By Your Side(14)

Before I’d even shown my cards he said, “So my question is: Where do you think your friends are? Honestly.”

His question was like a punch to my gut. “How do you know you won?”

He put his forearms on the table and nodded toward my cards.

I laid them down, showing he’d guessed right. He looked at my cards, then at me again, waiting.

“I told you where I thought they were. Looking for me.”

“So the whole honesty part of this bet was just for show?”

“Fine. Honestly . . . I think they figured I went home because I was tired or upset or something.”

“How would you have gotten home?”

“They probably thought I called my mom or dad.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because I’ve done it before.”

He tilted his head. “You leave events often without telling anyone?”

“I have anxiety. I panic.” I’d never said that out loud before to anyone but my parents and brother. My friends probably thought I had some sleeping problem because I generally used sleep as an excuse to leave.

“Over what?”

“Everything. Nothing. I can work through it usually. But I’ve learned when I can’t, and that’s when I leave the situation.” I shuffled the cards and thought about putting an end to the game, but he’d already asked the worst question he could’ve; anything after this would be cake, and I was still dying to find out some things about him.

When he didn’t say anything, I added, “I take medication for it. It’s no big deal.” My medication that was now in my overnight bag in Jeff’s trunk. Missing three days wouldn’t be the end of the world, but still, it was something else to worry about.

I met his eyes, daring him to make me expound some more. He didn’t. I dealt another hand that he proceeded to win. I sighed and waited as he leaned back in his chair and stared me down, as if the perfect question would present itself. He had never looked at me for this long and I couldn’t maintain his gaze. I began tracing the grain of the wood on the tabletop. It was pretty sad that it was this hard for him to come up with a question for me when I had a million things I wanted to know about him.

“Why are you always hiding behind your camera?”

“What?” My eyes shot up to his. I wasn’t even sure how to answer that question because it was more of an untrue statement than a question. “I’m not. I like photography. End of story.”

He nodded, then leaned back as if waiting for me to deal him another hand.

“I do. I like everything about it. I like capturing a moment in time forever. I like seeing things from a different perspective. I like taking a section out of a whole, deciding which section that is going to be. I like the predictability of a camera, that it does exactly what I tell it to do. I like capturing emotion and stories and memories.”

He raised his eyebrows a bit, like that answer surprised him, but when he still didn’t say anything I added, “I’m not hiding from anything.”

“It’s good to know what you like,” he said.

“It is.” How did he do that? How did he get me to say so much with so little effort? I took a deep breath, calmed my mind, and dealt another hand.

My hand was good. I only had to trade in one. When I drew the new card it gave me a full house. I kept my face as passive as possible.

He traded three and my foot tapped nervously while I waited for him to study his hand. He placed two pairs faceup on the table.

“Ha!” I said, laying my cards down. “Finally.”

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.

There were so many questions I wanted answered that it was hard to narrow it down to one. My eyes went to his wrist. I really wanted to know what the tattoo meant, but since he’d already not answered it once, I had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t answer this time either, regardless of the fact that I had just won.

Maybe he’d answer this one. “Why were you in juvie last year?”

“I thought everyone knew that story.”

“I know the rumors, but I want the truth.”

“You shouldn’t have wasted your question. The rumors are true.”

“You beat someone up?”

“Yes.”

“Who? Why?” I asked.

“Foster father number three. Because he deserved it.”

“What did he do?”

“He was a jerk.”

“How?”

“He liked to beat on his wife. I wanted him to know how it felt. When the cops came, his wife defended him and threw me under the bus. They pressed charges.”

“That sucks.”

He shrugged and tossed me his cards. Then he stood abruptly. “I’m hungry.” With that he left the table and headed for the doors.

I guess I was lucky he answered one question. I should’ve known this bet would end the game.





CHAPTER 10


Dax was in front of the television eating the rest of his candy bar when I arrived. The sleeping bag was sitting where I’d left it on the couch. I sat down on my end and pulled it over my lap.

I lifted a corner. “Do you want to share?”

“I’m good.”