Page 12 of Crashing Waves


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I looked over at the proffered half of the tuna fish sandwich with much nicer, healthier-looking lettuce on a sesame seed roll.

"W-what?" I asked, bringing my eyes to his.

"Take it. Don't eat that shit."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded insistently, thrusting the sandwich toward me. "Max, just take the damn sandwich."

So, without another protest, I did. "Thanks."

"Yeah," he grunted, then lifted his half and took a bite. "So, um …"

I brought the sandwich to my mouth. "I really don't wanna talk about it," I said with a rueful sigh, then took a bite.

Flavor burst on my tongue like fireworks, and I closed my eyes, struggling to bite back a moan. It might've been the most delicious sandwich I'd ever eaten in my life.

"Oh, really? I didn’t notice," he muttered sarcastically, his mouth full. "It's fine. Whatever. I'll drop it."

"Okay."

It was very obviously not fine, judging by the awkward silence that immediately fell between us, and Ichewed, knowing damn well he wasn't going tojust drop it.

Ten seconds later, he nudged my arm with the back of his hand. "But …"

"Here we go."

"Are you okay?"

My chest constricted around the question. Oh my God, nobody had ever asked me that before. Nobody had ever known to.

I forced a chuckle. "Yeah, I'm—"

"No, really." He turned and pinned me with an accusing glare. "Are youokay?"

I lowered the tuna fish sandwich to lie on the brown paper bag, right beside the crappy concoction I had felt guilty for sending my sisters to school with. Me, I could handle, but they didn't deserve that. They deserved good food. They deserved this tuna. They deserved a mom who remembered to give me money for groceries. They deserved a father who remembered when she didn’t.

They deserved more … and there was nothing I could do about it.

"No," I finally answered, and my shoulders sagged with the relief of telling the truth for maybe the first time in my entire life.

Ricky studied my face for a few moments longer than I would've liked. The accusatory glare quickly turned to one of concern.

Then he asked, "What can I do?"

I laughed at that, even as I wanted to cry. "Nobody can do anything. It’s just … the way it is," I said with a shrug.

He looked dubious. "You say that like this"—he gestured toward me—"is normal."

"Isn't it?" I huffed a short, mirthless chuckle.

"I don't knowanybodyin our grade who's not allowed to doanything," he muttered, keeping his voice low. "You act like you're a prisoner or something."

Well, wasn't I? But I didn't say as much.

"You act like … I don’t know …” He pursed his lips and moved them from side to side, almost like he was unsure of what he wanted to say. “Scared.”

“I’m not scared,” I replied before taking another bite.