking the smallest cup and holding it out.
“Fifty cents.”
“For water?” I ask. Is she kidding?
“Hey, Sutton.”
My stomach flips and I slowly turn. Cameron Ramsey. While my hair is plastered to my head with sweat, dirt and blood coating my arms, Cameron looks perfect. He’s wearing a button-down shirt with khakis turned up at the ankle, no socks. His hair is tucked behind his ears, and even from here, I can smell the light scent of his cologne. Retha’s right—he is getting hotter.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I tell him. “Do you live at the 7-Eleven?”
He chuckles. “Do you?”
“Okay. Good point.”
“I was dropping a friend at home. Stopped to get refreshments.” He holds up a bottle of Coke. “What are you doing out here?”
“Uh . . .”
“Hi, Cameron,” Retha says, saving the moment. She lifts her hand in a wave. “Will you buy us a couple of sodas?”
I turn and glare at her. I can’t believe she would just ask him to buy us something. This girl has no filter.
“Sure,” Cameron says. When I turn to him, he looks at me and smiles. “No Blow Pop though, right?”
I fight back my laugh and shake my head no. Luckily, Retha doesn’t hear him, and he doesn’t tell her that he knows the truth. It’s like our little secret.
“What do you want to drink?” he asks me, grabbing two large cups from the holder.
“Nothing,” I say, and slip my hands into my pockets. I see Retha wander down an aisle.
“Really?” Cameron asks me. “Not even a water? You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re sweating.”
I’m also dying of humiliation. “No, really. I’m fine.”
He shrugs. “Okay.”
Damn. I’m thirsty. But I don’t want to owe him anything. Well, anything else. He’s already given me a lollipop and a ride. What’s next?
Retha appears again with a bag of chips. “Cameron,” she says, like she’s known him all of her life. “Can I use your phone real quick?” She brushes her black curls from her face. “I need to see if Travis can pick us up.”
Cameron looks over his shoulder from where he’s at the soda machine, filling up a cup with Dr Pepper.
“Sure, but do you guys need a ride somewhere?” he asks. He finds the tops for the sodas and presses one on. With his back to us, Retha glances at me and smiles.
I widen my eyes at her and mouth “no.”
“Actually,” she says sweetly to Cameron, licking her lips suggestively even though he can’t see her. “We’d love a ride. That is sooo nice of you to offer.”
“Retha,” I say as warning. She laughs.
“Cool,” Cameron responds, and turns around, oblivious to our struggle. Retha straightens quickly like she’s a saint. “Let’s do it,” Cameron adds, making Retha crack a smile.
He grabs another drink and fills it, but he doesn’t look at me again, doesn’t ask if I’m really sure I don’t want one. He laughs with Retha instead, handing her a drink. It’s stupid, but I’m a little jealous. I liked it when I was the only one he talked to.
I hang back as he walks around with Retha, letting her pick out other snacks she wants. Again, he doesn’t ask me. When they’re done with their shopping spree, Retha and I go out front to wait next to the Beamer while Cameron pays for it all.
“I can’t believe you,” I say to her, totally pissed. Another ride home, another conversation. Opening up my world to someone like Cameron is a bad fucking idea. I can feel it. And besides, I’m embarrassed that he knows I can’t even afford a cup of water, and yet, here’s Retha asking him to buy her Slim Jims.
“He wants to screw you,” Retha says as if it makes it all fine.
“He does not.”
“So does.”
“Maybe he likes you,” I tell her. “You’re the one always asking him to buy shit.”
She laughs. “Don’t be bitter. Oh, wait,” she says, “I know what it is.”
I look sideways at her. “What?”
“The Shirt.”
We stare at each other for a second, and then we both break out laughing. She’s totally right. That damn shirt. It has to be more than a coincidence.
Just then a car pulls into the parking lot. It takes me a second, since I’m still smiling, thinking about The Shirt. Then I hear, “There they are!”
“Oh my God,” I say, grabbing Retha. I’m about to run when the door opens and Cameron comes out of the store, holding a bag while balancing two sodas against his chest. He looks at us.
“You could have stayed to help me carry stuff,” he says.
“Get in,” I yell to both him and Retha.
Retha opens the back door and dives in, while I quickly round the car and get in the passenger seat. Cameron follows but pauses outside his door, unable to open it with his full hands.
I lean over and pull the handle, stretching across the seats to push it open for him. He catches it with his elbow, and I straighten to see the Honda full of bitches racing through the parking lot toward us.
“Move your ass, Cameron!” I shout, reaching to grab the bag from his hand and shoving it on the floor at my feet. He laughs, climbing in, and looks at me like I’m insane.
But I’m actually kind of scared. “Please,” I tell him, trying to sound calmer. “I’m about to get jumped.”
His face falls, and without asking for further explanation, he sets the sodas in the cup holders and slams the door. He starts his car and slips his arm behind my seat, turning to back us up.
The girls stop their car on the side of the convenience store and get out, running toward us and shouting. Only now they have two more girls.
“Run them over,” Retha says, leaning up between the seats.
Cameron stifles a laugh and turns the wheel sharply, heading in the other direction.
Chasing after us, Casey stops to take off her boot. She chucks it at the car, bouncing it off the hood. But Cameron drives fast, and soon they’re just standing behind us in the parking lot, flipping us off.
“She threw her fucking boot?” Retha says, grabbing a soda and sitting back in the seat like this is a normal car ride. “She’s pathetic.”
Cameron is pressing his lips together so hard I think he might hurt himself.
“Something funny?” I ask him, just realizing that I’m riding shotgun and wishing I had dived into the back with Retha.
“Not at all,” Cameron says seriously. “I’m used to people throwing their shoes at my car.” He looks at me, and I smile. Okay, I can see how that might be a little humorous to him.
He nods down at the cup holder. “Got you a Dr Pepper,
” he says as if I’d asked for it specifically. I look down at the drink, and then turn toward the window, my face warm. His kindness is too easy. I worry about the strings that are attaching to me.
“Cameron,” Retha says between slurps from her straw, “you should have seen Savvy tonight. She knocked a bitch out.”
He turns, seeming surprised. “Really?” he asks me.
“No. She wasn’t knocked out,” I murmur. I don’t want to brag about fighting. It isn’t something I’m proud of—yeah, there’s a rush at first. But that’s always followed by guilt. Even when the person deserves it.
I glance sideways at Cameron and find him looking at my hand; my knuckles are red, soon to be a pretty shade of purple.
“She may not have been unconscious,” Retha says, “but did you see her swollen eye in the parking lot? Shoot. She’d better invest in some dark sunglasses.”
“Shut up, Retha.” I rest my elbow on the window and lean my head into my palm. To be honest, my hand hurts, and my throat burns from running. But I still don’t want to take that soda.
“Wow,” Cameron says. “Sounds like a fun Friday night. Remind me not to take you to any parties unless I have a getaway car waiting.”
“Go to hell,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry, Cameron,” Retha says, biting her straw. “I’m sure Savvy would be a perfect angel with you.”
I spin to look at her but she just winks. She’s dead to me.
“Oh,” Retha says to Cameron, finding his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Can you drop me off first? I need to tell Travis his girl got beat down.”
She’s leaving me alone with Cameron now? Not just dead to me—dead. I’m going to murder her later. I lean my head back against the seat.
Cameron listens as Retha gives him directions, and when we pull up in front of Travis’s house, I begin to shake my leg with nervousness. I don’t even know what to talk to Cameron about. I already told him about my expulsion. I don’t want to give him any more details.
“Thanks,” Retha calls to him. “You really saved our asses back there.”
Cameron nods and waves to her.