“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I huffed, hurrying my pace.
Ricky grabbed my arm, pulling me back and keeping me from going farther. “What the hell is going on with you?!”
I held the straps of my backpack in a tightened grip as I stared at him. I kept my jaw locked tight, my teeth clamped together.
Ricky dropped his arms to his sides and laughed humorlessly. “Jesus, Max. I mean, you’ve always been kinda weird—no offense—but this is a whole other level of bizarre.”
I dropped my gaze and poked the inside of my cheek with my tongue.
“Look, if you don't want to hang out anymore, just—"
"That's not what it is," I murmured beneath my breath.
"Then what the hell is it?"
I swallowed against my shame and said, "My dad."
I flicked my gaze to Ricky's for a split second, in time to see his brow furrow with confusion.
"Yourdad?"
Ricky's parents had been happily married until his dad died when he was a little kid. His mom didn’t dictate his entire life, so of course he didn't understand. I didn't expect him to.
"Yeah, my dad," I muttered, leaving it at that.
"What do you mean?"
I huffed, impatient and aggravated. I didn't want to talk about this—Ineverwanted to talk about this—but Ricky wasn't walking away. I could've left, could've stormed off, but he was already worried that I didn't like him. I didn't want to solidify his assumptions.
"My dad gets pissed off if I'm not home," I grumbled, feeling more and more humiliated. Feeling like a little kid.
"So …" He lifted his shoulders, confusion on his face. "Just go home before your cur—"
"It's not acurfew. He just wants me home right after school."
He tipped his head, looking directly in my eyes as he asked, "And what if you aren't?"
I pretended to glance at my watch and turned on my heel. "I have to go. See you tom—"
"Max, what the hell happens if you aren't home?"
"Don't worry about it," I said, breaking out into a jog. "See you at lunch tomorrow."
***
All weekend, I stressed over what Ricky would say to me on Monday at lunchtime, and I didn’t feel much better by Monday morning. I knew he would want to pick up the conversation where we’d left off, and I struggled my way through English and History while trying to come up with answers to every possible question he might ask.
By the time I walked into the cafeteria, he was already at our usual table.
I sighed and slogged my way over, praying he had forgotten while knowing he hadn't.
He didn't say anything at first. He just glanced at me through the corner of his eye while opening his sandwich. My mouth watered at the smell of tuna. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten tuna.
I held my sad-looking sandwich of wilted lettuce and a bruised tomato and tried to will myself to take a bite when Ricky's sandwich looked gourmet in comparison. I needed to go to the grocery store, but Mom had forgotten to give me money over the weekend. So, I’d been resigned to choke down whatever was left in the house.
"Here."
