She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(6)
“Brando—think fast.” I toss his shoes to him, wincing when he almost upends his bowl in his scrambling effort to catch them.
I pat Macy on the head, grabbing three of the five packed lunches and stuffing them into the backpacks before zipping them all. When I turn, Gia’s walking into the room and scooping Macy up, twirling her around and commenting on her dress. We make brief eye contact, and I nod at her. Thank you. Her return nod is small.
She’s barely fifteen. This is her fifth house since she was put into the system when she was no older than Macy. Gia hasn’t had a lot of thank yous, and though I want to tear my hair out and question what in the name of Harry Potter could ever take her so long in the morning, I understand that her life has never been easy. I may not have had a glamorous life, but my less-than-stellar upbringing was steady for the first eleven years. Gia has been in a constant state of change since before she was old enough to tie her own shoes.
By some miracle, we manage to get the kids over to Mrs. Garcia—the neighbor who puts them on their bus, which comes almost an hour after ours—and still make it to our stop on time. We separate immediately, her to the back with her friends, me at the front because I have no friends. I’m almost seventeen—most everyone my age has a car, or a friend who will pick them up. I have no car… and, after the what Cam said to me yesterday, I’m not so sure I have a friend anymore either.
For whatever reason, this makes me think of Gage.
That definitely makes you someone to me. It’s been a long time since someone told me I meant something to them.
I’ve been in the system for almost five years. My father never existed beyond the idea that I biologically had to have one, and my mother died in a drunk driving accident when I was in the seventh grade. Like all good alcoholics, she was estranged from her family, and they weren’t interested in taking responsibility for any of her choices, me included. So, I was put into foster care, lived at a group home, and then April and Brad came around.
I’ve lived with them since I was a ninth grader, which offered me the fresh start of a new school, since they lived outside of my old district. An emergency nurse and a foreman at one of the large construction companies in Camarillo, neither of them are around a ton, but they always make sure we’re taken care of. Part of April’s belief is that, by having us raise each other, we’re more connected. Not unlike what Ms. Moyer said yesterday, which might be part of the reason I reacted so badly.
Which means that Cam was probably right, and I owe him an apology.
The bus swings around the circular bus lane in front of the school, and squeaks to a stop. At the front, I’m always the first one off, slipping into school through the side door. Today, I pause when I get onto the sidewalk, raising my brow at Cam where he leans against the retaining wall.
He’s gorgeous, with tousled brown hair, hazel eyes, and casual clothes that scream style. He’s been my best friend since freshman year when we quickly learned we both had secrets we weren’t ready to share with the world. Unlike me, Cam isn’t ashamed of who he is. He simply understands that being gay in high school makes you one of a few things: an oddity, a target, or a zoo animal, always being stared at. He’s chosen to be quieter about his sexuality because he wants to be none of those things.
“Hey there, stranger. How’s it going?”
I walk over to lean against the wall next him. “Nothing like a bumpy ride on the early bus to make my day great.”
“You could have called me for a ride,” he says.
I look over at him, sliding my fingers up the inside of my straps until they rest near my shoulders. He tracks the move, raising a small brow but not commenting. “Could I have? You were pretty mad yesterday.”
He nods his head, smoothing a hand through his hair. “Yeah… I think maybe I overreacted.” He blows out a breath. “It’s just that I’m kind of tired of being on the outside, of ignoring people, of waiting for them to react the way I assume they’re going to react. Something hit me a few weeks ago and I… I don’t know, I just don’t think the same way I used to.” He shrugs. “Maybe… maybe people aren’t all the same.”
We start walking, the tension from our fight gone, but not the sentiment. “I think you might be right. And I think you might have had a point yesterday,” I say.
Cam’s lips quirk. “You think?”
“I might not agree with everything you said,” I clarify with a smile. “But maybe I am a little pessimistic, and a little sensitive. And, maybe not viewing every interaction with another human being as a battle of life and death would make my life easier.”
“Let’s put that thought to the test.” Before I know what he’s doing, Cam’s raising his hand and waving. “Hey, Gage! Kennedy and I were just talking about you.”
Traitor. I glare at Cam, my eyes promising pain and punishment, but he just smiles. I shift my attention to Gage, ignoring the small bit of appreciation that flutters in my stomach when I notice how well the Giants t-shirt he’s wearing fits his broad shoulders.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
“Handy, since I was just coming to say good morning to my girl.” Then, he holds out a cup of coffee with my name scrawled on the outside, a little heart underneath it. “Morning, Kenny, how’d you sleep?”