He fishes out a red and green wrapped package from his backpack and slides it to me. “Merry Christmas, Parker.”
Crap. I didn’t get him anything.
“I don’t get a present?’ Arissa pouts.
“I offered you a fry.”
“After you took my food!”
He pecks her cheek and her eyes bug out. “Happy now, Jericho?”
She shoves his shoulder and smiles.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks me.
I push the present back to him. “I can’t accept it.”
He pushes it back. “Yes, you can. From one friend to another.”
But I know it’s more than that. He likes me and I like him. It will never be just a present between friends. I exhale and catch his gaze. His eyes are soft, telling me there is no expectation from him.
I rip the paper open and a beautiful leather bound copy of The Wizard Of Oz stares at me. I trace the title with a fingertip.
I’ve never had anything so nice. I automatically wonder what my family would do to it if they saw it. Shred it. Set it on fire. Throw it under running water. Because unlike them, I can’t have nice things.
I think there is a set of unspoken rules:
1. Sara cannot have any love or affection.
2. Sara cannot have anything new, pretty, or of value.
3. Sara must remain miserable.
“Thank you,” I say softly, meeting his gaze.
“You’re welcome.” He smiles bright and bites into a soggy fry.
“I don’t have anything for you.”
“The look on your face is enough for me.” His eyes flicker between me and Arissa. “Any plans for the break?”
I shake my head. How do I explain that I’m wrapping all my sister’s Christmas gifts and whatever else my parents want me to do? We never visit family and they never visit us. I don’t even know if we have any family.
Sometimes it was easier not having friends. No chasm separating my life from theirs to keep me telling lie after lie.
“Liar,” Arissa says with her eyes narrowed at me.
“Wha—”
She breaks into a giant grin. “Gotcha!” she laughs. “We’re having a sleepover New Year’s Eve,” she tells Jason when the laughter subsides.
“What about you?” I ask him.
“We’re going to see my dad’s parents in Phoenix.”
“Ooh. Spending time with the Zonies,” Arissa jokes.
“It’s okay,” he says, dismissing her use of the name. “We hardly see them. My parents wanted to do it since other family will be visiting.”
Jason hugs us at the end of lunch. “See you in two weeks, Parker,” he whispers, his warm chest pressed against me. He smells of woods. And man. And comfort.
We clean up our trash after he leaves and I pick up the book, studying the cover. Sara can’t have anything new, pretty, or of value.
“Riss,” I say, looking at her.
“Yeah.” She meets my gaze with her unsuspecting sapphire eyes.
“Can I keep this,” I hold up the book, “at your house?”
“Of course. But don’t you want it with the rest of your books?”
My meager collection of mostly library toss-offs and the first book Jason gave me.
“My parents will freak if they see it and find out Jason gave it me.”
“I didn’t think about that.” She takes the book from me and slips it in her backpack. “You okay?”
“It’s hard, Riss.”
And unfair. I have more freedom than I did before, thanks to Arissa. But where they were forced to loosen up on one rule, they tightened up on the others. The spoken and unspoken.
Father shoves me on my bedroom floor. “What did he give you? I’m not going to ask again.”
“Nothing,” I insist. I push my backpack towards him. “Search it if you want. Search my room. Take me to school and search my locker. He gave me nothing.”
“That’s not what we were told.”
“You were told wrong,” I lie boldly. “He gave Arissa a present. Not me.”
He glares at me with his brows knitted, as if he’s trying to puzzle it out for himself.
“You’re lying.” He grabs the backpack and upends it, my books and notebook falling out and thudding against each other on the floor. He checks the pockets, emptying the contents haphazardly. Not finding what he expects, he tosses my room. Tearing the bed apart, dumping out drawers, clearing the closet.
Through it all, I sit with my arms wrapped around my legs in the middle of the room, thankful my beautiful book is safe across the street. He can tear the house apart. He’ll never find it.
Having run out of places to search, he mutters, “Clean up this mess.”