Reclaim - Aly Martinez Page 0,18

with pickles and mustard would be my second favorite.”

Now, that I could do.

I took the peanut butter and jelly from his hand, because let’s be honest, turkey with potato chips sounded disgusting. “Tomorrow, I’m bringing lunch.”

He opened his mouth to object, but nothing came out.

“And two Cokes.” It would take almost all of my money for the day to afford it, but whatever. Ramsey and Thea would eat a ham sandwich with pickles and mustard too. They’d have to buy their own Cokes though.

“Nora, you don’t have to do that.”

I took a big bite of the sandwich and peanut butter covered my hands because he wasn’t wrong. He had shredded the bread. I talked with my mouth full. “I know I don’t. But you brought lunch today. I’m bringing it tomorrow.”

I felt his eyes boring into the side of my face, but he didn’t argue as he unwrapped and ate his sandwich.

Things went back to normal after that. I broke out the batteries for his radio and we listened to music on the other side of the creek for a change in scenery.

We laughed.

We talked.

We played.

I beat him three times in a row at Slapjack, leaving the backs of his hands bright red.

Then, right as the sun started to fade, he took off with his bucket of worms, running home in time for dinner.

I smiled watching him go because I knew he was doing it with the ten-dollar bill I'd snuck into the front pocket of his backpack.

The next few months were pretty uneventful for Camden and me.

We fell into an easy routine together, arriving every morning at nine, alternating who brought lunch and the occasional Coke, and then we did absolutely nothing for the rest of the day.

Sometimes we’d lie in the sun, reading magazines Thea had snagged from the waiting room at her dad’s barbershop. Other times, we’d play hide-and-seek, which was really just a nice way of saying I’d hide and then jump out to scare the crap out of him.

The one thing that always remained consistent though was the ten-dollar bill we’d secretly swap each day.

We were always together, so hiding it in each other’s stuff could be hard.

The majority of the time, I put it in the front pocket of his bag, and his go-to spot in a crunch was to wrap it up in my wet clothes. But every now and again, we’d get creative. Once, Camden used fishing line to sew it into a hole in the lining of my backpack. I searched for days before I found that thing. In retaliation, I used a safety pin to attach it to the back of his shirt. He’d told me he was halfway through dinner before his grandpa pointed it out.

I had very few things to look forward to about going home each afternoon, but giggling like a fool while trying to figure out where he’d stashed the money always made the nights brighter.

Afternoon rain showers in Georgia were as much of a guarantee as death and taxes. On those days, Camden and I would huddle up under the canopy of trees with our towels held over our heads and talk about meaningless crap. He’d let it slip a few times that he was dreading going back to Alberton. His dad worked at the papermill in town, and he was already expecting his only child to follow in his footsteps—an idea Camden wasn’t sold on. But from what I could tell, his mom sounded okay. He might have just been hungry, but he spent an hour one afternoon telling me all about her famous banana pudding. His smile was so big when he promised to bring me some one day that I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hated bananas.

Shortly after that conversation, while fat drops of rain soaked us to the bone, he asked about my mom. I shut the question down quicker than she’d peeled out of our driveway the day she’d left.

Camden and I were close, and I was relatively sure my secrets would have been safe with him. But having a mother who’d not only abandoned you, but had also never once looked back wasn’t bragging material.

Thankfully, Camden never asked about my dad. Ramsey and Thea came up a lot though. They were the only family I had to be proud of, so I was all too happy to fill his ears with hilarious stories about the three of us.

That summer, Camden killed thirty-five bugs for me Thirty.